There is reason, even
some rhyme
in the stanza, the beat
the reading in time
of who, what, why he was
what he did and why he didn’t
why he maybe should’ve
not stressing on could’ve
Sometimes
His groove was far more
scat than stanza
he could always carry a
jaunty life tune
singing it with gusto
over thirty years since
his last oration
I can still recite
his many poetic forms
Some are tests
proctored from beyond
father/son veil and
I often refer to his
weathered, worn
hand-me-down crib notes
mental index cards
life lessons
guidelines
direction
admonitions and
insights
Cantos of appreciation
for good food
garnished with lively
conversation
the need for tolerance
futility in anger borne of
frustration
To value people
by the
who not the what, that
words can be weapons
how deeply
they will cut
His iambic passion
for baseball,
Laurel & Hardy
how to properly be the
life of any party
Hard work doesn’t hurt
a broken heart surely does
that family is what it is, not
what it should be or once was
haikus on
How to laugh, how to
love; why the hell you always
should, chortle romance
at every available
opportunity
it is always O.K. to cry
at a favorite song or
at a movie
that age is no impediment
to being
cool, even groovy
My father left couplets
deli pastrami
crusty-soft Jewish rye
cottage cheese mixed
with sour cream
real New York cheesecake
ricotta cheese, not the fake
steak; medium rare
bourbon and sour
Glenn Miller’s music
all of them much better
from a really good chair
Madrigals for life
try new things
continually dream
life is good
strive to make it better
regardless how it seems
Friends will come,
friends will go
A few will stick around
all will leave you something
of great value
His odes to a son
if you like it, then
it is good – let
critics be thus damned
there will always be more
questions than answers
Not to sweat it
never regret it
you should laugh often
love well
and vice-versa
To smell the roses is good
to give them, even better
in bouquets
and one at a time
These are the poems
my father left me
I can and
often do
recite them
at will
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
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In 1977 on June the fifth I was
Ponderable polemics, poetic 