Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

Family

  • Waiting for Felix

    Quintessentially American; refrigerator door Louvre stylistically Picassoesque, Daliesque though Dadaism and Mamaism predominate as pudgy-finger tempera on newsprint evolved into more complex designs, bolder expressions of the artists vision in markers on white paper, macaroni on tag board, leaves melted in wax paper Like any good museum, the exhibits rotate; handsomely, haphazardly framed via magnets-on-white-enamel Read more

  • Cross training

    Some think we’re simply running away not believing that what we are running to is something, someplace that needs us just as much as we need it Just the act of running moves you away from something, towards something else life is running; not living is sitting still We are running away; running away from Read more

  • Guardian pal

    Like a shadow you know is there but disappears when you turn to confront it it’s there, but he’s not Following discreetly, benignly nourish part of the atmosphere minus the trench coat Sometimes light diffuses instead of illuminates My father’s memory, legacy, aura follows me no, I am not paranoid just aware of the oddly Read more

  • Already

    new grandchild far away our first meeting still to come; bonded by knowing   Read more

  • Felix

    new grandson has my heart, focus, whatever else he may desire ;-{) http://poetluckerate.wordpress.com/2011/11/18/first-letter-to-a-new-grandson/ Read more

  • November 12, 2011

    watched pot not boiling patience is not my virtue, overdue grandson!     http://poetluckerate.wordpress.com/2011/11/11/past-his-freshness-date/ Read more

  • Redux

    Shoes; a pair fit in my hand Shoes sometimes bronzed for museum-reverence, dusty display on living room mantle Unfathomable they once thundered across hardwood floors in a symphonic cacophony of thumping, giggles, pure joy. Little shoes; toy-like. Worn soles, tattered seams, frayed laces a dingy gray Just a pair of shoes. Hers. Two little shoes Read more

  • The package

    My mom found the dead chipmunk I had brought home from the lake. It was the end of the summer I was ten; the stripe-tailed rodent had come home at peace in a blue and black JC Penney shoebox I said contained ‘stuff.’ He sure looked stuffed. A car – or maybe Ivar’s Jeep – Read more

  • Complexities

    He lived his life with infectious, mirth- skewed hubris, flavored with a certain spiritual panache that inspired envy far more than disdain, admiration over ridicule and he never took any of it for granted. Women and men found him equally engaging he counted among his friends many who were far older, considerably younger than he. Read more