Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

Fathers and Sons

  • Father’s Day Requiem

    We never had one of those TV sitcom father-imparts-his-sage wisdom, serious sit-downs that I can recall I have no fatherly counsel fortune-cookie-inclusion viral-meme-worthy wisdom to share rarely proclaiming, “As my daddy used to say…” Sans great punchline parts of my father I carry with me, mirth more tangible than profundity less open to interpretation than Read more

  • Poems my father left me

    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 Read more

  • Father’s Day Requiem

    We never had one of those TV sitcom father-imparts-his-sage wisdom, serious sit-downs that I can recall I have no fatherly counsel fortune-cookie-inclusion viral-meme-worthy wisdom to share rarely proclaiming, “As my daddy used to say…” Sans great punchline parts of my father I carry with me, mirth more tangible than profundity less open to interpretation than Read more

  • Poems my father left me

    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 Read more

  • The Letter

    Dear Grandchildren: There is irony in that the last thing you will ever forget will be one of your firsts crush love kiss sex broken heart first to never be forgotten first to stick with you first to make you feel like that first to make you hurt first to make you feel alive knowing Read more

  • Afternoon at Lakewood

    Whatever remains lie beneath six, eight, feet; compacted dirt atop concrete lid, polished walnut box thirty years I have come to this spot far longer to this place to the eye, comfortably little is changed thirty years say everything has yes and no he would be one-hundred now hard to imagine him at a full Read more

  • 3:22 P.M.

    Smiling broadly from the bottom step from yellow-and-black command ship my forty-two pound, thirty-seven inch Neil Armstrong plops dustily down Successful touchdown, Tranquility base. Home, The Eagle has landed. Perfect timing; his silver-and-black supply case is depleted, as is he. Time to replenish, explore local terrain, relax, recount the day’s adventure Pausing, he then runs Read more

  • Manly

    At eight-years old machismo has a very different feel ‘Don’t cry like a baby,’ my son would admonish his second-grade peers ‘…cry like a man!’ As he is now sixteen I wonder…would he challenge them at all? Read more

  • Like son, like father

    The daughter of close friends looks at my son like that they have known each other since first grade – a time when looking at each other like that would have been unthinkable; icky, gross…dis-GUS-ting! Now she looks at him like that When I first noticed her looking his obliviousness was a comfort but now Read more