Life
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The extremes of who, what I am whence I hail internally DNA, culturally, spiritually nature/nurture all fun to puzzle-piece together free form, no squared-off edges of big-picture guidance What my forebearers were who they were what they did what was done to them is historically recorded, reported yet remains very personally unresolved My now obsessive,… Read more
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“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” Laozi Our journey has finally begun there have been fits, starts, delays in getting here; now finally underway, I am ill at ease The irony, not lost on me An inveterate wanderer, – ‘Mr. Spontaneity’ to friends, family I do not… Read more
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At age seven I nearly killed the pubescent birch tree anchoring our Minneapolis backyard stripping it of all its bark, roots to four feet up – the physical limits of my fanciful reach As Mrs. Kime’s most intrepid first-grader I planned to build a birch bark canoe, ala the Chippewa we were studying, but my… Read more
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“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” Laozi Our journey has finally begun there have been fits, starts, delays in getting here; now finally underway, I am ill at ease The irony, not lost on me An inveterate wanderer, – ‘Mr. Spontaneity’ to friends, family I do not… Read more
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another turning point crossroads of cliché and same ole what to do which way to turn got here without GPS will navigate as always, following stars gut instinct not infallible co-pilot riding shotgun, no desire to shoot let alone take aim even with windows down, wind in my hair freedom promised by open roads just… Read more
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Loft apartment, late Saturday afternoon spontaneity interrupted by shrill, continual oven timer buzz “Pizzas done” says she “But I’m not” replies he not-rhythmic, static range-buzzer drone not disrupting tempo of early life-together moral they learned how easily heat, afterglow can turn three-dollar frozen pizza to charcoal – Mark L. Lucker © 2015 http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd Read more
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Growing up on a small farm, rural Minnesota space was scarce, times were lean and the land was life ma and pa granted my brother, sister and I a small plot every spring in which to plant and nurture pumpkins; sibling sharecroppers, we repaid mom by growing enough extra pumpkins for her to fulfill familial… Read more
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He sits in a rural Midwestern jail cell, his thoughts known only to God maybe himself. Just maybe. Two people are dead. Multiple lives altered irreparably cold, legalese narrative intones burglary gone more than bad stolen shotgun, car, arson. Death. Warrant, charges read ‘evil’ with no backstory just the facts, ma’am, just the facts… I… Read more