Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

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  • No fish story (for Amy)

    I am not carping here from poet’s perch; people often find my reel, romantic tale fishy Love is like shooting fish in a barrel – this I have known for long I have been one with the proverbial oaken-casked flounderer I am no fish out of water here nor do I have any other fish 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

  • Vestiges

    As kids, we tied our fates to various inanimate yet participatory objects spun bottles Ouija boards dandelions professed proof of true loves brought cryptic messages all interpreted with certainty until the imagined magic wore off leaving us with our first taste of skepticism but the bottle could be redeemed for the deposit, the eye to Read more

  • Gathered Pinecones

    From my book ‘Gathered Pinecones’ on sale now, in paperback or Kindle   http://lrd.to/gathered-pinecones Moored Morning sun of summer wafting through open, lake-front window each day awakening with a squint, gasp soft-focus of seven-tree birch stand backlit by various shades of dawn filtered through tall jack pines on Huxtable Point, opposite, eastern side, of Horseshoe Lake Read more

  • Lost, found, holding on

    From my book ‘Lost, found, holding on’ Available in paperback or Kindle http://lrd.to/p6rxzwIMnD Salonica, goneica She loves me, she loves me not Played that game as a kid, for fun with and without the flower played it frequently later, for keeps Won once or twice I have over picked my life’s quota of prophetic daisies, Read more

  • The Tragedy of Macself

    *Best read if imagined in the voice of say, Sir Patrick Stewart or Sir Ian McKellan Macself Act 1, Scene-hogger Is this a cell phone which I see before me, The camera toward my face? Come! Let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see me still. Art thou not, fatal vision, Read more

  • Ephiphany

    Relaxed, I settle in comfortably chin on hand elbow on window 15,000 feet above the sprawling Mississippi Delta I am headed north leaving New Orleans; St. Louis bound Preferred window seat affords a view flame-streaked horizon far as can be seen, emanating from blazing orange ball perched precariously on the western edge of fading day Read more

  • Recalculating

    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

  • Sips

    I am a wine cellar unto myself occasionally decanted aged-to-perfection vintage at times acting the vinegar sweet, pungent varietal undertones serious melancholy drunk to forget remembering quite dry an acquired taste not for all people label me state certainly what I best accompany pairing me with prescribed ideals things I would never associate knowing me Read more