Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

Uncategorized

  • Outside the lines

    You opened me like a book thumbed through the pages of boldly outlined pictures mercurially finding one you chose your weapon from boxed arsenal; a sharp one, new to the point and unused you are the 64-box of Crayola’s using all the colors of you to flesh out the person that is me the picture Read more

  • Antipasto!

    Dinner with my Valentine; wine and Sinatra Fine haiku-be-do-be-do… Read more

  • In step

    Time it is said tritely marches on its cadence precise as any honor guard’s mostly. At times time is less a rhythmic beat more the tuning of a cheap guitar MY my my dog dog has – HAS fleas. Fleas. fleeeeas. my.dog. has. fleas. Time occasionally stumbles, marches on, always finishes the parade. Read more

  • Self. Centered.

    I love to walk alone in the rain and snow the colder the wetter the better I hear, understand nature, myself, my perosnal nature a whole lot better character building personal challenge; to prevail against the cold, the wet, implies some sort of adversarial relationship we do not partake the colder the wetter the better Read more

  • 3 for the 2nd

    Boondoggle Slovenly groundhogs stay in bed; Tweet conjecture. Masses pacified. Misdirected Celebratory nod today to the wiener; happy ground-hog day. Cozy Den of Iniquity Wither thou goest oh, hibernating rodent! Preach thine prediction! Read more

  • But is it art?

    Large, bold strokes spray painted symbols, words innocent and sinister hieroglyphs and slogans in black and blue on pulsating, animated canvas Names, times, events, places feelings and forgotten emotions weathered, all Some are ancient, indecipherable some still hurt some never did some are funny a few not at all Many names are legible, a.k.a’s various Read more

  • Esoterically

    “Et tu, Brute?” exudes more raw panache than “Eebbeda, eebbeda, eebeda – that’s all, folks!” Abject profundity, treasured ironic historical declarations notwithstanding, as a poet and teacher of English language arts and crafts I am more keenly aware than most; when departing premises, punctuation trumps all. Read more

  • “Portrait de Madonna; mère de mes fils, vendredi soir” (Madonna portrait; mother of my sons, Friday night)

    After some ongoing, sad-eyed cajoling you agreed to a Friday night date night not of your choosing or comprehension posing for nervous artist and sketch pad you acquiesced to your best black pumps, resolute: no clenching of rose in teeth – concession gladly made by your love-struck middle-aged, middle-class, modicum talent Renoir with shaky charcoal Read more

  • Comfy

    Certain memories are a favorite pair of old slippers; ragged, tattered, not much to look at, but comfortable in a way nothing new could be once you plucked them from the garbage; second thoughts? hard to part, sometimes, with a never-complaining old friend then again, sometimes it’s best to just let the dog chew ‘em Read more

  • Whether banes

    You’ll never know what might have been you’ll never prove what could have been to loudly proclaim what should have been is the greatest of curses self-inflicted by men Read more