Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

Uncategorized

  • 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

  • Street math

    Neighborhood rabbits multiply our busy street divides unobservant drivers subtract it all adds up Read more

  • Wiper/savior

    Somedays you’re the windshield somedays you’re the bug Me? I’m the guy with the red rag hanging from gray overall pocket who cleans up the mess Read more

  • Timing

    Night comes, day goes – or vice versa. Who knows? Nocturnal vices of peers- beer, dancing, sex, beer in no particular order My vices of the night – words, paper, words am I more profound, or more boring – or vice versa? Who knows? Day comes, night goes Read more

  • Troikas, I

    Dislike your albatross necklace? Accessorize with matching brooch * * * “Gone to the dogs!” denigrates dogs let’s cats off the hook * * * I am the black sheep of an oddly monochrome familial flock Read more

  • Troikas, II

    A story called the girl’s hair ‘flaxen’ and all I could think of was my dietary fiber * * * Naked mimes don’t really have to say all that much * * * Right place, wrong time. Wrong place, right time. Fine lines, leaky pens Read more

  • Troikas, III

    Two steps forward, three back: even with castanets you flunk the nice officers roadside dance test * * * If you date a girl half your age, she will expect twice as much * * * If the call for nonconformists to unite goes unheeded, keep the deposit they made on the hall Read more

  • Troikas, IV

    Burning, bitter, soulfully sweet; my first taste of whiskey my first sip of you * * * My father; blue-collar guy who aspired to more, never quite made it. Don Quixote with bowling ball lance * * * Overdrawn again from the bank of good fortune. Let all those checks bounce. Read more