Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress poetry site of poet Mark Lucker

  • Mapped. Out.

    Our path to perdition startedat not eating French frieswound through calling gasoline ‘freedom molecules’imagined ‘wars’ on Christmas, culture veering torepeatedly shooting upcases of light beer light-on-logic moves, each For the past few generations Americans have done more of their critical reading in supermarket checkout lines than libraries Eliminating our nation’seducation department only completes the process… Read more

  • January, won

    The first day of a new yearcliché is the currency we traffic innew pages are turnedexpectations for whateverlies aheadexceedingly optimistic self-talk, public proclamationspersonal plans for change, regenerationrenewal carries vagueexpiration date mentally stamped at factorywarning us with certaintylike a gallon of milk ‘hopes will curdle if not used by…’Those with calendars still hanging from walls,refrigeratorsripping last… Read more

  • Inheritances

    This is a dark time for many Americansamong the more somber of my lifehopefulness has trouble finding any sort of foothold, sense of balanceMonths away from retirement I already see the tarnish descending on my planned golden yearssitting in a recliner with my feet up letting others take up the resistance just doesn’t sit well… Read more

  • Red Hook, Brooklyn. 07/27/24

    Sitting on the fringe of large patio contemplating retaining wall perch, New York Bay lapping gently every table, chair, square foot occupied genial reverie of twenty, thirty-somethings enjoying summer Saturday night companion and I well beyond the demographic   Our backs to Staten Island, I squint my mind’s eye at ancient brick-warehouse-turned-hip-brewery easily imagining much… Read more

  • 07/24/2024

    I cried to my grandparents todaya first for memy father’s parents, who diedbefore I was born never heard their voicesfelt their touch never knew where they wereeven buried until recently I cried to my grandparents todaythey never had a shoulderthey could offerneither ever rocked meto sleep, or just for comfortnever dried one of my tearsuntil… Read more

  • Oops.

    “I like to live my life the way I type – fast, and with a lot of mistakes.” – Anonymous Mistakes have always been madecorrections ever problematic the ancients inscribing in clayused wet thumb to smooth outill-placed < \ x = # or ^when caught before the sun bakederrors into eternity rune carvers had less… Read more

  • Shake-up

    The time is now complacencyshould find no solace false startsdo-overs and tomorrowsbeen there done that nearly to deathSo what makes this timeany differentwhat says I can do this with any more conviction than the time before the timesbefore those other timesPenultimate torock-bottomdon’t miss a stepzig this timewhere you usually zagwith clarity oflast chancescomes reality, resolvenow,… Read more

  • As best he could

    A promise once made ‘I’ll take that to my grave’sense of honor, integritybest of intentionslaid waste by dementiahe told me the story when I came to visit thinking I was . . .someone else entirelyagain, promise made ‘I’ll take that to my grave’hopefully he doesI will.– Mark L. Lucker© 2024http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd Read more

  • ’51 Syllables on Coffee’

    I Half-and-half, so-so coffee; incrementally less disappointing II needing barista alchemy in lieu of meh coffee place beckons III potification middle-age fettish; I am arabica snob   – Mark L. Lucker © 2024 http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd Read more

  • Campground Neighbors (Campfire Poem #72)

    Couple next door way older than sixtyish me compact camper in place when we arrived a man, a woman silver hair matching dog say hello when they return late evening Early risers, both come morning they let dog out back in we nod ‘hello’ As I enjoy my morning campfire coffee I am reminded how… Read more