Dogs Uncategorized

Ball and dog

Playful rat terrier with ball
prancing triumphantly
invoking her regal dignity;

four-legged, conquering
Kahn entering the wooden
fenced city, blue ball clenched
in death grip by jagged teeth

‘All hail the hero dog!’

Slobber-coated, bell-encasing
rubber sphere lays in the grass
where pretending-truculence
dog has dropped it to subjugate
knotted rope segment instead;
fickle, dog-gone it.

Ball without dog.

Campfire poems Uncategorized

Campfire poem #49

A log of pine
a mug of coffee
and thou

Omar, I am


– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016

Campfire poems Uncategorized

Campfire poem #71

Campfire smoke
makes a fine
but it
my wife
to sleep
embers an

Growing up me Love and Romance The Lake Uncategorized Young love

A Minnesotan’s First Love

I was a good friend of her brother –
he knows, but has never said a word

On the rare occasions we still meet
he smiles a knowledgable,
unbelieving, remembering grin
and I always wonder, after all of the
years that have passed, just how much
she has told him…

or if he figured it all out on his own
just watching her face during family
dinner-table reminisces about those
warm northwoods summers at the lake.

Growing up me Uncategorized

Things grow in summer

My teenage summers were spent on
silver Greyhound SceniCruisers,
going back to see Midwestern relatives
who had stayed anchored there while
my family forged westward to Colorado,
returning home each August only as
time for school neared

I was a wizened city kid reveling in
Norman Rockwell’s America fair, a
fifteen-year old, middle-class Kerouac
minus the booze, lacking despair, with little
need for anguish or angst, no desire to

Endless miles of black top carried me more than
physically; far further than I ever knew, focused,
even then as I was less on the destination, more
on the journey, adventure…the way I still travel.

Each year two-thousand-plus miles of lyrical
road hum and random, countless once-only stranger
conversations, tall corn wavering, glistening heat,
rhythmic rain pelting panoramic windows views
that I quickly propped my small, square, traveling
pillow and poet’s head against so to fully partake.

There were midnight truck stop meals and dusty,
grimy and inviting oasis cafes with ten-cent
newspapers in towns with fewer residents than
my big city school; voracious road reading material
never left behind, folded, filed, kept; life-textbooks

Souvenir, gift-shop postcards and car window decals
were collected en masse, stored in a shoebox

I found Americana and kitsch to be cool.

I wrote while riding all those years on all those
rolling, silver-siren buses/muses – notebook after
spiral notebook, year after anticipated year; a richly
picturesque, naively profound chronicle of a bunch of
stuff– an evolving teenager’s worldly, compelling,
insightful, neo-passionate verse.

To read through those notebooks again here in
sedentary, bus-less middle age I realize just why my
vagabond soul is still ever ready to stuff a bag beneath
the seat in front of me and, quite simply,

ride, baby, ride…

Coffee Contemporary Life Philosophies Snippets and snapshots Uncategorized

Bartender genome

Sitting alone at a bar downing a
espresso2row of tequila shots will earn you
something from across the bar;

griping rights,
pour-out-your-heart privileges –
at the very least, a knowing nod,
acknowledging smile, tacit agreement,
‘go for it’ shrug

Sitting by yourself at Starbucks
counter coolly throwing back
espresso shots while clicking awayinoutcircle2
on your laptop earns you
ignored indifference as most baristas
lack the hereditary imperative of
the best barkeeps, while
increasing suburbanization of the
traditional, dimly-lit, urban habitat
is rendering the trusted, guru-esque
breed of mixologist one of our
most endangered species

For anyone mastering the hybrid genetics,
there is a Nobel Prize in it for you.

Or a perpetually overflowing tip jar

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016