Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress poetry site of poet Mark Lucker

  • Missing out

    Living now in a place where, in autumn most leaves stay put clinging to their branches without pretense never having the decency to abandon their vibrant green for appropriate, earthy hues A few adhere to my more familiar, season-bound tradition, true natural order small in numbers generally unnoticed It takes keen effort to scrounge enough of… Read more

  • Breezes

    summer comes to a close autumnal breezes waft rustling memories of those days when the close of summer had more definitive endings sun-drenched days of youthful frolic, innocent play, done swimming, playing with frogs in holes dug on sandy beaches at grandparent’s homes; ‘the lake’ summer Xanadus of childhood one year, scenic backdrops for advancing… Read more

  • Pseudo 23

    Modern-day Psalmists plying their trade via pithy sayings basic fonts, splashy backdrops portmanteaus of varying interpretation revelations shifting dunes rounded by prevailing winds as arid, accepted gospel lacking lyricism posted for the world by self-anointed prophets claiming persecution, occasionally lapsing into lamenting angst bitterly masquerading as wit pleading cases to merciful gods/laptop Pharisees issuing agreeable… Read more

  • Not in the least

    Claims made by fishermen politicians guys on a prom date can be taken at their word if the words are unspoken first-hand supported by three corroborating witnesses backed up by video duly notarized void where prohibited or English is spoken and understood words to the wise from folks in the know – Mark L. Lucker… Read more

  • Call me, Ishmael. Leave a message.

    We all have within us some Captain Ahab obsessively pursuing something, someone unattainable physically or mentally we quest something lost never obtained hadn’t the courage or stomach for a diem you could never carpe uselessly we quest a time we came close nagging should haves gnawing what ifs crimes of passion not worth prosecuting each… Read more

  • Delivered

    walking old neighborhood streets first time in forty years strolling the paper route I once sped through on bike chucking news, sports, imaginary touchdown passes blithe in my accuracy – papers always landing where intended most of the time remembering homes, faces cantankerous folks the best tippers comforting offers of lemonade, hot cocoa incessantly yapping… Read more

  • Homage

    I went all Santiago once on a sunfish that weighed nearly a pound it was long before I knew Hemingway, the power of words, the pull of the water I battled the monster as only a nine-year-old could; with every fiber of my being strained to matching tautness of six-pound-test line at the end of… Read more

  • Stratas

    As a kid I collected rocks – as many colorful pebbles as my six-year-old jacket pockets could smuggle via subterfuge mom and dad later humored my geologic interests with a small, paperback, field guide to rocks – which I always took with on trips we took – grandpa in tow – playing along, helping me… Read more

  • 33 (For Johnny)*

    Twenty-one years was not nearly enough; we had just embarked when you left. Thirty-three years is not nearly enough to erase what is indelibly sketched not a pencil caricature, a dimly recollected photographic snapshot or grainy home movie just you, at nineteen, before illness rudely smudged and dog-eared the picture you are smiling, damn it… Read more

  • 1958

    Eight-by-ten, glossy women’s gowns a snowy hue men’s jackets polar-colored pants black, everything else radiant shades of grays drearily brilliant tones off-black, dark-white vibrant portrait in celluloid Twelve adults, a young boy bouffants and buzz cuts, ogling camera, mischievously dead serious, mindfully aware playful magnitude of the day fighting off hangovers practicing feigned solemnity due… Read more