Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

growing older

  • 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

  • 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

  • Frogs

      – Mark L. Lucker © 2017 http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd Read more

  • Old growth

    At age seven I nearly killed the pubescent birch tree anchoring our Minneapolis backyard stripping it of all its bark, roots to four feet up – the physical limits of my fanciful reach As Mrs. Kime’s most intrepid first-grader I planned to build a birch bark canoe, ala the Chippewa we were studying, but my Read more

  • What are the Oz?

    Historically considering myself the Scarecrow middle-age, circumstance, time have me contemplating fates identifying a more Tin Man persona seeking oil for locked up joints moving clunkily, at times joyously graceful, others grudgingly accepting assistance from my companions – friends who humor my myriad compunctions to stay out in the rain eschewing consequences for the sheer Read more

  • 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

  • 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

  • diurnal

    “…and there’s nothin’ short of dyin’ that’s half as lonesome as the sound of a sleepin’ city sidewalk and Sunday mornin’, comin’ down…” – Kris Kristoffferson There is no respite from the escape the night before, sketchy adrenaline rush of getting there, staying there, leaving behind whatever it was trying to find whatever it is Read more

  • Broadsides

    I once asked God for a sign needing more than spiritual Burma-Shave cardboard placards stapled to raw, rough pine sticks Ah, but I am not advertising my tag-board always blankly devoid of political hate hackneyed slogans five-ninety-nine pizza specials! buy your gold for more! I am not here to direct others to event parking or partake Read more