Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

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  • On a Wednesday in 1989

    As clear as twelve-hour old coffee she told me goodbye a jolt of caffeinated remorse left me wide-eyed and pondering as the glare from dawn’s light screamed, painfully, ‘morning after’ The pot turned out to be empty a good thing, in retrospect as I sure as hell didn’t need topping off Read more

  • Poured forth

    The bartender is skeptical; less than most of his peers more transparent about it than many fellow mixologist hesitant in his urge to believe the guy on the stool adjacent to mine doesn’t understand the resistance, thus taking the credibility hit when he can least afford one, then takes it personally, with resignation; defeated in Read more

  • Restraint

    I burn for you. Remembering school hallway posters advising when in flames, stop, drop, roll. Subconsciously heeding long suppressed laminated pictograms I have resisted the urge to do the safe thing whenever you walk in as my resulting floor gyrations would lack the panache to qualify as a mating dance ala National Geographic Still, I Read more

  • Like son, like father

    The daughter of close friends looks at my son like that they have known each other since first grade – a time when looking at each other like that would have been unthinkable; icky, gross…dis-GUS-ting! Now she looks at him like that When I first noticed her looking his obliviousness was a comfort but now Read more

  • Reading each other

    She is reclining, reading on bed or couch; on her side, jean-clad legs in fetal curl, head propped up on cocked, sensual elbow, other hand holding the book her eyes flitting through her fiction sometimes she is on her back, nestled in pillows, engrossed, both hands grasping stomach-resting book bare feet crossed at the ankles Read more

  • Outside the lines

    You opened me like a book thumbed through the pages of boldly outlined pictures mercurially finding one you chose your weapon from boxed arsenal; a sharp one, new to the point and unused you are the 64-box of Crayola’s using all the colors of you to flesh out the person that is me the picture Read more

  • Antipasto!

    Dinner with my Valentine; wine and Sinatra Fine haiku-be-do-be-do… Read more

  • “Portrait de Madonna; mère de mes fils, vendredi soir” (Madonna portrait; mother of my sons, Friday night)

    After some ongoing, sad-eyed cajoling you agreed to a Friday night date night not of your choosing or comprehension posing for nervous artist and sketch pad you acquiesced to your best black pumps, resolute: no clenching of rose in teeth – concession gladly made by your love-struck middle-aged, middle-class, modicum talent Renoir with shaky charcoal Read more

  • Dream sequence

    Quiet evening on my couch I fall asleep watching t.v. dozing, I awaken from a dream in which I was watching an old console television from the 60’s the picture was fuzzy, zigzagging, jumping around, unwatchable; in the remote-less era of my fantasy I get up, go to the monolithic set, turn real (silver plastic) Read more

  • Mental matinee

    Less frequently but with far more purpose, much sharper focus than my younger, more myopic days my workday mind meanders from the daily mundane to stray to tantalizing, sometimes R-rated thoughts, possibilities for later cerebral erotica starring my oh-so- vixenish-after-twenty-years wife My mind’s eye squints to concentrate on the unfolding cinematic epic in my head when Read more