Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

poem

  • Beings, being

    I was once hanging out with an eclectic group one of whom casually asked if any of us believed in ghostsbefore I could answeranother said “Not ghosts, but angels”bringing awkwardnessblank looks all around While I couldn’t see myself I like to think I was more contemplativethough it got me pondering whysomeone would staunchlybelieve in one Read more

  • Ghosts of Niemöller

    First they came for the immigrantsAnd I did not speak out Because I was not an immigrantMy ancestors were, but that was differentThen they came for the Socialists And I did not speak out Even though America is kind of socialistBut real socialists are evil – so they sayThen they came for the trade unionists Read more

  • 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

  • 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

  • Sampling

    Sitting at a brewery rural, northern Minnesota tasting a variety of beers, ales small flights of five A couple – mid-twenties sits across from us they too, are sampling each other – first timers comparing dating app peccadillos head-scratching mismatches awkward exchanges preferences for beer types, each other quickly give way to comfortable laughter Another 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

  • No French Cuffs

    Plaid flannel shirts of my Northwoods youth smelled of beer and pine cones boat motor gasoline and fresh caught sunfish wood smoke and filtered Winstons when I was a kid the intertwined, pungent aromas of cervelat salami plumbers’ grease, house paint mingled freely, locked in square-patterned fibers, always-rolled-up sleeves no amount of Fels-Naptha soap could 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

  • Morning coffee

    Saturday Early, but not too I bring her a cup of coffee rich stuff, the good stuff our special Saturday blend She stirs gently, like the brew setting the mug on her nightstand pheromones blend with aromatic Arabica Saturday morning alchemy dissolves into Saturday afternoon – Mark L. Lucker © 2017 http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd Read more