Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

poem

  • 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

  • You.

    Yes, you of posted pictorials dystopian bon mots your naiveté trumps your angst ironically you are playing solitaire – Mark L. Lucker © 2016 http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd Read more

  • No fish story (for Amy)

    I am not carping here from poet’s perch; people often find my reel, romantic tale fishy Love is like shooting fish in a barrel – this I have known for long I have been one with the proverbial oaken-casked flounderer I am no fish out of water here nor do I have any other fish… Read more

  • Recalculating

    another turning point crossroads of cliché and same ole what to do which way to turn got here without GPS will navigate as always, following stars gut instinct not infallible co-pilot riding shotgun, no desire to shoot let alone take aim even with windows down, wind in my hair freedom promised by open roads just… Read more

  • Valentine’s Day, approacheth

    Adrift Over a beer, I blithely told a friend bemoaning a lost love there were plenty of “other fish in the sea” unmoved, he was, as I noted “there are also tires, discarded refrigerators and sunken oil tankers” Thus inspired he raised his glass, made a toast; “Let’s hear it” said he “for the girls… Read more

  • First dance

    A ma-and-pa resort, small lake north woods of Minnesota small office behind quaint bar, twelve small cabins dozen aluminum rowboats to use; minnows, worms, leeches for sale amenities, ala Angler’s Edge Joe & Gloria’s place The bar a hangout for township locals grandpa Ivar and I frequented the nicked, cigarette-burn speckled polished, yellow-varnished bar for… Read more