Cozy Den of Iniquity
Wither thou goest
oh, hibernating rodent!
Preach thine prediction!
> > > > > > > > > >
Misdirected
Celebratory
nod today to the wiener;
happy ground-hog day.
> > > > > > > > > >
Boondoggle
Slovenly groundhogs
stay in bed, Tweet conjecture;
masses, pacified.
– Mark Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
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 adolescence the next
the summer dented pails,
bent shovels lay unused in
boathouse corner; replaced with
initials inside a heart, drawn
artfully at dusk in beach sand with
carefully chosen 
stick, just to be
erased by evening’s gentle waves
Previous summers we traveled
in packs along endless lakeshore
some ‘ooing’ over discovered shells
all ‘eewing!’ over dead, bloated fish
skipping rocks to show machismo
But our duo walks became more
intimate strolls through the woods
privacy trumping pinecone collection,
coy separation from the collective
group not as subtle as we hoped
Each summer indelible as the
next; parts of many years 
blending
seamlessly together, a montage of
youthful Julys, childhood vacations
But the starkness of one summer
that is viewed not with the gauziness
of looking back fondly, but with clarity
of time, place, purpose…firsts.
One brilliant, Kodacolor snapshot
that never made it into any scrapbook
yet still remains the clearest picture
especially when summer ends
and the breezes of fall swirl
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2017
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Happily-ever-after
mythology
prefaces every sequel
continuing
character-driven sagas
story arc only
tacking an index onto
volume one,
three, sixteen in a set
having read this scene
repeatedly
life movies
annotated script
writing, rewriting books
they were based on
playing
déjà vu-all-over-again
never more than
countless times
here-we-go-again
monotony of
changing times
changing directors
same cast of characters
different roles
replaced actors
haven’t-I-
seen-this-show-before?
Exit, stage right
enter stage left
either or,
vice versa
prefacing intermission
act one ends…
next!
time to regroup, recast
strike the set
endings are simply
ellipsis
masquerading
as comfort
to the ill-at-ease
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016
Quixotic exploits
in multiple life-genres
satisfied, I am
lacking though, in
satisfactory resolutions
ambiguity suits me
beguiling, am I, in my
befuddlement of others
confounding doubters
mirror voyeurism
minus Dorian Gray ego,
Carly Simon panache
sing anyway, I cannot
dapper enough, I am
charm, it is, carries me
sophisticated enough
I know lost causes from
heroic potential
onward I trudge, in
lightness of step, spirit
ever vigilant
ready for action
sublime or fool’s errand
poised to charge on
never possessing
the courage to
believe in nothing
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
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 a more panoramic void
ahead or behind checking the shifter
my only clue as to direction
I can’t move it to R going fifty-seven
so I must be moving onward
hard to tell: the road nothing
but a dot in the distance
thinking back to ninth grade art,
lesson on perception and perspective
the farther you are away from
something means the brush strokes
need to be lighter, not so bold
in coloring or thickness or was
that a different lesson entirely?
I always got yelled at for never
cleaning my brushes properly
leaving them dry, stiff but I made them
starkly, erratically pliable again, using
my own technique of pushing down,
flattening bristles out, painting again
much coarser lines, less nuance
I am no impressionist
haven’t touched a canvas
in years yet time is just blots of color
I need a picture or map to
follow or grab vague directional hints
as I decide to flip a mental coin
heads left, tails right using my blinker –
always instructed to warn those
following my intentions
laughing to myself ruefully
any fool who tries to follow
will be as lost as I
not knowing what I know
how not to get where I am going
and how many ways there are
to go there or not go there
pedal-to-the-metal-time
squealing rubber, leaving tracks
just drive, baby. Just drive.
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Cozy Den of Iniquity
Wither thou goest
oh, hibernating rodent!
Preach thine prediction!
Misdirected
Celebratory
nod today to the wiener;
happy ground-hog day.
Boondoggle
Slovenly groundhogs
stay in bed, Tweet conjecture;
masses, pacified.
– Mark Lucker
These north woods
are lovely, bright, and deep
glistening with snow
and promises to keep
Serenity resides
in the fresh wonder of
the new wintry familiarity,
renewal in fresh snowfall
I have not trod, of late,
these winter woods
two years have passed
since my last sojourn
my longest such time
away from this place,
its brisk tranquility
These north woods
are lovely, bright, and deep
glistening with memories
promises to keep
aroma of pine wafts
unseen smoke warms
someone’s home,
my very soul
walking down
this familiar road
I know where I
have been is not
where I am headed
though the route
remains the same
each tire track
fading onto the horizon
is a different thread,
unique memory,
both history and map
there is scant traffic,
little to break the stillness
save the occasional
remindful siren song;
trill of a blue jay,
staccato woodpecker,
synchronized squirrels
tap dancing on birch bark
there is comforting
warmth in this winter air
a soothing, balmy chill
in the soundtrack
of these woods
I walk on, serene
These north woods
are lovely, bright, and deep
glistening with snow
promises they and I must keep
– Mark Lucker
sitting at a 
rickety card table
a cloudy, droll
Saturday morning
yard sale boredom
broken only by
protracted
used appliance deal
negotiations
with dubious
dollar store
Trump-wannabees
dumping a half mug
of stale coffee onto our
cyclone fence-climbing
Morning Glories
a change-purse toting
fortysomething
housewife-financier
chides my wastefulness,
asks the price
of the empty mug
feigning indignancy
I proclaim my intent
is simply to keep
my morning glories
awake through the sale
Not quite skeptically
she asks candidly if
that really works,
musing on her own
crop of backyard
morning glories, her
caffeinated prospects
of keeping them awake
longer on a daily basis
“Go easy on the cream”
I advise solemnly
heading inside for
a refill and Tylenol
making a mental note
to charge her
full price for the
cracked cookie jar
– Mark Lucker
Cozy Den of Iniquity
Wither thou goest
oh, hibernating rodent!
Preach thine prediction!
Misdirected
Celebratory
nod today to the wiener;
happy ground-hog day.
Boondoggle
Slovenly groundhogs
stay in bed, Tweet conjecture;
masses, pacified.
– Mark Lucker
The expanse is self-inflicted
a self-exiled expatriate;
I am here, not there
answered a calling, have since done my
best at least pretty well considering
restraints with which I had to work
sometimes I feel
my work here done
my time here over
needed elsewhere,
so I try to believe
but the work here is far from finished
though I would prefer it be for me
there are times I think someone else
needs to take their turn at this thing
as I have been here, done that
God has yet to agree.
Life off the playground is not about
taking turns everybody does not get into
the game (their choice) so I keep working
at all of it, trying hard, doing what I can,
attempting to practice the patience I
once employed abundantly in tougher
times and situations
Awaiting God’s answers
to questions I am not sure
I know how to even ask
is my symbol to bear
In seeking clarity to a calling maybe I
need to be more specific in expressing
my tepidly unique, evolving, reservations
– Mark Lucker
Ponderable polemics, poetic 