Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

poetry

  • Self portrait

    The extremes of who, what I am whence I hail internally DNA, culturally, spiritually nature/nurture all fun to puzzle-piece together free form, no squared-off edges of big-picture guidance What my forebearers were who they were what they did what was done to them is historically recorded, reported yet remains very personally unresolved My now obsessive,… 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

  • 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

  • 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

  • Documentation

    bar napkin crumpled, soggy torn palate slurred ink Picassoesque words Big Chief tablets beloved by 2nd graders, kitsch rhymesters used envelopes narrow canvas postage, odd visuals, broken windows work in cancellation stamp wanderlust, bonus angst matchbook cover epics cause inspired squinting haikus on receipts cannot be returned without merchandise in hand scribbles, doodles on pilfered… 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

  • Gathered Pinecones

    From my book ‘Gathered Pinecones’ on sale now, in paperback or Kindle   http://lrd.to/gathered-pinecones Moored Morning sun of summer wafting through open, lake-front window each day awakening with a squint, gasp soft-focus of seven-tree birch stand backlit by various shades of dawn filtered through tall jack pines on Huxtable Point, opposite, eastern side, of Horseshoe Lake… Read more

  • Lost, found, holding on

    From my book ‘Lost, found, holding on’ Available in paperback or Kindle http://lrd.to/p6rxzwIMnD Salonica, goneica She loves me, she loves me not Played that game as a kid, for fun with and without the flower played it frequently later, for keeps Won once or twice I have over picked my life’s quota of prophetic daisies,… Read more