Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

relationships

  • 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

  • diurnal

    “…and there’s nothin’ short of dyin’ that’s half as lonesome as the sound of a sleepin’ city sidewalk and Sunday mornin’, comin’ down…” – Kris Kristoffferson There is no respite from the escape the night before, sketchy adrenaline rush of getting there, staying there, leaving behind whatever it was trying to find whatever it is… Read more

  • Love at the middle ages

    Being your knight in shining armor often means more work for you pounding out dents knocking off rust slapping in Bondo minimizing creaks knowing just when, where to squirt WD40 There is nobility in your exasperation at my Quixotic nature acceptance of my clunky, clanky chivalry; romantic caprices challenge your practicality whimsically, we joust word… 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

  • Vestiges

    As kids, we tied our fates to various inanimate yet participatory objects spun bottles Ouija boards dandelions professed proof of true loves brought cryptic messages all interpreted with certainty until the imagined magic wore off leaving us with our first taste of skepticism but the bottle could be redeemed for the deposit, the eye to… 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

  • Estrange

    Regret and I have a tenuous relationship flirtations ebb, wane pop up again precariously at odd moments, clumsily the standoffish one in this tepid relationship is me running hot-and-cold I can be a frustrating companion lackluster lover there is no love lost between me and regret never love at first sight never a commitment convenient… Read more

  • Call me, Ishmael. Leave a message.

    We all have within us some Captain Ahab obsessively pursuing something, someone unattainable physically or mentally we quest something lost never obtained hadn’t the courage or stomach for a diem you could never carpe uselessly we quest a time we came close nagging should haves gnawing what ifs crimes of passion not worth prosecuting each… Read more