Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

remembering

  • Winter solace

    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, 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

  • Waiting for Felix

    Quintessentially American; refrigerator door Louvre stylistically Picassoesque, Daliesque though Dadaism and Mamaism predominate as pudgy-finger tempera on newsprint evolved into more complex designs, bolder expressions of the artists vision in markers on white paper, macaroni on tag board, leaves melted in wax paper Like any good museum, the exhibits rotate; handsomely, haphazardly framed via magnets-on-white-enamel Read more

  • Lamenting angst

    If one can grieve what never was if unfulfilled wistfulness is worthy of sorrow If could’ve should’ve maybe regretfulness can be mourned I will go to the wake pay my respects sing praises lifting an anthem of toasts to the dearly departed Then I’ll tip my hat leave my money on the bar and the Read more

  • Recycle

    “Love is like tartar sauce; it looks like hell, you have no idea what’ in it, but you always seem to find it tasty”. – Me, circa 1990 Witticisms, coined phrases of my younger years linger around me trailing like stray dogs following me home from the butcher shop ‘scat! go away! don’t follow me’! Read more

  • 3:22 P.M.

    Smiling broadly from the bottom step from yellow-and-black command ship my forty-two pound, thirty-seven inch Neil Armstrong plops dustily down Successful touchdown, Tranquility base. Home, The Eagle has landed. Perfect timing; his silver-and-black supply case is depleted, as is he. Time to replenish, explore local terrain, relax, recount the day’s adventure Pausing, he then runs Read more

  • Freshness

    cardboard Tupperware crowds my attic keeping my soul preserved if not fresh rows, stacks of oddly square bowls repositories of then; lost loves, past successes other leftovers sometimes leftovers trump a fresh lunch filling rejuvenation found amidst the smell musty brown wood pulp – Mark Lucker Read more

  • Taking a concession stand

    I hate it when somebody states they are ‘making concessions’ to middle age I find mid-life to be a wonderful carnival the only concessions those to be purchased to quench a thirst sate a hunger I stroll the middle age midway impervious to the shill’s siren-call of con-men barkers offering relief enhancement and release me, Read more

  • Pictures

    We were a long time ago years? decades? lifetimes? carbon dating? time is filled in a long forgotten coloring book half the pictures never finished bold, black-line outlines dated, quaint stumbled across by accident you flip through remembering all the scenes beach, park, ball, puppy love ? first few pages carefully colored giving way to Read more

  • Art of Flying

    Flights of fancy via wings of balsa when an extra nickel added a propeller we took wing on wind-looping imagination gliding sometimes to gentle landings more often crashing with aplomb-tinged disappointment when repairs were beyond the pale Images silently soaring, frozen in in time and flight still life, real life in balsa and backyard – Read more