Ponderable polemics, poetic

WordPress site of poet Mark Lucker

writers and writing

  • Ode dear.

    My students engaged with our classroom material! Rh negative blood shows up with more frequency than authentic interest my high school sophomores academic pursuits escape without breaking a sweat until today, our unit on poetry contemporary poetic takes on relationships, life, old basketball players, the homeless and disenfranchised have left them unmoved, their empathy still 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

  • Muse bemuse

    She has been a muse nothing more and everything less since we met as teens inspiration still flows from a fleeting reminder; hearing her name (commonly used by others out of parental laziness) the searing stubbed-toe pain of an emotional owie only she could’ve kissed and made better longing springs from trying to remember just Read more

  • A musing

    You seduced me. Drew me in played me for the fool and I bit took the bait tried to dart away only driving the hook in deeper now here I am at your pondering mercy; throw me in your creel fry me up toss me back let me swim away or watch me flopping for Read more

  • Esoterically

    “Et tu, Brute?” exudes more raw panache than “Eebbeda, eebbeda, eebeda – that’s all, folks!” Abject profundity, treasured ironic historical declarations notwithstanding, as a poet and teacher of English language arts and crafts I am more keenly aware than most; when departing premises, punctuation trumps all. Read more

  • Timing

    Night comes, day goes – or vice versa. Who knows? Nocturnal vices of peers- beer, dancing, sex, beer in no particular order My vices of the night – words, paper, words am I more profound, or more boring – or vice versa? Who knows? Day comes, night goes Read more

  • Picasso Bunyan

    A poet friend goes to the piney north woods only after stopping by the local hardware store where he picks up paint-chip cards. Holding them up to whatever thing of nature he is writing about,he then aspires to be Crayola literate in his effortless verse. Lying in those very same north woods, gazing at a Read more