Clearly

A woman I know
dreamer, well grounded,
ways of the world, the word
loves clouds
regularly posts pictures
Facebook stratus updates
from expansive plains of Texas

accompanying commentary
concise, imaginative
sweetly humorous, poignant
shapes, ideas, messages
sometimes all the same picture

love the images,
treasure the friendship

I prefer my clouds on their turf
twenty-thousand feet,
living metaphorically, mechanically
flying through, above, alongside
they offer little resistance
playfully tag along, wispfully

my friend and I are
more alike than I knew
while she looks to the heavens
I try to grasp them from within
folly, but worth the try

we are imaginative optimists
each seeing our clouds
in all their potential,
ever mindful of their fickleness

Dreamers, both of us are
though you can easily tell us apart
she is the one with
her feet firmly on the ground

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2017
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Mercy, me

‘There but for
the grace of God…’

deity quantification is
risky pragmatism

‘There but for…’

God’s grace, graceful
mine, clunkily
cacophonous in raw
implementation

two-left feet,
I always want to lead

God is gracefully
mindful of my gaucherie
bemused by my
attempts at making
things more complicated

fraught with false starts

learned skill
accepting grace in
ordinary guy way
making the simply profound
unpretentious

easy
now that I understand

forsaken, I have
making the elegantly simple
intricately complicated
ever need be

there but for…
there for, but
therefore?

affected by so many
retrospectively
recognizing
God’s grace in the
graceful natures,
well-timed nurturing
of others

finally grasping
the thrill of speed
training wheels, off

there with
the Grace of God
go I

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2017
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

This

seeking forgiveness
for actions
not takenedit
words
not spoken
regrets
not unwarranted

youthful ignorance
gave way to
stilted maturation
not me
not my responsibility
not now
maybe later

later
oftentimes a no-show
later
may have passed
later
never was acknowledged

now
is the later you put off
now
is the time to right wrongs
now
is the time to say ‘I’m sorry’
now
is not to say ‘I’ll do better’
now
you relinquish the ignorance
now
you embrace knowledge
now
you recognize your injustices
now
you take charge
now
you stand up

Now.
You.

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2017
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Broadsides

I once asked Godimg_20161113_082229
for a sign

needing more
than spiritual
Burma-Shave

cardboard
placards stapled
to raw, rough
pine sticks

Ah, but I am
not advertising

my tag-board
always blankly
devoid of
political hateimg_20161113_084228
hackneyed slogans

five-ninety-nine
pizza specials!
buy your
gold for more!

I am not here
to direct others
to event parking
or partake in
girls! girls! girls!

nobody here is
going out of businessimg_20161113_082233
due to low prophets
the guy misspelled
the end is ‘neer

spiritual conclusion

God wants me
to protest
something
all of it, perhaps

there is no profit
to prophesying or
downsizing

I am I!

Less recalcitrant,img_20161113_084229
spat-up Noah –
pine-splinter
infused hands
to wave

my finely honed
ability to ignore
disdainful glances,
head shaking
avoidance

causes me to smile

I wear styish,
spat-out invective
from passerby
curmudgeonlyimg_20161113_084248
badge of honor,

hold my sign higher

I once asked God
for a sign
and he told me,
point-blank,
helpfully

“First, you’ll
need
better shoes.”

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Whereas

Never having been mrsmith2
as naive as
I should have been

exonerated for crimes
against logic
bus ticket, new suit

outside-the-box
thinking
box house, never homebogart3

recycled, repurposed
repent sinners!
repressed no longer

naiveté begat experience
I can elocute
to it all in open court

Get back, honky cats
I got this.
Flat out truth: I got this.

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

One metmorphisize fits all

Happily-ever-afterabstract4mll
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

Ephiphany

Relaxed, I settle in comfortably
chin on hand elbow on window
15,000 feet above the sprawling
Mississippi Delta I am headed north
leaving New Orleans; St. Louis bound100_4863_0161ed

Preferred window seat affords a view
flame-streaked horizon far as can be seen,
emanating from blazing orange ball
perched precariously on the
western edge of fading day

fixated and streaking northward as the
sun slips slowly lower, lower, flattening
now slightly behind us as we bank north
a roaring, dissolving half-circle wobbling
on gently curving western horizon

Never before have I so
fully watched a day’s fading

We fly on through evaporating wisps
the sun now just a tiny, glowing, bump;
the middle of a flickering, flat-line ribbon
brilliant red and orange, stating purpose,
delineating sky from earth,
robust edginess of night from fading day

Unannounced, not anticipated answers
I had been seeking for questions
long blurred suddenly take full form
clarity blossoming in flickering,
dying flame of this day, today
.
Quickly, softly, completely
a peace not known previously settles in
I lean back, reclining my seat
as light slips away; darkness enveloping
the outer world, illuminating within.

Flying now into blue darkness,
never before have I seen things
so clearly.


– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

 

Recalculating

only 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 fromsign2
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 ruefullyonewayoneway

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

Sips

I am a wine cellar
unto myself
occasionally decanted
aged-to-perfection
vintage

at times acting
the vinegar

sweet, pungent
varietal undertones
serious melancholy
drunk to forget
remembering

quite dry
an acquired taste
not for all

people label me
state certainly
what I best
accompany
pairing me with
prescribed ideals
things I would
never associate

knowing me
snobbishly stubborn
they really don’t
I am not the
caliber they pay

wrapped in
brown paper sack
neither of us would

true friends
partake
simply because
I am what
they like

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Wood-post modernist

pencil2thrills are to be had

secrets need revealing
wonders beg unraveling
truths urge to be told

revelations

dark and light
constrained in the
pristine symmetry of
new, freshly sharpened
shiny-yellow pencil

just above the perfectly
honed greyish tip
peach-fuzz wisps of wood
cling gently, smell of pine
tickle fingers excitedly

anticipation

cylindrically contained
wisdom waits for dispensing
tales of life crave to regale;
ideas yearn to be rendered
philosophies chafe
to be revealed

slices of life,

snapshots in time
narrow, wooden
repository of wisdom
covenant ark of perceptions
woven tightly between
two fingers, thumb

pristine, freshly sharpened,
primal and fearless
my shiny yellow pencil

poet selfie stick.

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2017
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd