Delicacies

Notebooksenb4.jpg
a lot of them
stacked in an open shelf
next to my desk

varietal chronicles
spiral-bound, stitched binding,
composition books,
cheap dollar store pocket,
leather-covered, gifted to me

verse, prose, musings
pontifications and declarations
the older ones
bottom-of-the stack
the better
brittle pages in varying
shades of sepia
all the edges

time has never deterred my
filling of pages
innately fueled desires to
create, release
rejuvenate and reflect

Covers
colorful and worn
marred shields for pages
within
reminding me of times
places, varied
people and moments
profoundly mundane

vintage wire-spirals
youthful anticipation, angst
inscribed
during cross-country
bus ridesenb3.jpg
pocket notebooks
reflecting the practicality of
a busier, adult life
need for compactable
remembrance, inspiration via
rear pocket
journaled testaments

These notebooks
smell of old cardboard, time
anticipation
in their paper mustiness
incense of creativity
raw and natural
frankincense of hope

most alive in
colorful composition books
taken on camping trips
filled while sitting alone
beside campfires
soaking up transcendental
ambiance

Seemingly benign
inanimate
notebooks absorbed all
words, my ideas and dreams
passions of thought in
vibrant ink, smoke

found only in the wildenb1.jpg
where trees
their essences as
fuel for fire
imagination
even the paper come
full circle at my hand

savored now,
here
in this place not of
the woods
but remembered as such

they are flavorful, these
notebooks
times of times long ago, now
sentient in their shelf
smorgasbord of
aromas

tasty enticement
smoldering
senses in concert my
favorite repast has
always been
deliciousness in word
finely aged
smoked notebook

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2020
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

#writersandwriting #oldnotebooks #thoughtsonpaper #poetry #campfires #thewoods

 

Finials

Chinese takeout

whiskey sour, two cherries

living room recliner

not yet in full-on mode

 

discussions of recent past

upcoming future

plans, goals, objectives abstract

in low-resolution

 

wistful recollections

glad-its-over conversations

annual ‘old’ sounds-better rebuke –

same auld, same auld

 

old acquaintances unforgotten

checking in/on via social media

I’m fine/have a happy

memes on not sticking with…

 

They who are of certain vintage

forgotten until various reminders

to do just so crop up

incessantly, as they should

 

‘we need to get together’

‘been too long’

‘let’s do dinner/drinks/coffee’

all duly noted as cyber reminders

 

As clock and calendar creep on

chair footrest stays put, down

less relaxation overtake

clock-watching urges, older body

 

At midnight the song is sung

proclamation as fact

not reflective question, as written

should they be forgot, not

 

At midnight once each year

mental warehouses, inventoried

plans grandiose, mundane

decreed with boozy solemnity

 

For auld lang syne, my dear,

for auld lang syne!

We’ll shake the year gone like

metaphysical Etch-A-Sketch,

for auld lang syne, my dear

for auld lang mine

 

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

 

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 an intensely personal
no-two-alike fingerprint
‘one that got away’

we imagine our prey
sporting our broken-off
harpoons

festering wounds
unbeknownst to us have
scarred over
healed entirely

never went deep enough
scabs that quickly fell away

still we pursue
irrationally with purpose
a creature from the
depths of then

only breaking the calm
surface of now
when it suits us to be
on the hunt

“…to the last,
I grapple with thee…”

parting words uttered
in reply to no one,

the one

the one that got away
cannot let you go if
you don’t
reciprocate

hunter, hunted,
haunted.

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Soul Luddites

Born in the gloaming
first decade of the Cold War

I puzzle over peers
same vintage as I
declaring superiority for era
we know only from history
family, books, movies

1950’s forever!

Disdaining new insight
for tried and…true? Truth?

The manufactured idyllic spin
post-war, tenuous-peace

The Bomb and all it’s
societal accoutrements
rationalizing or not realizing
now isn’t then, vice versa

I see the fallout from
seeking this shelter

There is comfort to be had
in familiarity
there is comfort to be found
in family heirloom quilt
warmth, nostalgia
safety of cocoon solace
providing feigned comfort from
the winds of now

Hiding behind faith tradition

good enough façade for then but
of little use, here-and-now
no matter who was left behind
no matter who was never close enough
to be close behind

mid last-century
practicums, ways, ideals and ideas

obscure in more enlightened times
we need to let go of in times of
openness, opportunity. Hope.

Try to rectify the sins of the past
for those of our future
Those who find faith in then have
a placebo for now

their fear showing in lack of faith
their professed faith shows
fearful – underestimating G-d with
no confidence in themselves
ironically relying on a mystical then
none of us really knew

My generation sports a sadly
hollow spiritual politic via
We-the-father-knows-best hubris

My indignant peers!

Less about faith in higher power
more about fear in lesser beings
ourselves
self-loathing or just scared

of…?
antiquated, angry spasms of control
control the advancement

control the situation
control the ways of..
control when

your imagined faith-based status
at risk of loss reverting to then
solving all problems

all ills what ails
everyone but us

ironic in its regression to
idyllic then that
never existed, but in modern myth

Quo Vadis,
status quo?



– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Visionally

Been here too longbutterfly
seen
way too much

my empathy has
decayed
piles of rubble-pity

hope was a chrysalis
birthed
ugly butterflies
that now flit from
dead plant to
dead plant

Paradox eternal
doing right things for
eventualdecay1
wrong reasons
appeasing, ignoring those
doing wrong things for
right reasons

conundrums abound
doing good where ‘good’ is
nebulous,
‘doing good’ suspect
moral ambiguity the norm

corrupted
even the best of the good
tempered
by good intentions
gone rogue

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2018
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Not flippantly

Endings, beginnings

reboots

declining to resolve
to do things
better?
more?
less?

just because.

Finding myself in
select company
pragmatism not
considered a virtue
when calendars flip

solemnity, tradition
of fresh twelve
invoked by most

still, I demure

idealism has its place
the reality in transition
December to January
is more
dog-earing key pages
less
putting aside the book
waiting for the movie

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2018
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

 

A toast

24102‘…A flute of champagne
contains
one million bubbles.’

Toasting a new year –
fresh starts
beginnings, endings,
transitions –
see each bubble
as a moment
each individually
tantalizing, collectively
rising rapidly,
quickly dissipating

Gone

short-lived
effervescence
sweet anticipation
swiftly departed
memorable

Savor each bubble –
the tingling of
remembrance
tickle of anticipation
moments reveled in
quickly gone

let each beguiling
moment refresh
your palate
the sweetness
of what was
flavorful temptation
of what is to come.

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

Pseudo 23

Modern-day Psalmists
plying their trade via pithy sayings
basic fonts, splashy backdrops
portmanteaus of
varying interpretation

revelations
shifting dunes rounded by
prevailing winds as arid,
accepted gospel
lacking lyricism
posted for the world by
self-anointed prophets
claiming persecution, occasionally
lapsing into lamenting angst
bitterly masquerading as wit
pleading cases to merciful
gods/laptop Pharisees
issuing agreeable protestations
eschewing grace

never to grasp ‘liking’
is not prayer
weeping ideograms do
not denote benevolence
gaped-mouth ‘wows’
cannot replicate true, godly awe

like biblical counterparts
exhortations to repent, reform
delivering thunderous,
threatening, visual praise by way of
pictorial concatenation
oblivious to concepts of mercy, conflating
holier-than-thou with holiness

Facebook is my sheep, shepherd
I shall not want for others
those who disagree are my enemies
I immerse myself in blue pastures
scrolling paths of self-righteousness
finding goodness in my followers
all through my days

Amen?

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

 

Not in the least

Claims made by
fishermen
politicians
guys on a prom date

can be taken
at their word

if the words are
unspoken
first-hand
supported by three
corroborating
witnesses

backed up by video
duly notarized

void
where prohibited
or English is spoken
and understood

words to the wise
from
folks in the know

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

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 an intensely personal
no-two-alike fingerprint
‘one that got away’

we imagine our prey
sporting our broken-off
harpoons

festering wounds
unbeknownst to us have
scarred over
healed entirely

never went deep enough
scabs quickly fell away

still we pursue
irrationally with purpose
a creature from
the depths of then

only breaking the calm
surface of now
when it suits us to
be on the hunt

“…to the last
I grapple with thee…”

parting words uttered
in reply to no one,

the one

the one that got away
cannot let you go
if you don’t
reciprocate

hunter, hunted,
haunted.

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