Outside the lines

You opened me like aBrokenCrayons3
flimsy book
thumbed through pages of
boldly outlined
caricatures
mercurially finding

me, you

chose your weapon from
boxed arsenal

Sharp,new-to-the-point
unused you
busted-pieces me

You are 64-box of Crayolas
using all the colors
to colorfully
flesh out the person
that is me

pictures that became us

showing all the restraintBrokenCrayons1
of a four-year-old
for boundaries
flair of Matisse-nuance
you have boldly
blithely refused to
color inside the lines

no paint-by-numbers
sloppy
is sensual
borderlines are
for the faint-of-heart

are is in the
eye of the beholder

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

#romance #romanticpoetry #poetryforValentinesDay

Midway? All the way. (Love is… #39)

Love is a day at the fair

flashing neon, loud music, exotic
sights, smells, sounds, enticements,
leering inducements of all sorts

adrenaline-pumping sensory overload

You know you shouldn’t overindulge
but you do and then you get sick
but what a ride, oh what a ride!

Faster! Faster! Faster!
Up! Down! All around! Spinning!
Dropping! Whirling! Faster! Faster!
Spinning around, wanting desperately
to get off but can’t until the ride stops

But by then it is way too late.

You are walking down the midway
woozy, but needing to eat
everything and nothing looks appetizing
you grab some cotton candy

Love is cotton candy in summer heat
sweet, sticky, satisfying – always a mess.

No matter how hard you try to keep your
fingers clean, it is always a mess
a great, big, sticky, gooey,
I’m-here-now-wouldn’t-miss-it
for-anything-ever-what-a-day mess.

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

Jarring (Love is… # 71)

Poets have often
likened love
to roses
summer days
pastoral scenes
other sundry
phenomena

saccharine sells

in toto
love is not
candy
roses
sweet imagery
clichés
violin soundtracks

I, having lived
love

see more esoteric
practicality
from, for the heart

love is tartar sauce.
It looks like hell
you have no idea what
is really in it
yet you always
always
seem to find
it tasty.

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

Morning coffee

Saturday

Early, but not too
I bring her
a cup of coffee
rich stuff,
the good stuff
our special
Saturday blend

She stirs gently,
like the brew
setting the mug
on her nightstand
pheromones blend with
aromatic Arabica

Saturday morning
alchemy dissolves into
Saturday afternoon

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

Love at the middle ages

Being your knightknight1
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 lances of affection,knight4
never winner-take-all

M’lady
in your loving hands
I shine
tarnish becomes patina
you are the damsel
that rescued me, lo
those many years ago
abid, abyd, abyde,
my love

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2017
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

No fish story (for Amy)

I am not
fish6carping 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 floundererfish8

I am no fish out of water here
nor do I have any other fish to fry
there are, I know, other fish in the sea
but I have my catch; she caught me

you can take the bait on this:
looking for deeper meaning
in my metaphors is a
fishing expedition

loving her has
always been
easy: shefish2
lured,
I bit

hook,
line,
sinker

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

Vestiges

As kids, we tied our fatescokebottlesinase
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
vintage-william-fuld-mystifying-oracle-ouija-board-w-wooden-planchette-1938-a84507e57559af0289d9fc2a820d59dcwore off leaving us with our
first taste of skepticism

but the bottle could be
redeemed for the deposit,
the eye to the beyond a
table for your sister’s Barbie,
wilted weed went to seed

youth can leave you jaded
if you play the games
forgetting it is all in fun

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


‘Vestiges’ is just a sample.

COVER FINAL 2
From my book ‘Lost, found, holding on’ Available in paperback or Kindle http://lrd.to/p6rxzwIMnD

 

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

Valentine’s Day, approacheth

GB beerAdrift

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 of the flotsam.”

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


 

Midway!? All the Way!

Love is like a day at the fairmidwayalltheway2

flashing neon, loud music, exotic
sights, smells, sounds, enticements

sensory overload

You know you shouldn’t over indulge
but you do and then you get sick
but what a ride, oh what a ride!

Faster! Faster! Faster!
Up! Down! All around! Spinning!
Dropping! Whirling! Faster! Faster!
Spinning around, wanting desperately
to get off but can’t until the ride stops

a disembodied voice reminds you to
‘Stay in your seat until the ride comesmidwayalltheway
to a complete stop!

But by then it is way too late.

You are walking down the midway
you are woozy, but need to eat
everything and nothing looks appetizing
and the first thing you grab is cotton candy

Love is cotton candy in the summer heat
sweet, sticky, satisfying – always a mess.

No matter how hard you try to keep your
fingers clean, it is always a great, big
sticky, gooey, wouldn’t-miss-it mess.

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


 

Smörgåsbord

smorgasbord2There are many
different
kinds of love

puppy
brotherly
unrequited
passionate
secret
eternal
young
first
true

having oftsmorgasbord1
indulged in
at least
a smattering
of each morsel
mixing entrées
salads
desserts on
the same plate

I am woefully
unqualified
to distinguish
tasty from savory
overcooked from
underdone yucky
from delectable

still I happily
grab a fresh plate
for another pass

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