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

Pic-ah-nic bas-ket! (Love is… #161)

friedchicken1Love is
fried chicken

you’re never
certain –

follow the rules
of etiquette…

…or just dive in,
use your fingers

savoryfriedchicken2
satisfying
finger-lickin’
chew-on-bone

yummy, messy
heart-healthy
artery clogging
oh-so-tasty

Love is
fried chicken
friedchicken3
but when all is
said and done
just what do
you do with the
gnawed on
bones?

Mark Lucker

Advancement

I eschew sex.romans

Firmly entrenched
now in middle age
I have found the act
wanting, boring

the physicality dull,
unimaginative
old hatDonQuixote and Dulcinea

Sex
has lost its interest
in me

shunning sex,
I have discovered
making lovepotterswheel

It is the side effect of
experience
the residue of having
love, lost, found

I am the artistplaydoh
who has traded Play-Doh
for the potter’s wheel

– Mark Lucker

Qualms? (love is… #47)

Love is a compunction
albeit an unctuous one

it is an albatross,
a cross to makes
you feel bare

Love makes for weird
poetry, messy emotions
hackneyed devotions
far exceeding alliterative
quotas for exasperation

Heat you don’t want to beat

Summer is when you most
think of her, want her
hot, sultry, at times stifling

melting into yourself, sweat
trickles into places that spark
imagination, irritate, perturb

undeniably sensual, cursable,
so memorably bemusing

she will return, as always, the
bittersweet equinox of her

Passion

He noticed her
intensity

sitting there, reading

Trying to capture
some of her bookish
vehemence

he prodded hopefully
“Ahh. The plot thickens.”

“Like old Hollandaise”
she replied, without
looking up

He turned on the
television, swearing
off books