The Poetry Marathon

What if

Jack Kerouac

met

Robert Frost

on a road

well traveled

but with still enough

cachet amongst

contemplative

vagabonds

to capture the

moments

inherent in

going

‘he went thataway’

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

As kids we would hold dandelions

beneath each others chins

somehow fascinated by learning

who liked butter

dandelions going to seed were

fun to pick, blow on

scattering their fluffy countenance

to the winds until some

adult said to stop it because

all they were were weeds

then dandelion wine was

all the rage

for a time

neighborhood restaurants

feature them

in salads

holdout hippies and

art fair merchants

weave them into headgear

elevating the dandelion to

victors laurel status

times were simpler

when we were younger

though now the simplicity

lies in seeing what

has always been, letting go

with a poof of breath

on downy seed

Those days when I would go off by myself
into the woods, grandma’s admonitions
‘be careful’ ‘make sure you don’t go too far’

‘Too far’ was never really delineated

As an only child alone with grandparents
each summer, all summer, my independence
struggled to keep pace with my curiosity

With each passing summer I strayed further
from the confines of friendships with other kids
different grandkids of different grandparents

Those kids had siblings, cousins, confines

I had what I needed, filling voids and days
with nature, my own thoughts, inquisitiveness
self-taught solitude my badge of honor

Though I knew each square inch of the woods
surrounding Horseshoe Lake, every leaf-strewn
trail, downed log, sun-soaked clearing to sit

It was the land that knew me better than I it

The woods knew when I needed cheering
they brought me birds, scampering chipmunks
days I needed to inspiration – wildflowers

Rainy days, other homes feared bored children
but rain spoke to me, rhythmically, joyously
via scent, sound through open windows

Youthful exploration gave me an understanding
peers lacked, a knowledge of things unseen
a faith I could have never learned in church

Grandma’s long-ago admonitions to ‘not get lost’
were heeded, until adulthood, when I had to
recall what was, what I had learned as a child

When I was lost, I could always get home
even if the home was no longer there, as the
woods know you, even when you are lost.

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

The audacity of life

thinking it knows best
thinking it knows you
thinking it should be
thinking for you

Life is what happens
while you’re
making other plans

Still pretty egotistical
still thinking it knows
what’s what and you, too

G-d would say fate is
providence simply
following the script
but he didn’t write so
who the hell knows?

Predestination is really
pre-ordering the life
album before it drops

it really isn’t anything at
all about trust – but more
for the lazy and the
excuse-makers amongst us

Just don’t get caught up in
your personal sagacity.

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

Hey, Dude.

I know its tough when someone dies. You’ve done that before but that was old people you knew would die. Different when it’s somebody your own age, really different when it was one of your best friends.

I know it was tough not being there. But truth be told, you learned a lot from handling this one on your own. Twenty, living alone in a small town, far away from family, friends. Your knack for solitude and introspection served you well when Johnny died.

It may not seem like it, but you’ll get passed it. And no, you won’t forget him or the times you had together.  I’d also lie to tell you he’ll be the last but he won’t. Fortunately most of your friends stick around for a long time.

Oh you’ll lose your share, but it is who you expect; grandpa, the pseudo grandpas and grandmas.  Not a lot of them totally unexpected.

Until you’re twenty-eight, and dad dies.  That’s the one that takes its toll. But the good news is, he left you with enough of a legacy that you’ll take it, run with it. You’ll be o.k.

Oh yeah, he also leaves you with some secrets to unravel and in time, you will. Not that it won’t cause some big ol’ headaches along the way.  You will discover some stuff about dad, and his family that may seem less than ideal. Don’t be deceived by first impressions. Or at least, don’t let them take control of the narrative.

In the end you’ll find it more amusing than tragic. At least I think you will. That one is still a work in progress, so I’ll have t9o get back to you.

Death will come easier for you than most, and that will make some folks uncomfortable. But you end up being the ‘go to’ guy for a lot of friends in crisis – and not just when one of the group dies.  Take it as a compliment, because it turns out (much to your surprise) that people trust you.

Strange as this may seem, you’ll find comfort in being ‘the man’.

There is so much more to tell you, but you’re not even of legal age yet.  But you will be soon, and the stuff you’re going through now will all make sense in a big way – but not for a while.

being an only child, you have become a master at figuring things out on your own, connecting the dots in a way a lot of others can’t.  Its part of that trust thing I mentioned earlier.

It doesn’t make sense now, but trust me – it will. And it will be so worth it.

For now, keep living your life the way you have been. Take in the moments, bring the memories with you. Use them, don’t abuse them.

It’s gonna be o.k.

Later dude.

Me, at 60

The dock at the lake
home of grandparents
was my summer hangout

Monument of sturdy
simplicity

fir one-by-four planks
nailed to two-by-four
stud framing
with number eight nails
anchored on
galvanized steel pipes

fifty-feet from my
bedroom window it would
hide in morning fog

refract moonbeams on
cloudless nights
lull me to sleep

clapped by gentle waves
in harmony with
deepening hush of
the Northwoods on a
summer’s night

painted blueish-gray
sometimes at dusk it would
dissolve into the water
just as it all dissolved
into me

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

My grandfather was a bowler
pretty good, in fact
national tournaments
league championship teams

Once he bowled a 299
during a league championship
‘299 and a wiggle’ proclaimed
tongue-in-cheek trophy
300 is the most you can score

His teammates gifted him
bowling pin
hand-painted with

Gramps’ caricature –
replete with cigarette dangling
from thin lips, slicked-back
jet-black hair, mischievous eyes

Like many of his immigrant ilk
my grandfather was a
voracious reader

that Christmas
shortly after bowling his 299
Gramps’ cousin
unsurprisingly gifted him a book

How to Bowl was opened
so I was told
to uproarious laughter
Gramps, smooth as Norsk custard
thanking his cousin
with a satisfied grin

kept the book in his bookcase
the next thirty years
caricature bowling pin on
living room floor next to it

When he died
one of my cousins got the pin
I kept the book
even though I have no use for
1947 World Bowling Champion
Ned Day’s advice on

etiquette toward my pin boy
what a Brooklyn Bucket is
difference between
‘pie alleys’ and ‘cheese-cakes’

Though I still love to bowl
I don’t very often, still
How to Bowl is always handy on
the small shelf above my desk

Where I can always pull it down
for quick brushing up on
arcane lingo, quirky phrasing
(all heard in my grandfather’s ‘tick’
Norwegian immigrant accent)

I can also grab How to Bowl
for more meaningful refreshers on
being able to have a
laugh at my own expense
appreciation of doing something well

and just how to always be the coolest
goddamn dude in the room

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

There was a time, special
where summer days, nights
found me alone, content

I found solitude underrated
warmth of sun, cool evenings
some saw me standoffish

I am sure some still do.

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

‘Sixty is the new forty!’

 – Doctors office fashion magazine headline, 2019

I just turned sixty.
Years of age
not degrees on a sextant
though in my rudderless state

charting a one-eighty
through late middle-age
trying to find a job
befitting my experience
multiple talents
ability to move, mold, lead
others to successful
outcomes

Sixty is the new forty what?
Forty winks?
Forty lashes?
Forty days and forty nights?

Dubious are those that
would employ me
that my thinking, attitudes
skill-sets would have me
out-of-synch with
younger-than-me-peers

Though I am appreciative to
those that simply
ask the question
I am equally as perturbed at
those who vacillate

implying Paleozoic values
intoning as perverse mantra
millennials and youthful as
though a bottle of
five-buck-chuck offers
similar value to differentiation
by vintage, what it goes
best with

There is no dust on
this bottle
but there will be in my wake
as I head for the door with
an I’ll-stop-you-right-there
‘thanks, but no thanks.’

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

Your lips touch
my lips
tentative in quizzical
passion
once, twice
third time’s the…
leaning in
your lips touch
my lips
tightened anticipation
firm yet supple
I cannot pull my face
from yours
we have become one
yet I feel you
dissolve
vaporizing away from
me
thoughts ethereal
I hear you speak but you
aren’t there
your lips touch mine
but you
aren’t there
and I know I am
wide awake and alive
but the dampness
pillow on cheek
remembering you
could not have been there
at all
at last
as every time in the
past has proven
what I felt for you then
I still do now
never reciprocated
unrequited
in death as in life
mattering little as in
an hour or so
one of us
will need to simply
get up, and
go to work.

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