Psychedelic ramblings of thought frogs croaking, choking on the elegant chorus of the midnight orchestra. Deep in the velvet evening the tired forest sheds rubber skin, large, wooly mammals begin to prowl, on the scent of promised vegetables, senses in tune with seething earth, forever…

It’s evening and, finally, I’ve got my market tomatoes and holy basil. More adults than children crowded the lines, but, in my raincoat, I’m impervious. With no rancor, I manage to elbow through the throngs. I’ve funds enough for what I need and almost feel…

Hey. Can you still hear me? Are you still there? Is there anything left of you besides the ash and bone fragments in the floorboard of my Accord, a car you never saw? Hey. I miss you. I miss how your fur felt gripped in…

The sounds of frogs in the evening my summer lullaby jars of flitting fireflies nightlight beacons the mystery was not in glowing insects, amplified amphibians but in how adulthood peculated the wonder – Mark L. Lucker © 2017 http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

Autumn the passionate season Nature displays The changes that come Painting the leaves As green leaves turn color Red, Orange, yellow and brown. Skies turn golden The breezes caress With sweaters I walk And coffee in hand.  

Broken boards and shattered windows, splintered stairs and shuddering eaves, all those things and more to me, mean a potential nest to meet.

Low and deep below High and steep like hiker’s peek Your choice is endless

jars of magic   the magic light of evening hearkens back to the mystery of spring, the calling of frogs at twilight, and children collecting lightning bugs in jars.   Where did it go? That magic of frogs and princes and gilded lily pads? Dropped…

Props to the Mother that does what she needs to survive Foodstamp hustle try in’ to keep it real Bill collectors calling. Getting down to the rhythm of being down, be cool there too…why trip Put your pride aside who wants some funk? tell me…