24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
no matter how you look at it,
it is still true
that this cancer stretched it’s roots
throughout my body.
the cure almost killed me.
you never saw them take my body away,
and put it in the fire.
now you have a portion of me
in the console of your car.
while I travel with you,
my roots have stretched
into the soil of seven states,
no matter how you look at it.
Focus (Brandy Goodman Poem #5)
We have all lost our focus
In the world we live today.
To busy worrying about the effect
When the cause should be on display.
Sexism, Racism and discrimination
Are all problems that’s true
But instead of placing blame
You should be asking “What did I do?”
“How am I a part of the problems
Society dwells on today?
What can I do to fix it?
How do I change my ways?”
The answer to all these questions,
Is one tiny little word
Kids are where our answers lie
You may think that idea absurd.
But really think about or kids
And the society in which we live.
They grow up thinking “It’s all Mine.”
So they say “Give it too me, Give it too me, Give.”
They grow up with absent parents
Who are too busy to teach
And when their caught doing wrong
We don’t explain we preach.
Or even worse we do nothing
No punishment will stick
Because we’re a bunch of cowards
Who don’t want to be seen as strict.
We want to be our kids friend
Not the one to law down the law,
And we tell them that they’re owed
That is a huge flaw.
No one is owed anything,
If you want it, it must be earned.
If we had taught them that
There’s be no riots or businesses being burned.
There may not exactly be peace,
But if taught wrong from right
Or told no instead of yes,
They wouldn’t be wounded at every slight.
The world has many problems,
But we’re too focused on our wants
To see through the awful haze
To the real problems out front.
We are failing our kids left and right
But it’s not too late to change.
Take stock of your life
And see what needs to be rearranged.
Talk to your kids and listen,
They have a lot to say.
We could turn the world around
In such a positive way.
Teach your kids to be better,
Teach them all you know,
Show them by living right,
TEACH them how to grow.
Greetings, gentlemen
You’re probably wondering
why I’ve called you all together
Yeah, I went for the cliché
but would any of you
expect any less?
Even a cheap laugh is
better than
lesser alternatives
One of those concepts none
you never taught
but I did learn.
I hope you are all doing well.
A group note not best
but hey, I figure you all
ended up in pretty much the
same spot –
quirk-purgatory for
inflicting me on life
That cheap laugh thing again.
Jocularity aside
I need to thank you all
If it weren’t for all you guys
I wouldn’t be
where I am today which
is honestly a pretty good
place to be
Much like you guys
most people would say
I done good.
You can correct my grammar
bemused in irony that I
teach English to
rambunctious teenagers
a few eye rolls, facepalms
would be grammatically correct
Truth is, I wish I could
convey to students
what you guys did to me
Not so much the
nuts-and-bolts but
all that intangible stuff
how life works
how to handle it
why how you do it all
counts for something
There is rarely a day
where I
don’t pull something
out of my hat that
one of you guys stuck in there
Words of wisdom, advice
reinforced ideals
common sense
some obtuse skill I need to
employ to fix something or
explain an aspect of life
to someone else.
I hope all you guys
find some pride
personal satisfaction in
some of what I have done
things I have accomplished
hell, even in some of the
things that I have tried that
haven’t gone
according to plan
As you all noted I would at
one time or another
I have learned more from
the screw ups than successes
How I have carried myself
has been noted
you can take collective credit
My life has, thanks to all of you
been so far more
sweet than bitter
in proportions larger
than what you predicted
That’s all I wanted to say.
Hope this finds you all okay.
Be well guys
Thank you.
Love,
Me
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2020
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Sing it Aloud
Not that facebook messenger failed me.
I was just too scared to be reminded the sting
of failing is a nightmare in the world of an orphan.
My culture says it’s a taboo to heap weighty messages
in the mouth of a servant, to say their importance.
Your messenger says life keeps breaking you
as if testing your tensile strength.
At first, it was a beast demolishing your garage.
Then, a storm breezed in, tearing apart
into shreds the name you built for decades.
I wanted to hear you speak these things to me –
these things seeking for asylum in your body.
I remember my sentence to perpetual joy
after I murdered my demons and drank their blood.
What’s a messenger that I cannot choke with my fingers?
I thrust my thumb. There were screeches.
My voice finds its way in, asking you to sing songs
of healing aloud with me, and to conceive joyful songs.
An eaglet learns to fly alone in the midst of a tempest:
my mother died without teaching me a song.
So, you understand why I love to invite strangers
to sing aloud rather than to serve them amala and ewedu.
And most times, I lead. Heck! My voice is seraphic.
Do not be lost; the world is too large to sojourn.
Sing aloud, first, your woes. Repeat. Repeat.
Then sing of hope, blessings and amen. Louder.
*amala & and ewedu: Yoruba (Nigeria) traditional meal
Edited:
Baguette and cheese
Of photography and particle physics,
Talking respective loves,
And purging out hates.
Of friendships lasting much longer
than puny, short lives.
And thoughts living forever.
Of home made bolognese and tiramisu,
And baguette and cheese
in a brown bag for lunch.
Of memories weaving in and fading out
Of aches that somehow
refuse to go away.
Songs pause on my lips while life…
life flows, strangely, on.
And you…you…have gone.
iv. Wheat and Sickle
Golden wheats in left and sickle in right arm,
The princess reap the field , along the young hearts.
He advances forward, with a bamboo basket
Oh dear beautiful, may you put those crop in it don’t let these harsh things hurt the soft palm of you
I can’t bear even a reddish spot on that hand.
Oh dear young man it’s just a sickle
Mine has handled swords of steel,
Spears of iron and arrows of Reed.
Hey, Mom, Here’s the latest happy news,
Andre — your first great-grandchild — is getting married
he was just 12 when you ran out of time with us.
The whole world has this Covid-19 to worry about
but I know what you want to hear:
the glories and the struggles of your dearest ones.
Your parish is struggling, as are most around the world.
You and Fr. Tom must be helping behind the scenes
as Fr. Ratar has been doing more than seems possible
for two parishes now! The priest shortage is showing.
The younger generation continues to take church — and God — for granted.
And now the older generation is quarantined at home with the Covid-19 virus.
Your home for those years of building the family is still in the family.
Your grand-son, Joe, and his kids live there, and recently gave it a fresh coat of paint
light blue in the front room, 1st paint experience for 21-year-old Joey, and Amanda;
Lesi, supervising, and paid for by big Joe’s wallet, thickened by overly over time.
New sweets outside, too; white siding, black trim, greenery under the front window
Their biggest struggles are employment and money — remind you of the past?
Your sister Rose, and cousin Katie, are still here; 90 yr-old matriarchs of the family
Your God-son, Rob, has his Mom living with him, and she asks everyone who calls
to take her home. Her boys aren’t willing to let go. They know she wants home
to you, and Jesus, and all the rest.
Aunt Katie still drives to the store once a week; babysits a dog for a recovering friend
since she outlived all her beloved pets. She prays a lot, and the world needs it.
We kids of yours are all doing whatever we can – some great stuff, some rough stuff.
Claudia’s been struggling, feeling unloved in the midst of those who love imperfectly.
John and Dan doing OK. Bill’s been in the hospital twice this year and it’s only June.
He’s fixing the world in ways that make you proud, but it takes so much body and soul.
Jim is getting angry, this Covid-19 virus and world insecurity is hardest on him I think.
Linci’s marching to her own drum- at the front of the protest line- protecting, helping.
I miss you. I look forward to seeing you again, someday.
with Love from your firstborn, and most fortunate daughter.
Do you remember when I was five or six
And you’d come home from such long trips
And I’d follow you up to watch you unpack
So glad to have my Daddy back
(Always hoping for some souvenir of some sort
Even if it was just snacks from the airport)
And you’d tell me all about where you’d been
And folks from the plane you’d likely not see again
(Of course, I could tell they all liked you
Since you are so honest and friendly and true)?
Do you remember when I’d come steal your lap
And not just when I needed a nap;
College football games on the television?
If you were watching, there was no decision –
I’d sit down, watch, listen and learn
No matter what age or worldly concern,
It was with you whom I wanted to spend
What time we found, every night and weekend
You’re still the greatest man I know
So, on your birthday, I have to show
The world and you, Dad – James Monroe –
That no matter where I or you may go,
No matter how high or how terribly low,
For you, I’d make chocolate-chip cookie dough,
Bake dozens for you, every week-or-so;
Read the works of David Thoreau;
Learn to capture life like you do in photos;
Bless the world with as much love as you bestow….
And more, Dad. Because everything I hold dear
Exists since you’ve countered, in so many ways, what I fear.
You give me and so many such hope
Such that, even through struggles with the breadth of this scope,
I know you’ll be there.
I can put off despair.
For me, it’s the small things that matter more than all other.
I learned that from you, Dad, and from your love of my mother,
From your love of us all:
That no matter how great the feeling, or small,
I can live. I can love. I can be.
Thank you for all that you’ve loved in me.
Your daughter,
Meri
It was one month before
My last child was born
That you were no more.
We called her Erin Kelly
The last of your legacy.
Did I forget to mention
Her beauty defied comprehension?
But the lace and curls
Did not suit baby girl.
She transitioned.
Now we call her him.
And mom loved again.
It took a while for her
To accept your permission.
Oh how the time goes by
but memories don’t fade.
I can hear your voice
and the love you gave.
To all your children
Throughout your life
Sometimes with hardship
Sometimes with strife.
From one two three
and four five six.
You loved each one
no favorites you picked.
So until the time
on heavens bright shore.
I’ll remember you, Mom
forevermore.