20. The Messenger XX
Newly exposed, new exhibitions
Big installations, drawings, poems, photos, sceneries
Mt poetry is fully naked expressed
And shown all over the world
The funny story they tell is
That I am even a celebrity on Mars
It’s me who started that funny myth joke
Aliens all come to my openings
Are collecting my installations
They love to have in their living room, just above their sofa
How does it look?, an Alien’s living room
It looks like one of my installations
David Bowie is an Angel
Whispering in Alien’s ears
What to do to celebrate
My poetry next Christmas
Nature, nurture, not
Those from more rural locales
find urban approaches
to all things nature
peculiar
Nurturing of lawns
cajoling green lushness
only to immediately cut it
once it gets too high, too lush
symmetric containment of flowers
pride in set aside green spaces
massive cement bowls
adorning boulevards
transformation of
rural America to urban for
those who have grown on the land
find the city more nurture than nature
contrived in it’s simplistic
approach to bringing
the real to those
unaccustomed
bring the country
to the big city – people
nature and you’ll observe
neither in their natural habitat
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
19~22
- I did not know him
Through mother I did
I heard some long stories
Some far~fetched fine glories
One terrible old gory
This was one of those days
In a ditch along their field
His tractor tipped over
He missed his noon meal
Trapped amongst metal
Silver blades always doing
Green grasses grew rusty
Scared cows kept on mooing
Hour 22: Crack
The would bustles here
Always moving quickly
Missing small things
Like life growing in cracks
These small flowers fighting
Living where trees gave up long ago
Living where most grass is fake now
Surviving even when no one cares
Okay now I am caught up again and I can finish this thing!! (I say with little confidence since I already fell too asleep once.
Flying while pained
CHS to CLT. CLT to STL.
Baby steps aided by flexeril
and hydrocodone, backpack
weighted for counter balance.
I wait in line to pass through
security, guzzle the remnants
of my Nalgene water lest they
make me “dispose of it.” As if that small
amount of water could bring down
a plane. As if they could stop
it. Remove your shoes, laptops
in separate bins. Empty your pockets.
We all have it memorized since 9/11.
Boarding passes come on phones
now. I’ll bet no one predicted that.
Baby steps to the lectern. Baby
steps through the line. Slowly,
slowly. Baby steps to Terminal B, to
the gate. Courtesy check for my
rolling luggage? Yes Ma’am. Solid
tip. Cool of flexeril rolls down.
CHS to CLT. CLT to STL.
There and back again.
Prompt 29, Hour 23
Write a poem about your childhood. Ideally this poem should contain between 1 and 5 numbered sections.
Mount Olive
Mount Olive
I saw a sign at the graveyard, Now Hiring:
Sales professional. But who would want to work
there knowing you’re the cause of more Dad,
you’re the coolest balloons floating in the wind?
Endure
There’s an app for that basic function the replacement is cold…
Metal that is, never tired never old.
The response for that question from a prompt in a chat on a screen
and the thing most needed is to have someone to look at the problem with eyes keen
Sometimes the swift option is secure. Still there is something about the irreplaceable human spirit that will endure.
There is something about a smile, there is depth to a touch, there can be healing in an embrace, there is so much that only another can do.
meant to reduce errors and increase efficiency. Understood still I would like someone to talk to me.
Oxygen
On the rooftop there was a patch of grass
A tree
Flowers
and a bench
On the street there was nothing green to be scene
So rather than be grounded I head to the top of the world
Just to breathe.
jj2019 2019 Poetry Marathon