24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
First God’s gospel given
For to accept by those willing
Time and chance changes
Lives of many rearranges
Darkness of life
Tornadoes, Earthquakes and strife
One World Rule
Don’t give in and be fooled
Military Law came
The Mark taken by many the same
Fear set in
Not to buy anything without the stain
Truth Ends
A New Time Begins
The empty space, staring her down
The Clock
Glaring at her, from behind.
Gone were the people
who could drown out the sound
She didn’t dare turn around.
Studying the wall, towering and creeping
keeping her mind, as loud as she could
Noticing the cracks and openings
Tracing back to its conjuring.
Glancing up at the, white round face
it’s black embellishments, sharp and pointy
running its red tongue
around, encompassing
clicking its teeth, with every second
Its eyes moving,
every hour and minute
She could hear it
Trying to block it out
the footsteps in the hall
the alarms in the next room
the voices, that carried, running
along the concrete walls
But it always comes back
to the Ticking
As waiting, has its own
Palpable
Sound
Happily-ever-after
mythology only prefacing
the sequel
continuing the saga
tacking on the index onto
volume one
having read this scene
from life movies
writing, rewriting the books
playing déjà vu-all-over-again
never more than
countless times
here-we-go-again
monotony of changing times
same cast of characters
different roles
haven’t-I-seen-this-show-before?
Exit, stage right
enter stage left
either or, vice versa
prefacing intermission
part one ends…
next!
time to regroup, recalibrate
endings are simply ellipsis
masquerading as comfort
to the ill-at-ease
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2016
I
illuminated
dreams
screaming to be
embarked upon unwillingly
youth often comes last while
energy is drained away into
outside its ways begging to cling
generational to generational
lasting only a few seconds for
rapidly growing kids hungered
damning their youth in effort
to separate from the words
so small to them
meaning an expulsion of understanding
greater than before
ever turning without an
End
Funny how at the beginning
You can find an end,
Shining like recycled gold
Or the afterbirth
Of something long, strenuous,
And possibly inadvisable.
When you find the end,
You can place it with great delicateness
On your finger.
It may fit there, snugly,
Sparkling into the eyes of those
Willing to see.
I lived the end.
Once, when I was thirty-one,
Just one year after getting married
And earning a masterful degree.
But those things, too, ended,
And hospital beds grew cold.
A bang or a whimper?
Fire or ice?
Slouching or sprinting with
Obscene alacrity?
Or perhaps with gentle, escalating doses of
Prozac and novelty?
Go somewhere
Travel
Go fast
Go slow
Don’t stop
Sit on the porch
Mingle with the young
Exercise
Meditate
Be optimistic
Don’t answer the phone
Destroy all electronics
Become invisible
Learn something
Go wild
Believe something
Go naked
I am somewhere
Hasten to listen
like grass springing after a rainfall
Hear every utterance
Words Matter
Refrain use of a quick tongue
before action seems foolish
For what is said can thud like stone
Words Matter
Relieve stress
allow bitterness to not inhibit your mouth
Mercy is the only language
Words Matter
The sound that awakens me and puts me to sleep
The touches and the voices that bring me to my feet
The unconditional and welcomed annoyance
That makes me yell, smile, laugh, and cry all in the same week
The “Ouch-es”, the “Stop it-s”, the “Leave me alone-s”, and the “Get out-s”
These phrases sound like hit records on repeat… and indeed they could be
As they are in my mind, music to me
The loudest and the most beautiful noise is never too noisy for me.
Slowly, long, pink fingers pull back the covers, What a beautiful display! Colored lines of beauty, caressing and creating soft curves across the scene, arising slowly, erasing the darkness into day! The gray mist of dreaming fades in her fairest light, As sweet, sensual sunshine bids adieu to the night!
The walls hang crooked.
The bottoms don’t touch.
The outside seeps
in like a heavier metal.
My skin a feast for any jaw
that can close on it. Quiet
heart, quiet your clanging
is waking the children.
There are no children. How
can even a bell be
out of tune. I mean, I can’t hear
the tune. I mean,
if I can’t hear it, how can
the heart be in it? The welts
rise up. The body a red
and white sand paper.
Give me something to rub
against and smooth.