Cheese Toast
My sister and I sit
at the red kitchen table eating
cheese toast. The
cheese stretches between
our mouths
and our toast until the
rope breaks.
I remember the good old days – Half Marathon Poem #9
I remember the good old days
It was so much better than you
kids today get – we could eat all
the lead paint chips we wanted,
breathe in particulate-laden air,
throw our garbage anywhere we
wanted.
And the fights! I remember this
one time, when Jimmy Hawkins
punched a kid in the head
and knocked out two teeth.
Yeah, the kid got brain damage,
but still, it was a hell of a fight.
If we broke the rules at school,
we got hit. We learned pretty quick
not to get caught – we made sure
we tattled on the kid with
brain damage, because it was
funny to listen to him cry
after getting paddled for
something he didn’t remember
doing.
So, yeah, the good old days.
They sure were good.
Hour 9: Liquorice pipe
rubbery, greenish, blackish
mouth watered
long and sleek of two inches upwards
the long worthy trek to find you, buy you and chew on you
how rewarding for a barefoot rickety girl
thorns left no mark in the mind yet on the little feet
tuck shop owner grinning at sight of his loyal rope customer
in an ensuing silent exchange of coins and rope
each turns their back
satisfied by their priced possession
in that instant – yummy rope dumped in a pocket away from approaching playmates
this was a secret possession
so loved it was for one mouth
enjoyed in a lonely corner behind mulberry trees
Tomorrow the same trip, an amazing event to look forward to.
Inner child, fed
There is a danger when I am home alone
and spy a carton of eggs
when opening the refrigerator door
even moreso if there is also
bread in the breadbox
and then if a saucepan is clean
I can hard-boil some of those eggs
while in another clean pan
I can heat butter, milk, flour,
salt and pepper – heavy pepper
into smooth, creamy white sauce
while the eggs boil
the bread settles into
the toaster
all returning me to
culinary Nirvana of my childhood
sliced, warm, hard-boiled eggs
on buttered toast
cozily smothered in
a blanket of cozy white sauce
a meal kings would kill for
all my psychological
and cholesterol needs sated
And for a few minutes
G-d is in heaven
all is right with the world…
unless my cardiologist
reads this.
– Mark L. Lucker
© 2022
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd
Rubiyat of the Miuk (Hour 9)
In those wee days of life on this plane,
milk was one sweet thing for tea and others on its lane.
It was cool to call it miuk, so long as milk showed up;
the corrupted name didn’t matter as it didn’t draw the cane.
One day, bad liquid miuk got into my stomach from a cup.
Its upset put me in its enmity club.
The upset was over in a few days and life went on.
Going forward though, I walked the path of miuk’s discernment club.
Forty years later, I part ways with muik and friends, one by one.
It reminds of things we used to love but now in the class of bygones.
Then it’s fun to watch the young relish the love of those things
while we bask in the glory of our new found dawn.
Playing Fields
I stare at my desk
not knowing what to do next
looking over at my friend , who seems to also be in distress
“oh no” , this is going to be one huge mess
I let out a sigh and begin reading the first question
my eyes widen in fear ,
“ oh dear” ,
might just wait for my resurrection
I think back to the day of playing soccer in the fields
how I wish I could go back to those days indeed
12 Bird Poems
IX.
The Bird Tree is in a bubble
I inhabit during fleeting
Vermont summers.
Perennials surround the tree
and flank the observation porch
a few feet away.
Squirrels, Chipmunks, and
an occasional Black Bear
are also attracted by the feeders.
Porch visitors comment on the activity
around my porch, and might be scolded,
as they sit, by a Blue Jay looking for peanuts.
This is healing energy which, perhaps,
I could bottle and distribute –
an elixir in these dismal times.
Creamed Tuna on Toast–A Meal My Family Liked the Most
A tin of light tuna in oil–“Chicken of the Sea’–
once passed as gourmet at least with me,
so it might come back with a recession,
for once all were skinny (without question):
First blend dallops of white flour and butter.
Once the butter melts, take this cue from Mother:
Let the mixture come to a rolling boil
before stirring in tuna and then enjoy.
I am enjoying writing my poetry.
It’s been a while since writing poetry. Oh when we were sheltered in place. I wrote almost everyday.
Now, I got things to do people to see and places to go. So, when I became aware of the poetry marathon. I challenged myself to sit for a full 12 hours and write poetry. I thought it was going to tougher then it actually turned out to be. I think my muse showed up and showed out. I was challenged to use my imagination. Be a wordsmith and articulate my thoughts down on paper to the best of my ability. I am concluding my 12 hour odyssey with two more poems and I feel very accomplished and motivated to “KEEP WRTING! I usually like to write long hand it feels faster to me. However, after typing my poems into the software. I will be creating on my desk top from now on unless my word come in my head while I am sleeping like the like to do somethings. They can be so unrulily at time. LOL I will be promoting this event in other workshops for next year. Everyone stay happy and bless in the coming new year for us poets.