Kickstart Your Heart

Here’s a list of my latest poems. Go to Kickstart Your Heart to find them all!


  • we are nothing without our eyes
    true
      we are nothing without our eyes – easily shown anger, or brazen lies, pupils praise, or arrogantly despise.   such large scope, such small sphere, eye informs brain, tests atmosphere: calculates, calibrates, finally coheres.   eyes express, apertures amaze, speak when I can’t find right phrase; withering looks, making pride pay.   eyes grow weary, oft endless waiting, steady your gaze, halt all... Read more »
  • Ring out, easter bells!
    true
    Once-wounded, stripped, lash-whipped, punish punctuated that holy script; Quake-opened graves, eclipse-dark day; the tomb found empty, explain that away.   His tender mercies, so slow-detected our threadbare veins with life injected, our debts now settled: balance is nought, this story outlasts all shallow thought.   Ring out, easter bells! sing, seasonal choir! rhyme with worship, let poems inspire: rescue deed done, deep... Read more »
  • each visit may be our final meeting
    true
    Click to view slideshow. We smoke slim cigars, sitting at ease in your small, sunken sitting room, music blares, Hemmings heirloom: classical or jazz styles, both please. Caribbean smog scent-cloaks, you clear throat of catarrh croak;   our catch-up recalls connections, old family dramas over-provoked few chances left, lives time-choked. tongues crippled by over-corrections. Questions now rephrased, more kindly, words aim to bless... Read more »
  • Bedded, blessed and bared
    true
    So many contemporary depictions of sex are crass, pornographic and over-idealistic, in novels and films. This poem attempts to be forthrightly erotic, and at the same time, biblically subtle. Plump and pretty, crowned with surprise; beautiful your buttons, delightfully they rise, gravity un-defied, our bodies slightly battered, tired limbs entangled, hearts somewhat tattered. Fumbling blind in your... Read more »
  • Dull the menu
    true
    Still the autumn air, crisp and cold, familiar fireside tales soon retold; I’m chaperoned by terrier, Jack; plants get sniffed, then he runs back.   The pebble-path underfoot crunches, old boughs sag, blessed apple bunches: hanging harvest, waits to be plucked, the windfalls onto tall compost chucked.   Almost-contained, that rotting tide: a suet pudding with wet worms inside, sluggishly digested, puree... Read more »
  • Down high hedgerow lanes
    true
    Douglas Percy Bliss Take me down high hedgerow lanes when happy summer sun is high, past the somnolent old houses as hallowed haze blurs the sky.   I will walk with stick on shoulder, my skulking collie leads the way, birdsong embroiders fertile foliage, wild mammals tenuously stray.   Few cars colonise this rural scene, noble trees wear leafy crowns, I walk to... Read more »
  • Carraig Books: a fare-thee-well
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    Photos by Dora Kazmierak https://www.instagram.com/dorakazmierak/ ... Read more »
  • happy days for rescue dog!
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    photos by Dora Kazmierak http://www.instagram.com/dorakazmierak/ Tennis-ball dropped quite near feet, then hidden behind tree he waits, tick-tock tail-wag, smile so sweet who taught such charming traits?   Paw-worn path around tree base, forays remind, needed assistance, – ball throw triggers manic race speed pursued, terrier persistence.   Orb ballistic, racquet propelled down the long garden at speed, bounce area athletically smelled, lock-jaw clenched ball... Read more »
  • Happenstance
    true
    I had been trying for many years to write a poem about the boarding school girlfriend, who started me off writing, in 1972. One day in 1980 she turned up, out of the blue….for just a few hours. I never heard from or saw her ever again…until someone kind found... Read more »
  • Abandoned now
    true
    photo: Jérémy RONDAN  www.flickr.com/photos/jr-pharma/ What structural style suitable when building praise in stone? Beautiful buildings, indisputable – coward king, abandoned throne.   Hearts once poured out oblation in energetic, imaginative wealth; abandoned now, shuttered station, holy names whispered with stealth.   Passionate craft, long-completed, now curlicues plead in plain-chant; souls sceptic and priests defeated: local people get replaced by plants.   Was one-time wonder a waste? Did hearts... Read more »