Kickstart Your Heart

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


  • My Online and Offline Encounter with Russia and Russians, 1975 – 2017
    true
    Going to Russia in 2008 was a dream come true for me, I being a confirmed closet Slavophile. I first got interested in that very misunderstood continent through the suffering Christians, the dissident authors and the underground artists, in the mid-1970’s. Then, I had become a part-time, one-man protest band, on... Read more »
  • Life-long aquatic dread
    true
    Neither parents present at first swim, pale-pathetic, goose-bumped skin, life-long aquatic dread quickly set in. Arm motions awkward, geek-clumsy, turbulent thrashed pool,  sudsy, lungfuls of water, Louis unlucky.   Showers, menacing macho laughs: swear-shouting, working class lads; brutal cold bulk, hated Blackrock baths. Un-muscular, myopic, merely six, misplaced middleclass, un-virile, thick: nude nervous, fearful sausage-pricks. 2. Final failure at boarding school, dog-paddle pupil sank like... Read more »
  • Familia
    true
    Grip crushed, tightly held husband’s hand, sweat soaked, focussed face vainly fanned; pitiful prayer cannot absorb contraction pain, birth waters gush, sheet marked, graffitti stain: primitive animal-pant, movement stirs within, self-propelled push – let baby’s birth begin!   Thighs hinge, your tendons rack-stretched, grimace-pained, red-faced, effort etched; this father’s futile many unstoppable tears – abruptly a damp, dark haired head... Read more »
  • Ferry journey to Father
    true
    My ninety one year old father, sending me sixty year birthday greetings and prior to yet another stair fall… Just after my 60th birthday I went on a pilgrimage to my 91 year old father. To call it just a typical family visit would be an understatement. One never knows what... Read more »
  • Louis & Jack
    true
    I have long dreamt about celebrating our rescue dog, Jack-the-Lad. I hit on the idea of trying to capture his character, via “a day in the life” type of approach. When I met photographer Dora Kazmierak, I knew that I had the answer. She has well-curated many aspects of this... Read more »
  • Memories of Mount Ievers
    true
    A homage to a heritage house built in 1740, situated in Co. Clare. I have had some access to it for the past thirty years. Mount Ievers stands on one hundred acres of forest and field. It has survived many angry epochs of Irish history, and still remains in the... Read more »
  • did i jump, or was i pushed, that day?
    true
    sixties school drop-out, academic failure, existential attitude, my default behaviour, never hip enough to fall out of favour.   working class mates led different lives, pub-drinking and disco-fevered jives; alone in suburbia, absent sharp knives.   smoking scented French cigarettes, playing songwriter LPs, sad mindset, crude, clumsy poet: no literary threat.   “would i like to hear a bible speaker”? a neighbour asked... Read more »
  • 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 »
  • Which visit will be our final meeting?
    true
    Click to view slideshow. Sitting in your sunken sitting-room, we smoked small cigars, at ease, loud fond music, aural heirloom: classical or jazz, both please;   air burnt-scented by Cuban cloak, you cough, clear throat of croak.   Many years of lost connections, kitchen-sink dramas once provoked, paralysis cured, absent corrections: time-short talk, not so choked;   we both ask questions more kindly, soft words now... Read more »