Kickstart Your Heart

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

  • friends are all for give and take
    photos: Dora Kazmierak (Louis’ 60th birthday party, 2017) “….it’s worth identifying who among the many people you encounter in your life are truly friends. Who makes time for you? Whose company enlivens, enriches and maybe even humbles you? Whom would you miss? Who would miss you? … what friendships have in... Read more »
  • Haul Shipwrecked Sailors into Advent ark
    Decorations dangle on trees, chosen presents hope to please, foreclosed families will surely freeze.   Nativity stories re-told in bathrobes, guardian angels pace and probe, stars compete with service strobes.   In city streets raucous choirs sing, candled dreams, church bells ring – will hard hearts crack to let Him in?   Will there be hope beyond kindly glow? Will there be slow-mo... Read more »
  • Old stories no longer scourge
      Watch rhythmic crests roll, unfurling maritime scrolls, sand crunches under soles.   Speckled wave-worn stones licked & rolled by cream-fringed foam: photoed with smartphone. You crouch, wait for rush, roiling water’s inland shush: quick! outrun tide push.   Seagulls swoop then surge, old stories no longer scourge:  new plot lines emerge.  ... Read more »
  • Let’s Cut to Chase
    photos: Dora Kazmierak Let’s cut to chase Let’s hug and kiss the human race Let’s put some smiles on every face.   Let’s not tweet in upper case Let’s all repent, get back to base, Let’s be blind to creed and race.   Let truth be what we try to trace Let lies get smacked across the face Let haters get... Read more »
  • Finis
    Many memories invested there, missed the calf-sweet scented air, finis – all book-worm exchanges; locked the dampened door that sticked, dumb-struck the loud time-clock click: no till sales rung up in lower ranges.   Shop stripped bare of many books, ghost-empty shelves, dust-prone nooks: all sold to dealers, or tipped in skip; bookish conversations have ceased, texts to all four winds... Read more »
  • Hidden hopes among the dusty shelves
    photos: Dora Kazmierak   Rows of books, somewhat regimented pages permeate the air, sweetly scented; authors are sinners, authors are saints: some show caution, others little restraint. Bookmarking tickets, postcards, old stamps, some books pristine, others foxed-damp, texts underlined, or margin annotated, autodidacts pencilled points firmly stated. Books recapture our much-missed youth, new languages are learned, differing truths, historians challenged by... Read more »
  • Offset Psalms
    photo: Dora Kazmierak ________________________ Rotary drums beat rhythms out, offset engine racket-shouts, rubber rollers turn in formation, duct nodes twisted: calibration. Sheet-fed separation: air hiss, chrome claws suck, proffer kiss, paper lifted, registration pause, image transfer: pressure caused. End-stacked reams: printed paper, print-room perfumed: chemical vapour; paper-cut stings, ink-tattooed palms: this failed-trainee sings offset psalms. Praise for printers who dare dissent, not to dictators their... Read more »
  • One day dad bought an MG sports
    The Sixties saloon six-cylinder growled: our Triumph 2000 tiger-prowled; rev-retarded minor models scowled.   One day dad bought an MG sports (a male mid-life crisis of sorts) our family of five fitted in, of course!   Few sports cars on our suburban road, most ceded to the bourgeois code: imaginations declined to explode!   Spoked-wheels sparkled, cartwheeled, ecstatic eyes behind small windshield happy hands... Read more »
  • I am a Happy Bigot
    I am a happy bigot * miscast-cast as cavalier; all are equally esteemed, let me make that clear.   I am a happy bigot, mercy gets my vote; this unquiet contrarian has no bile in his throat.   I am a happy bigot, my dissent not allowed; can we calmly contend far from madding crowd?   I am a happy bigot, I’m merely male –... Read more »
  • A Salt-souvenir Lingers
    Dora Kazmierak ______________________________________________ On a jagged shoreline white tasselled waves percussively pound; unhindered, wind whisks two solitaries, in silhouette, searching this way and that.   Both disappear, then re-appear, their rain-coated bodies bend; their foraging fingers pull, pluck  purply-green pod-bunches of little-wanted beach weed: sand-sprinkled Sea Purslane.   Bounty bagged, wet-cheeked contenders run to their car, wind slams doors decisively; safely cocooned, exhilarated, their breath mildews... Read more »