Let’s Cut to Chase

photos: Dora Kazmierak

Lou hatch

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 to know God’s grace.

 

Let’s conserve and not just waste

Let’s dream big, let’s touch and taste,

Let’s celebrate but let’s be chaste.

 

Let’s esteem, let’s showcase,

Let’s fight friends corners, make haste

to praise good people to their face.

 

Let all dangers be far displaced

Let all hurts be tight embraced

Let thirst for justice be fully slaked.

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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 released:

what value now published manuscripts?

 

Celsius-drop signals summer’s end,

brandishing wind makes boughs to bend:

changes temper autumnal air;

all rooms empty of authorial gathering,

silent the nerdy, expert blathering:

soon all summoned to that “winding stair”.

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The phrase “winding stair” is used in Yeats’ poem “A Dialogue of Self and Soul ” an exploration of the spiritually-minded man of God, and worldly-minded man of the sword.

Hidden hopes among the dusty shelves

photos: Dora Kazmierak www.instagram.com/dorakazmierak/

 

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Rows of books, somewhat regimented

pages permeate the air, sweetly scented;

authors are sinners, authors are saints:

some show caution, others little restraint.

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Bookmarking tickets, postcards, old stamps,

some books pristine, others foxed-damp,

texts underlined, or margin annotated,

autodidacts pencilled points firmly stated.

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Books recapture our much-missed youth,

new languages are learned, differing truths,

historians challenged by narrative witness:

Shaw queries Chesterton’s physical fitness.

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Authors aim to bless hearts and brains:

let neglected voices speak again,

we biblio-browse and diligently delve 

for hidden hopes among the dusty shelves…

Offset Psalms

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photo: Dora Kazmierak

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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 knees are bent;
in our mind some truth imprinted:
on our heart some hope is hinted.

One day dad bought an MG sports

NSW 1990 2

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 made snub gearstick wield…

 

Then modest cars bought after his divorce,

gone driver dreams, farewell sparky-torque:

replaced by budget brands of ill-report…

I am a Happy Bigot

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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 – not mean;

please don’t shout me

down with any spiteful spleen.

 

I am a happy bigot,

nuance begs for room;

sperm speeds, egg evolves:

baby-blesses willing womb.

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*Definitions of bigot: noun:   a prejudiced person who is intolerant of any opinions differing from his own.

see also: https://www.parents.com/pregnancy/stages/fetal-development/embryo-to-fetus-weeks-9-to-12-of-pregnancy/

A Salt-souvenir Lingers

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Dora Kazmierak https://www.instagram.com/dorakazmierak/

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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 windows;

the casually cleaned screen creates

imprecise apertures, blurry views.

                                                                            Later, fruit of forage washed,

                                                                            presented on a pottery plate,

                                                                            the harvest’s rich reward:                                                                        

                                                                            Sea Purslane – nutty snack

                                                                            snap-crunched, slowly savoured,

                                                                            A salt-souvenir lingers on tongues

                                                                                                              And fingers…

                                                                              

                                                                            

Old Walls Hide Many Hopes

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Do we need to pray in special places,

kneeling, hand-clasping, hiding our faces?

Even for sparrows, God’s deep concern!

  • no need for ritual, nor incense burn…

 

Old walls hide many hopes hand-written:

wails are uttered, weary souls are smitten;

such storied stones defy eternal intentions:

Messiah upturns rabbinic conventions.

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  • * Over a million notes are placed each year… the notes are collected twice a year and buried on the nearby Mount of Olives. Traditionally women have not been “allowed” to pray at the Wailing Wall…

    The Wailing Wall, by Carl Werner (1808-1894)

would have been

            

               coffin 2            

 

orchestral stillness

                                                                                   ten days

                                                  womb dead

          why resurrection refused…?

                                                                 “faith is evidence unseen…”

                                                                                                                       no hope hoax

visage almost abstract

                         passive icon

                                      flat faced

                                             skull collapse

                                                   water-bottle wobble

                                                                               neck flop

                                                                                          limbs limp

                                                                                                  dark eyes blank

                                                                                                              black hair vibrant

                                                                                                                        flesh petal-peeled

                      

                                                                                               paternal coward!

                                                                            her frowning  forehead            

                                                                     kissed     

                                                                           just                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              once

                                                                                                                               Lawrence Louis Holly grave

Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely, so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. – Deuteronomy 4 : 9

                                                                               

                                                                

                                                                                                                                               

Boarding School Summer Scenes

Photos: Dora Kazmierak https://www.instagram.com/dorakazmierak/

 

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1.

‘On The Boards’ blared from boarding school dorms,

sunny afternoons, fondly-recalled second form:

Rory* sang raw and raucous, urban blues,

denim dressed, unpretentious, paid rock dues.

NSW tennis courts copy

2.

See sporty mini-skirted girls, hear ricochet ping,

tennis ball bounce off taut racquet strings:

shyly watched, well-practiced their aversion,

tanned limbs, taut t-shirts tempt court incursion.

Library stairs copy

3.

Authors and artists from library books beckoned,

upstairs I ascend, teen intellectual, fecund:

biblio hush almost holy, few desks populated,

sun-warm wood-panelled walls vastly under-rated.

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