Poetry: Selections from Ken Kakareka

make something happen

i’ve noticed 
that life 
goes by 
if you don’t 
make something 
happen. 
it doesn’t 
think about 
you. 
i could sit 
for days 
wallowing out 
my window, 
watching people 
conquer 
their ambitions 
while it 
all just
keeps moving, 
leaving you 
behind. 
unless 
you get out 
ahead of 
it 
and make 
something 
happen, 
it’ll 
pass you by
like a gust 
of wind.



stroke of optimism

i’m just 
a dumb guy 
from pennsylvania – 
unseen. 
that’s how 
i feel 
sometimes. 
it’s hard 
not to 
in today’s 
world. 
you work 
relentlessly 
only to be 
stomped on, 
chewed up, 
and spit out. 
dour gum, 
no fun. 
but i keep on 
moving, 
believing that 
it’s key 
to not being 
completely 
squashed. 



plummet

alone 
at work 
in a 
vacant building 
on friday night 
and this 
is when 
the poetry 
creeps in. 
no one else 
wants to 
be here 
but i 
have to  
for the 
money. 
yellow taxis 
and 
bustling bones 
decorate 
the streets 
below. 
i could jump 
into the sea 
and join them 
but would they 
catch me, 
or let me 
plummet? 
if i know 
new york 
i’d go with…  



unworthy

what 
do i get 
for my 
artistic 
endeavors 
and soulful 
outpour? 
likes, 
no loves, 
mostly dislikes 
online. 
certainly never 
loot 
or clout – 
just wild bouts 
of depression. 
poetry 
is not real 
in the real world, 
certainly nothing 
worthy 
of recognition. 
but
ridicule, 
laugher, 
disaster
are all invited
to the 
poetry party. 



time

i get worried 
that i’ll 
run out of 
time 
to write 
everything
sometimes 
i think 
i’m wasting 
my time 
on words 
but i
realize 
there’s not 
enough time 
to write 
everything
time is  
precious, 
i think 
just about 
the most 
precious thing 
we know. 



whiskey blues

so you’re 
hungover 
on a rainy 
monday morn 
listening to 
vienna 
by billy joel 
when you 
realize 
it’s time 
to turn over 
a new leaf. 
you drop 
the pen 
so long 
old friend 
and go out 
in search 
of sunshine. 
not sure 
what you 
might find 
if anything
but the 
main thing 
is 
you’re in 
pursuit. 



private

you 
are not 
supposed 
to be 
a writer – 
what makes 
you think 
that you 
can have 
quirky, 
original thoughts? 
you 
are not 
from hollywood 
or 
new york city. 
you 
are from 
small-town 
pennsylvania 
where creatives 
are not bred –  
only 
gas station 
attendants, 
laymen, 
and altar boys 
turned priests! 
you 
are not 
supposed 
to be 
a writer – 
write this 
down 
so you 
remember 
and keep it 
to yourself. 



altar boy blues

i was in 
5th grade – 
maybe 7th – 
but i’ll say 5th
for the sake of 
embarrassment 
serving mass 
when i could 
no longer 
hold it. 
father was taking 
too long 
to finish 
his sermon. 
so i shoved 
the book 
in his face 
as piss streamed 
down my leg 
onto 
the altar. 
mass continued 
while my 
confused parents 
and satisfied sister 
watched me 
scramble red-faced 
down the altar 
and into 
the dressing room 
where i 
could not get 
my pecker out
fast enough 
and finished
pissing my pants 
in private.  



opinions

we all have 
opinions 
but none 
of them 
are right. 
writing 
should be… 
marriage is… 
abortion… 
bukkake! 
not sorry 
for the 
graphic 
imagery. 
i find it 
funny that 
bukowski’s name 
sounds 
so much like 
the word. 
if you 
don’t know 
its meaning, 
look it up. 
that’s my 
opinion. 



rag doll

i teach 
this 6th grade 
korean boy 
in night class. 
bad english, 
brilliant innocence. 
“i wish 
my dad 
to stop 
smoking,” 
he confided. 
i see his dad 
pacing 
in the 
parking lot 
ripping heaters. 
nervous smile, 
nervous wreck. 
2 kids, 
a mortgage, 
the hurricane 
of life 
whirling him 
around 
like a 
rag doll. 
kid, 
i think. 
there are 
worse ways 
to cope. 





Ken Kakareka's latest novel is Summer of Irresponsibility (Alien Buddha Press, 2023). His words have appeared or are on their way in numerous rags including Gargoyle MagazineThe Gorko Gazette, & New Pop Lit.
 

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