Author Archives: Louis Kasatkin

About Louis Kasatkin

Unadulterated commentary and analyses on all aspects of contemporary literary arts news and topics, can be viewed on twitter under the cunning guise of @louiskasatkin also at my blogs,"fahrenheit451"on blogger.com and "And So It Goes"@ www.wordpress.com My facebook page etc.etc, ad infinitum...

The Man in the High Tower

Among all the tall towers

there is a man in the

highest tower of all;

a man alone

surveying all that is his,

and most of what he sees

among all the tall towers,

is his;

Orders,commands,purpose,vision

and power flow from this pinnacle,

this apogee of authority

down,down into the

favellas, barrios, ghettoes,

shanty towns and slums,

to those who hear his voice

relayed by officials, underlings,

acolytes and the vast panoply

of enforcement;

Even from among all the tall towers

they gaze up at

the highest tower of all

and imagine in there

a man alone;

an old man

all alone

and

dying

of Cancer.

Corpse & The Duke

The carriage alighted outside

his well-appointed townhouse,

whereupon the elegantly attired

Duc de Charlatan stepped forth

jauntily as the carriage door opened;

Yet within the blink of an eye

his aristocratic frame froze,

as if struck by some sudden palsy,

Awash with incredulity

the Duke’s visage barely managed

to utter the refrain,

” I say,you there fellow! be about

your business or else!”

his carved italianate walking stick

pointing accusingly at the object of his ire,

a person prostrate on the ground,

their frame interjected geometrically

twixt the carriage’s door and the front

door to the Duc de Charlatan’s habitation;

Two footmen were despatched with

immediate haste to confront what

seemed to be layers of still-bound

ragged cloth,

” Be on your way or we shall summon

the Constable!”

The directness of their invective

whilst assuaging his excellency’s ire,

had little effect on the person

remaining prostrate on the footpath;

” Why don’t you move silly fellow ?

before I tread on you!” exclaimed the Duke,

Having ascertained the scene for a while,

the Footmen were prompted,

by conscience perhaps,

to inform his excellency

that the person on the ground

was in fact deceased;

” Such churlish effrontery to persons

of higher standing, incommoding one’s

carefully planned morning!”

extemporised the Duke,

to which a passing neighbour nodded sagely,

as they stepped over the cadaver.

The Haircut (by Russ Crabtree)

There once was a maiden so fair

Who cut all her families hair,

Collected all up in a great big bin

Threw it all over the garden in Spring,

Sat down in the chair for a rest

To watch the birds pick it up for their nest,

But the maiden got angry began to shout

The birds made a mess on her washing she’d just pegged out,

It was dire

all over my best white shirt I wear in the choir,

Them birds can be a pest,

I’ve let them use my hair for their nest.

Editorial footnote:

Russell “Russ” Crabtree is a part of Writers Assemble -the local community group project run by Destiny Poets as part of our wider community involvement and outreach.

For more info, checkout the facebook page for Writers Assemble.

Fin de Siecle

Trailing in the wake of Lions,

Hyenas come to feast on the carcass

of someone else’s name;

Shattered windows,

Burned out cars,

Looted Stores,

Toppled statues;

Triumphant Vandal hordes

breaking the gates of Rome,

trampling its glories,

defecating on Temple steps;

Anarchy like lava

spewing from a volcano’s maw

shrouding the days

in its ashen nights

and its silence drowning our screams.

Hepcats

Hepcats


over at Maxi’s


next door to the Flamingo,


friday nite cool;


Coltrane on his Blue Train,


Philly Joe’s drums hustlin’


for space and time


tryin’ to fill a vacuum


that Coltrane never leaves;


piercing gliding whetted


Coltrane’s sax cuttin’ the joint

cuttin’ the nite into ribbons


of color,strands of splendor


intoxicating innuendo for


Hepcats their mint juleps


colder hemp harder


earthier like primordial notation


drivin’ that Blue Train along


outbound bound beyond


all talk all senses


over at Maxi’s


next door to the Flamingo


friday nite cool.

footnote on ” Hepcat “.
A stylish or fashionable person, especially in the sphere of jazz .

Water, The cycle of life (by Doug High)

Water, The cycle of life.

People scatter ashes
to visit now and then
but I have found another way
to always remember them
I look up to the clouds
all colours do I see
evaporated water
that we all used to be.

Water cannot ever be destroyed
it’s always been around
from the steam from a cremation
or buried under ground
they say that half our body
is made of water pure
but water it must leave us
no use to us anymore.

But the world will keep on turning
as it has for eternity
and water is into everything
from ice to a huge oak tree
it’s even in refreshments
that we all have to drink
even in the washing up
that ends up down the sink.

It will start another cycle
from the sea up to the clouds
end up in another creature
forever going around
but no one escapes the cycle
it’s in every kind of people
the good the bad the ugly
even the dam right evil.

So next time when you shed a tear
don’t be quick to brush away
it could be a long lost loved one
saying, hello I’m always here
and when we leave this paradise
and thrown into the mix
rising from your ashes
will be water your phoenix.

Doug High.

Void

On a day of

no particular significance,

where nothing especially

happened,

no report was made

no notes were taken,

nor behaviour observed;

the absence of animation

accumulated

throughout the day,

leaving public spaces uninhabited

the flora and fauna

undisturbed and unmolested;

Absence this your sting,

Emptiness this is your victory.

Little Richard

” A wop-boppa-loop-bop..”,

Cutting sharp

like a razor thro’ old silk,

your timbre broke

a thousand taboos

set racing a million heartbeats

beating along with,

your three minute records,

you were vinyl;

Long Tall Sally

lighting up the ether

like the fourth of July,

Tutti Frutti painting gaudy colors

on a monochrome radio dial;

you were engine of the sock-hop ball,

you were Rock

and Roll,

” a-wop-bam-boom!”