Tag Archives: contemporary society

Mystery Road Trip

Light and dark and

light and dark and then..

The long road into the nowhere

of a faraway never-seen;

Wind and rain and

wind and rain and then,

rain again,

washing the colours from

fading yester-me yester-you

yesterdays’ messages never sent,

telephones never answered,

doors that remain shut

at this and all hours,

no-one stirs inside the

Light and dark and

light and dark and then..

Sclerosis

The lights change

traffic crawls past

the discount stores

the charity shops and tanning salons,

off-licences and bookies,

the barbers and Greggs;

Another bleary-eyed morning

drab and dreich,

the cityscape wears the weather

like a mourning veil

pulled tight across its face;

Shuffling off their coils of ennui

in dribs and drabs

the denizens answer to

the day’s tolling bell,

unprepared,

looking the worse for wear.

Night Listener

Listening to faltering surreal broadcasts

serenading another Summer equinox,

the composition’s title eludes him,

Miles;haunting contemplative succinct

flags down thoughts mimicking melancholy,

Gil Goggins’ circumspect piano

embedded in the spent day’s residue

receding like the listener’s reverie

broken by random sniper-shots of glass,

endemic tension flowing,

burst-veined onto midnight alleys

of this midnight City,

frantic frazzled red ‘n’ blue

taking some more cold meat

away to the coroner’s slab,

away from midnight streets

haunted by ” Yesterdays”,

that title hunted down and

captured by a desire to

have words for that spell

cast on a night long ago

in a faraway City where

another night-listener

heard the night

with its surreal,faltering..

An Existential Divertissement

Where are our dreams

when we’re not dreaming them?

Where is everywhere else

when we’re not there?

What are the voices saying

when we’re not listening to them?

Where does the time go

when we’ve let it pass us by?

Will our graves remain empty

should we choose not to die?

Notes on an Approaching Oblivion

Outside
the snow drifted
like bad memories
across the gunmetal sky;
Someone called his name
as if through a mile long tunnel;

The spoon
the lighter
the pack of 5-millilitre syringes;
He shook the powder into the spoon,
mixed it with water;
a third of a bag,
a tenth of a gram,tops.

His body remembered what was coming,
Time would stop at last,
expanding horizontally instead
the emptiness would fill with..

He aimed the needle at his arm
at a 20-degree angle towards the heart,
always towards the heart,
the correct angle;

The blood was dark red;
it flowed into the syringe,
he pulled off the tourniquet
and injected;

The rush hit him like a..
his pulse disappeared
the world went black;

Someone called his name
as if through a mile long tunnel;
Outside
the snow drifted..

Click..

Screams get closer

and louder,

shouting and panic

from up ahead,

they’re straining forward to see;

All around the familiar

metallic sound,

people on their phones

click,click,click;

They don’t know what else to do,

Click,

they photograph and they scream,

Click,

they are bewildered,

Click,

and horrified

Click,

and frightened

but they click,

and click

and

Click..

My latest poem-noir ,"Click" will be posted within the next 24 hours on www.destinypoets.co.uk-make sure to leave your reviews there! But here's the spoken word version!

Posted by Louis Kasatkin on Sunday, 10 December 2017

Notes on a Meditation

On a bench in a park

in a distant corner of a city

a solitary figure sits

lost in a labyrinth of memories;

Thoughts traverse the long distances

between the days each one in turn

a palimpsest of the one before;

Perhaps if he recites the special words

in their correct order three times

quickly with his eyes shut,

then he’ll hear again the sounds of,

a harbour,

the keening and crying of gulls,

children playing in the sand;

Perhaps if he can make any word

mean anything at any given time

to anyone then he’ll see again,

the colour of summer parasols

twirling in rhythm to familiar

melodies from the bandstand;

a solitary figure sits in a park

on a bench in a distant corner of

a city lost in the memories of a labyrinth.

Disturbed

When you know that
there is someone there,
in the half-light of evening
behind the curtain
staring,
staring
at life as it ebbs
and flows outside,
outside;
Your time is fading
as they stare,
only time will tell
who is there,
staring,
staring
at your life as it
flows and ebbs
outside,
outside
where others pass and are unaware
that there is someone
behind the curtain
staring,
staring at them too,
but they don’t care,
it’s only you.

Disturbed – by Louis Kasatkin at www.destinypoets.co.uk

Posted by Louis Kasatkin on Thursday, 6 July 2017

Of Clocks and Faces

There are clocks older than time,

that would show us how little of it

there is left to spend,

were we only capable of

deciphering their numerals

we might hasten more

linger less decide sooner

hesitate only when we are done;

There are faces staring

into mirrors devoid

of any expectations,

their inscrutable reflections refusing

to conform to any predetermined

notions of content or structure;

the staring faces see nothing

not even themselves.

Absence of Words

Where are they?

where are those words

that should have been

here…. and…. here…. and here,

all arranged in neat,

ordered lines?

Where are they?

those absentees who’ve

neglected their solemn duty

and have absconded into obscurity:

Meaning like wheat

cannot be harvested if

the page like the field

isn’t planted beforehand;

so, where are they?

for….now…… gaps

are…………. evident,

the….. words……. are

…….. too

…….. few.