Tag Archives: fatalism

Sentence

Outside,
a long grey morning lingers,
its slow light trickling
into the cell;
yawning awake and staring back
from an indifferent mirror,
a face dragged from
penultimate sleep,to shave
and breakfast then read a paper
whose pictures and words
soon crack and crumble
back into the slow
grey here and now;
Down a long corridor of noise,
a clock’s pitiless circumference
recites the rote of measured steps
toward a room where witnesses
leaf through butterfly-winged pages
of small neat Bibles,in anticipation
of the impartial,unhurried
Order of Service;
Valves,transparent tubing,leather restraints;
50mg.sodium thiopentol,to induce unconsciousness,
10mg.pencronium bromide,to stop respiration,
20mg.potassium chloride,to stop the heart;
Outside,the long grey morning lingers.

High Noon

The Hours wait,
impatient
for the day
to start.

One,Two and Three,
begin to count
and count again,
the seconds
the minutes
every one of them.

Four and Five,
stare stolidly at those before
and at those to come,
knowing that it is early
and it’s their time
in the Sun.

Six,Seven and Eight,
march the morning past
circadian,quotidian rythm
round and round,
round again until;

Nine and Ten,
hastening toward Noon
for whom the bell tolls,
that hour that is doom,
thine and theirs
and those of men
expedited by Nine and Ten;

until Eleven
arrives announced,
unwelcome harbinger
of the fading morn,
long forgotten dawn
passed by and waved at,
for one last time as
Eleven struts and frets
its three-score minutes
upon the clock,
and then its chimes
are heard no more.

Twelve
comes at High Noon,
on the Train,
a decision to be made
by someone stuck
between a hard place
and a rock,
all becomes clear
at Twelve
O’Clock.

Time and again..

Time,
time,
time crippled crawls
across the clock,
clutching at straws
the chaff of seconds,
7..7..9..11.;
All that mattered
all that made sense
swept away by whirlwinds
of chance that took
away forever that stilness
before the broiling of clouds
and hammered anvils of thunder;
Now forgotten that roll-call
of names,names themselves
erased from the pages,
torn discarded scattered and
lost amid deepening shadows
of time..time..
time crippled crawls
across the clock
clutching at straws
the chaff of seconds,
7..7..9..11..

(Louis Kasatkin has asserted his Right to be identified as the author of this work)

The Fighter:A Noble Art (Rebooted as Reqiuem For A Fighter ,3 Jan.2020)

Chico “The Bull” Torres
practitioner of the pugilistic arts,
was considered by his employers
the “Men” from Reno Nevada
as the best light heavyweight
prospect of his generation;
Chico would’ve gone on to challenge
the renowned Hagler and Hearns
and like them had his glory,
become beatified and transcendent
in the hearts of his compatriots,
but the moon crossing Sagittarius
made such a moment inauspicious;
repeated adrenalin thrusted blows
spurting fountains of haemoglobin
the viscerality of their acute pain
of bone on bone on bone
sending The Bull and his compatriots’dreams
crashing down down into canvass oblivion;
his brain torn
slashed kidneys bleeding
and oxygen failing,
for Chico “The Bull”Torres,
the moment of glory
had already passed.

(Louis Kasatkin has asserted his Right under the Copyright,Designs&Patents Act 1998 to be identified as the author of this work)