Tag Archives: Kasatkin’s Jejeune period oeuvre.


Gibbet – shadowed the long slaughter
of hang – dog afternoons is shaking fleas
at screw-top topless towers ,
– holier than thou –
sweeter than nectar
sea captain’s sermons drowning
empty pots with their cloudburst
souls’ everyday oceans ,
neatly dispensing into quartered calico
absconded tanners,fortuitous recompense
for dismal hours spent not having
an evening loud with beer;

Ragged evenings’ dust-bowled veins
irrigated by glamorous gold nectar ,
restoring exhausted tongues with ,
stories , myths and inebriate fables
of addle-arsed angels serving
plates of tepid manna to wizened ,
crouching rats cornered by a nostalgia
for drooping eyelid afternoons ,
dry as bones sucked to a gleam ,
by licentious hyenas no longer in vogue ,
their severed heads staring
at stones ripped away from
redundant wombs that bled black clouds ,
of court-martialled men
in towns washed by crocodiles’ saline ,
applied by nightingales
to Crimean wounds ;

Ruptured virgin dawns implode
on tongues royally buried
in ashen debris pyramids ,
where squatting toad soliloquies
excavated from the lava depict ,
silken bursting bowel purses
drenching furtive hedges with
their sows’ ears coin congested bile ,
gently loosening lessening
throngs’ senile embrace of
cauterised eulogies morse-coded
beyond adagioed horizons of corteged streets,
their veiled memories of sunken maydayed hives,
charred opiate lives exhaled through membranes
into the ” open sesame ! ” promised grey ,
twisting ,slowly slowly in its Turin-shrouded dreams.

( This poem has lain virtually untouched and unpublished in my personal archives since circa 1988 , a jejeune ” homage ” of sorts to ” Under Milkwood ” and ” Ulysses ” )

Shakespeare Wrote This: “Credit Where It’s Due”

” Dear Sir,

A gallon of ale

and two pots of Honey,

please extend my credit

I’ve got no Money;

A side of bacon

and some cutlets of Pork,

let me pay you next week

I’ve no trinkets to Hawk;

I need new shoes for my wife

and a new set for the Horse,

put them on the slate

you’ll get paid of Course;

These few necessities will see me Through,

until I find a buyer

for Henry IV,Part Two.”

(I,Louis Kasatkin hereby admit to penning this back in 1998 at the time of the release of “Shakespeare in Love”which went on to get the Oscar for motion picture for that year.)

The Clock…

Imagine imagine imagine
if you would,
that there was a time
and it was stood,
dead still still stock
the imminent tick and awaited tock,
staring staring staring
down from its face
integers and moments eager to race,
in circles circles frantically around
all giving vent to their ceaseless sound,
counting counting and counting again
the seconds the minutes
everyone of them.

Imagine imagine imagine
just for fun
that there was a race
that was almost run,
the impatient tick and hastening tock
left us dead still still stock,
staring staring staring
at the waste
of all the time slipped past in haste,
counting counting and counting again
the days of our dying
everyone of them.

Imagine imagine imagine…

(another performance piece from circa 1996)

The Unknown Trojan

The Anatolian sun shone bright
over Troy’s topless towers,
far from whose watchful gaze
you clashed with a foreign
soldier on that day;
Gleaming flashing blade thrusts
parried clashed and tore away
that stranger’s veil of immortality,
as your prowess sent him sprawling,
sprawling into Morpheus’ arms;
You made to bear away his
gilded helmet as a trophy,
it was Achilles there at your feet,
though you never even knew
as you fell into the
same forgetful sand;
your life-force soaking and blending
where later a braggart would stand,
on whose head Homer would place
his garlands of poetic praise
and save none for you;
Anonymous eidolon expiring,
you lie but cannot hear
Andromache lament nor Priam the gods berate,
as your life’s coin was spent
in unequal exchange of fate.

(an early work which I wrote around the same time as “1066 and all that”(originally “Norman Footslogger”) and “Marston Moor”,the common theme being,the participation and fate of the common soldier in what some view to be among History’s significant military encounters)

Salvador Dali:(On hearing of his death)

The crying harlequin’s

sculpted tears

empty the ornate fountains,

where flames blind the prophets

who only arise once crowds

give cheer to the

elevation of mountains

at angles seen

only at sunrise

when Alice dreams

of empty fountains


by tears.

Aesthetic note:- this poem is best enjoyed whilst looking at a Dali painting;any Dali painting.

Roy Orbison ( 1936 – 1988 )

in dreams

Hope has deserted the streets,

and golden days have faded


Your beloved Bayou shall never see

you again and nights will only

be spent with loneliness and


Even as jukeboxes search

in vain for your 78’s,

the solace of your voice is echoing

for the last time.

(this work appeared originally in Leeds Other Paper way back in time)