Louis Kasatkin – Three Poems

poetLouis Kasatkin is the Founder and Editorial Administrator of Destiny Poets at www.destinypoets.co.uk . He was Poet-in-Residence 1999-2000 with Wakefield Trinity Wildcats Super League club and from 2001-2007 in another genre-breaking role as Wakefiield Cathedral’s Poet-in-Residence. Louis continues to be an inveterate community and political activist and blogger.

Kyrie Eleison

Lead me into
that gentle soft morning,
to that place
where men once stood
commanding the Sun,
to that place
where a half forgotten
long ago adagio
whispers through the air,
across the broken ground
and its sleeping grass,
to that place
moistened by the dew
of half remembered
valiant deeds;
Lead me then into
that gentle soft morning
of a going,
of a never coming back later;
Later the grand parade
halted, obedient, waiting
waiting at that place
where men once stood
commanding the Sun;
themselves cocooned in rapture
for the final salute,
one last acknowledgement
that this,
that all this,
is later.

Sparrow’s Song

Quietly the Sparrow sings
sings his songs amid the ruins ,
ruins that once were home to society
their laughter ,their joy ,their tears
their greatness ,
now counted as dust of
the balance ,found wanting ;
The Sparrow hops intermittently
his contralto cadences lending
their grace to a day deep in its grayness
wreathed in fond farewells unspoken ,
caught out too soon
in a hasty cataclysm
leaving no-one there to tell the tale ,
or recount the hubris that
led to such a squall ;
Except the Sparrow and others like him ,
their diffident reflective paeans
of muted praise adorning the
cosmic vision that no longer is
burdened by what it has chosen
no longer to see ;
Quietly the Sparrow sings ,
sings his songs amid the ruins
even without knowing that he alone
is now King.


Stark geometric lines
intersecting clean marble
and steel;
horizonless concourses
deserted entrance halls,
empty corridors
vacant escalators
in relentless
Walls hyphenated
with reminders
to purchase,
to consume
bellowing mutely
into the void;
shimmering platform mirrors,
clipped automated announcements,
data screens streaming
their silent prophecies;
Inexorable arrivals
and rumbling,
debouching into
the gleaming Now
of a glasstowered
morning amid its
awakening rage
there on
the bench
face down,
his skin again
no-one .



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