by Louis Bertrand Shalako
c2010
All Rights Reserved
The trouble with Tycho
Is that it’s very dry
The moon is a harsh mistress
Unless you know how to handle her
A city of darkness
A city of glass
A city of bones, a city of masks
Bones of crystal, masks of glass
But at least I am willing
To put my face where my mouth is
And for some reason, in some way
Somehow,
I am still morphing into a Frenchman
It’s not so bad being a Frenchman
But I would sure as hell like to know why.
Shalako Publishing. A showcase of poetry, art, music, and whatever else we can jam in here.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Rejection.
by Debbie Okun Hill
c2010
All Rights Reserved
This is an old poem
see how it bleeds
with a slow beat
frail words
without a home
its spine bent
t-a-t-t-e-r-e-d
blue ink fading
a mere smudge
on whispering lips
Debbie Okun Hill is an executive member of The Ontario Poetry Society and an associate member of The League of Canadian Poets. Since the fall 2004, over 150 of her poems have been published in over 60 publications/e-zines including Other Voices, Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine and Ascent Aspirations anthologies. Her first chapbook Swaddled in Comet Dust: A Collection of Award-winning Poems was published by Beret Days Press in 2008.
c2010
All Rights Reserved
This is an old poem
see how it bleeds
with a slow beat
frail words
without a home
its spine bent
t-a-t-t-e-r-e-d
blue ink fading
a mere smudge
on whispering lips
Debbie Okun Hill is an executive member of The Ontario Poetry Society and an associate member of The League of Canadian Poets. Since the fall 2004, over 150 of her poems have been published in over 60 publications/e-zines including Other Voices, Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine and Ascent Aspirations anthologies. Her first chapbook Swaddled in Comet Dust: A Collection of Award-winning Poems was published by Beret Days Press in 2008.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Little Ms. Robot.
by Louis B. Shalako
c2010
All Rights Reserved
I, robot
Don’t have the capacity
To dream about tomorrow
But I never spell a word wrong
Fueled up, brains all loaded
With everything that’s passed
And I have no place to go
I can never die
As long as the batteries last
Here I come
Here I come
Here I come
I have never speculated
As to where I came from
Did I spring from the dust?
Was I created?
I’ve never cared. I’ve never asked.
Simply because it’s easier
In the Good Lord I trust
Here I come
Here I come
Here I come
Cryogenic heart, skin a polished silver
One thing I am glad of
For this I thank my builder
I can never rust.
And in my own self-assumptions;
I place my deepest trust
I, robot; am happy within myself.
Here I come
Here I come
Here I come…
Editor's Note: This poem first appeared in 'Twisted Tongue,' (UK) as 'Mr. Robot,' in July 2010. A quick gender-changing re-write, and you got a whole new poem! But at least now the picture makes a little more sense.
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