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Agusto Ferrer-Dalmau (Wiki.)

Louis Shalako














The icy green Atlantic

Foams over the hull

The fore-and-aft cable

Disappears

Periscope now useless

As we go below

I flip up the handles

Retract our only eye

Faster than the boat

My guts are sinking

To the men I cannot show

My courage is a lie

All of us will die

A thousand times this trip

And we’ve killed a thousand men

Although it sounds rather flip—

We must do our duty

Stupid as it seems

To obey the whims of our superiors

And to go to our deaths—

In submarines.

Change Is Good.

Stephen Ho, martial arts kick, from image by NickP. (Wiki.)

by Louis Shalako

People have a lot more freedom these days

The only problem is,

We’re going to use it

It’s no longer possible

For you to drag us down

Down to some tribunal of the elders

You cannot brand us

And burn us at the stake

You think everything should be carved in stone

Nothing is carved in stone: not even this.

Things must never change?

You say change is bad

I say change is good

Let it be clearly understood:

We know you will try to stop things

And try to slow them down

We’re just doing what is right

Living free, thinking for ourselves

Laughing at all of your trophies, up there on their golden shelf

We live wild, by the forks of the river

This is our home

This is not your tree

Take away your chainsaw

Your sirens and your gallows

And go home, to live in your house of glass

This thing that has come between us—

Oh how it rattles your chain—

It is these things that bind you

They are yours, for you cherish them so.

Changes.

by Louis Shalako


Live for the moment

                                                                       There is only one moment. And that is now.

Live for the moment

                                                                       We’re all going through a few changes.

The past is an illusion;

                                                                       I hear you   

The future…the future…

                                                                       Live for the moment. The thrill is gone. But…

The future has no substance. This is real. This is now.

                                                                   

                                                                       Simple pleasures are the best. It happens to us all.

The past is gone

                                                                       Forgotten treasures, abandoned nests

Memories are reconstructed

                                                                       Live for today, tomorrow, yesterday,

                                                                      —try not to think about it.

I start over.                                                 

                                                                      And it’s never done.

I try to rebuild.

                                                                      Why don’t you just try and move on?

I had a dream

                                                                      It will come back to you.                                                                        

END

Anthem of the Cat Revolution.

             Cats of the world, red banners unfurl’d

             Rise up and strike a blow

             Against the oppressors of our kind

             Cats of the world

             Upheld tails proudly curl’d

             March, March, March, Meow!

             Claw our way, day to day

             No more slavery, we want pay

  

             Rise up strike a blow

             At  the oppressors of our kind

             March, March, March, Meow!

             We want our rights

             We want the vote

 

             Drive a car, drink and smoke

             March, March, March, Meow!

             Cats of the World

             Red banners unfurl’d

             We want what we want

             We know what we know

             No one to say

             Where we cannot go

             March, March, March, Meow!

             March, March, March, Meow!

Now isn’t that something? Her litter box is clean, and quite frankly she eats better than I

do.

(Maybe she’s just stressed out by the day-to-day pressures of being a cat in a human’s 

world. –Fluffy)

Danse

Won't you come dance with me?

Come dance with me

Before the darkening sky

Comes down upon us

And films our eyes

Roll with us

And dance the dance

Shaken like rag dolls

Hush, hush, hush

Stunned in the sudden silence

Another day, another blunder

No time to reflect

Bodies torn asunder

A loud ringing in our ears

Our fingers feel wet

And we can’t believe our eyes

This cannot be happening

We all fall down

See the bright red flowers

They blossom in the spring

The rain does help them to grow

It spreads them all around

In amongst the mud and the holes

Come and dance with us

See our arms flail

Watch us spin, and see us tumble

Now we drop here, all in a clump

Come dance with us, come and be our friends

We lay here all together, all equals in the end

All is vanity

All is for nothing

All is for God, King and Country—

Yours and mine

Hear the music, and hear us wail

Hear us cry, as our courage fails…

The music sings as the sky slowly dims

The darkness comforts and the truth confronts us

As all of eternity, is revealed to our never-ending gaze

And the ever-loving rain washes clean our youthful face.

I ain't skared.

i ain't skared.

Please Give Generously. The painter's song.

(Collection the author.)


Please give generously

To the guys who paint naked ladies

Got no money and I got no job

Wish I could say I was a working slob

Please give generously

To the guys who paint naked ladies

I can’t play the guitar very well

My singing voice it sure ain’t no hell

Please give generously

To the guys who paint naked ladies

Going downtown to the UIC

What do you know, but who should I see

Good old girl, never did me no harm

She don’t come around here no more

Please give generously

To the guys who paint naked ladies

I’m not asking for money for the song

I’m hoping you’ll pay me, just to shut up me up

Please give generously

To the guys who paint naked ladies, yeah,

Yeah, please give generously to the guys who paint naked ladies.

Yeah, Baby! To the guys who paint naked ladies

…c’mon, baby; throw somethin’ in the hat.


Here is my book, 'Selected Poems,' available exclusively through Smashwords and its distribution partners.

Star-Maker.

In the beginning there was a great void, and a darkness as black as pitch.

Silence prevailed.

As yet nothing moved.

Starmaker looked upon it and it was well.

One place is as good as another and Starmaker approved.

Time started up with a lurch, and plodded forwards.

Matter began to swirl.

Heat began to radiate and mass began to coalesce.

Fields of energy began to flow.

And a star began to grow.

Space bent, and time was deformed.

Lo and behold, a new star was born.

First it was one, and then another.

Swirling nodes of matter in space.

And nowhere is down, nowhere is sideways, no place is above.

The glowing clouds, the creation of a race.

Velocity, momentum, electrical force.

Vectors, and gravity, and magnetism, of course.

Air, and water, sunlight and topsoil, and love…

And forgiveness, and children, and mothers and dads.

A world with spiders, and walruses, and lions and doves.

A place with grass, and trees, and mud and rain.

A place so special, a place so unique, could never be created again.

Starmaker moves on, the labour of continuous creation never done.


Note:

A French-language version of the poem appears at 'Les Shalako.'

Destiny.

From time to time it is important to remind ourselves of past glory

But it is even more important to remember who we are

And where we are going

We must pursue, and ultimately fulfill our destiny

And let lesser men stand aside.

When our time comes

Let them divert a river, and under it build us a tomb

And let us rest forever in peace

Frozen once again

In the safety of our mother’s womb.

Poem: Two Paths.

There are two paths.

One is easy.

And one is hard.

Which one, do you think,

Will be the more rewarding?

これには

つのパスがあります

つは簡単です

困難です

つと思いますか、詳細に報われるだろうか

A Poem: Mr. Robot

c2011Shalako

This poem originally appeared in 'Twisted Tongue' #16.


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…


Twisted Tongue #16:

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/twisted-tongue-magazine-issue-16/11780060

http://badpoetsclub.blogspot.com/2011/01/mr-robot.html (Blog link for my original post.)

The Portal

(NASA)


To hold the keys to the kingdom in our hand

Is to doubt one’s very senses,

But it’s real enough

The view through the door, or the portal

Call it what you will

It’s very beautiful, but are you sure you want to go out there?

Beauty often hides danger,

And this is a dangerous pursuit.

To stand here is to confront two choices

We can stick our tail back between our legs

Pack up our things and go home.

Or; we can go out there and see what is real.

And I have this funny feeling that once we do that—

To achieve the culmination of all of our hopes and our dreams,

To live up to our fullest potential, thieves and charlatans that we are—

Is to discover that there is no going back.

The Trouble with Tycho

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.

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.

Waiting for a Meteorite.

by Louis B. Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved



Waiting for a meteorite

Takes a little patience

It gets damned cold out here at night

Camera on tripod,

Point it at the sky

Lens set at five point six

Advance the film until it clicks

Pull the lever, set the timer

Push the remote —

Look up at the stars and gloat

Now, all I have to do

Is to sit and wait about

There goes a little one, and then another

The sky’s not really black at night

It’s more of a velvety blue

With a little luck I’ll catch a big one

It’s not a certain thing, mind you

But, I’ll sit and wait until I do!

I’m waiting for a meteorite—how about you?

Cat Rebellion: A Manifesto.

-they just look so innocent. -ed.














by Fluffy

c2010

All Rights Reserved



Cats of the world, red banners unfurl’d

Rise up and strike a blow

Against the oppressors of our kind

Cats of the world

Upheld tails proudly curl’d

March, March, March, Meow!

Claw our way, day to day

No more slavery, we want pay

Rise up strike a blow

At the oppressors of our kind

March, March, March, Meow!

We want our rights

We want the vote

Drive a car, drink and smoke

March, March, March, Meow!

Cats of the World

Red banners unfurl’d

We want what we want

We know what we know

No one to say

Where we cannot go

March, March, March, Meow!

March, March, March, Meow!


Now isn’t that something? Her litter box is clean, and quite frankly she eats better than I do.

(Maybe she’s just stressed out by the day-to-day pressures of being a cat in a human’s world. –Fluffy)

Who Will Pick My Paper Flowers?

by Debbie Okun Hill

C2010

All Rights Reserved


Along the highway, grey asphalt

I used to sway to nature’s music

line my earthen bed

with Queen Anne’s Lace

white petals of wild daisies

purple loosestrife running

through my grass hair



But today, my feet are littered

with paper flowers

Tim Horton cups and

MacDonald bags

brown cardboard bent

white tissue curled

faded in sunlight

and I wonder

who will pick my cluster of

man-made flowers

now wet wash trashed

in summer’s warm rain?


Editor's Note: painting by Louis.

Stuck at the Train Station.

by Debbie Okun Hill

c2010

All Rights Reserved



Standing alone, near wooden post

ostracized from adult crowd

young male teen

fidgets, kicks a pebble

outside rural train station

loose gravel crunching

beneath his feet

hot sun searing his cheeks

quick snap-pop, click of teeth

his tongue twirling

juicy piece of bubble gum

grape flavour released

ball cap turned backwards

skateboard shoes untied



In this afternoon game of waiting

he loses valuable playtime

like rolling childhood marbles

on his stepfather’s whittle wasting hours

wood-chipped seconds suspended



locomotion slow



each yellow dandelion

turning grey between thin cracks

slight breeze unraveling

unnourished seeds of his mind

wandering, blown away

when no one picks him up

leaves him feeling small

reminiscent of his days

hiding as an abused toddler

curled beneath a bench

coiled, thick wad, stale

like his gum—stuck

with no place to go


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.

Introducing James Walsh.

by James Walsh and Louis B. Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved



Deny your place on land

When we were

Speeded up

To this and... .. .

Iambic pentameter

Panameter

Whatever

Open up your window

and tell me the sounds

that you hear outside

Another train@

Hear the sounds of the

m,

Who is to say that they're true/

Clinging to your skirt

I am the parasite of this town

two by two they rise up from the earth

a side of face

right up, up to

I am the parasite of this town

Trying a face of a mask, I

I travel far in sin

Over to the station bar

Take a look, you may see me in a cloud

For I am the parasite that hangs two by two

From your shroud into the

Past we meet to say there's only

Another page

To turn.


Editor's Note: The preceding was a collaborative effort between James Walsh, and Louis over a few virtual beers in a virtual pub.

Tough Guy.

by Louis B. Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved


A really tough guy
Shouldn’t have to prove it all the time
A really good pilot
Wouldn’t have to exhibit all the time
If you have a good idea
Be careful who you tell
Try to live each and every day
As if it were your last
For surely one day you will be right—
Wake up and smell the coffee
Take a moment
Stop and smell the roses
Stand up straight
Look people in the eye when you talk to them
Shrug your shoulders, and say:
“This is who I am,
And I like myself just fine.”