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.

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.

Corn Planet.

E-317 digital photo by Louis.

Lost Dreams.

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved



Ah, for the lost dreams of youth

That is why God makes us die young

Oh, for the harm that might have been done

If only I knew then, what I know now

A young man who knew how to apply himself

But I was only dreaming of you.

(You were pretty drunk last night. -ed.)

(Was I? Did I say anything interesting? -louis.)

Love me not.

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved















Leaf falling through the air

Justifying all that has gone before

Validating my material instincts

Toad burrows in the mud

Makes me laugh at those who have not

Because I have got

Knowing the circle of life and renewal

Means it is time to get a new car

My head is a fucking jar

Full of pennies I will never use

For they might save someone’s life

The sky is grey and that has significance

Read into it whatever you will

It says a lot about you, oddly enough even more about me

But then I know nothing about myself, whereas you are a caller on the psychic hotline

Kill me now or die later

Either way, you lose

The choice is yours and I couldn’t care less

The universe is my nest and I piss upon it

For it loves me not.