New Post: Never Explain.

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2011

All Rights Reserved


Never explain yourself.

Please don’t tell me everything I need to know.

Leave me guessing about certain things.

Let me dream, just a little bit.

I have some place real to go.

And there are some things.

Some things I just don’t want to know.

I’m just a little confused.

I have enough to figure it out on my own.

Too much information is no big help.


Jamais expliquer vous-même.

Veuillez ne pas me dire tout ce dont j'ai besoin de savoir.

Laissez-moi deviner certaines choses.

Permettez-moi de rêve, juste un petit peu.

J'ai certaines lieu réel d'aller.

Et il y a certaines choses.

Certaines choses que je ne veux juste de savoir.

Je suis juste un peu confus.

J'ai suffisamment pour elle figure out sur mon propre.

Trop d'informations sont sans grande aide.

Ships With Butterfly Wings

A tear falls to the sand

Waves and wind sigh in their passage

Over the sea to a far distant land

Up to the horizon and then a pause

And then he is gone

Heat of the sun never ceased

Gull's plaintive cries without cause

Forlorn hope never stops to sing

Blinking in the glare, she waits

A result must have a cause

When ships with butterfly wings

Beat into the wind on a quest so fine

Lovers torn apart for a time

No one can say the why of these things

The bonds have been released

Each is free to be their own

This is a seed that must have been sown

And no one can say its fate

Sometimes there is no way to win

But only to endure.

When ships with butterfly wings

Beating into the wind

Carry your heart across the ocean

It is all a person can do, sometimes

To wait and to pray, and to mourn.

New Poem.

It is the undiscovered country

Try to remember what it is that you are hiding

This is no place for honest men.

And to ask when time will end

Is a contradiction of your own terms of reference.




c2011 Louis B. Shalako

Untitled Digital Pic.

This picture was taken by Louis and then thoroughly smashed with Nero Photosnap. Canatara Park, Sarnia, Ontario. This one is clearly impressionist, although you could make a case for 'Les Fauvres.'

We all have our influences. Why not pick the good ones?

The Sixth Level: The Void

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2011

All Rights Reserved


It is not in whether you win or lose

But in how you play the game

It’s not what you got.

It’s how you use it—and I suppose what for.

***

On the sixth level of the game, we find a great vast void

It’s a dark and quiet place, full of broken promises

And unfulfilled dreams

There are lots of shadowy figures

And no one seems to know anything

Deathly spectres

None dare look a living man in the eye

The only sound they make

Is a long, draw-out sigh

It is a place where nothing is real, yet solid enough underfoot

A place where you must never say what you are thinking

And you should never believe what you think you are saying

And everything has to be imagined before it can happen…

It is not up to us, to save their world

They should have thought of that before.


The Seventh Level

Oneness with the Game


Having achieved the fullest understanding

Of our own ignorance, and that of others

Then we may achieve true bliss

We have made it this far

And we have learned to listen well

We see beyond what is real

And to look behind that which is false

We have learned so much

We feel the truth within our hearts

And we must be grateful for this

To err is human

To forgive is divine

We are all in it together

Not for a long time, and not for a good time

But only for a short time

Let us see that we make the best of it

Upon achieving the seventh level of the game

We are truly free.


Author's Note: I have three prior fragments of the poem scattered about, so I will dig them up and stick them together. Polish the full length of it, etc.