Shalako Publishing. A showcase of poetry, art, music, and whatever else we can jam in here.
Showing posts with label Louis Bertrand Shalako. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Louis Bertrand Shalako. Show all posts
Friday, March 4, 2011
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?
Thursday, November 25, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
What He Sees.
by Louis B. Shalako
c2010
All Rights Reserved
The rain is falling, gently through the trees
A dove gives a mournful call
I wonder what he sees
Newborn child a-bawling?
Or just the futility of it all.
He told me once, a wise old owl
Very good advice, to get me through it all
The glass is either half-empty or half-full
It says a lot about you
The choices that you call.
The rain is falling, gently through the trees
A chipmunk sits there laughing
I wonder what he sees.
c2010
All Rights Reserved
The rain is falling, gently through the trees
A dove gives a mournful call
I wonder what he sees
Newborn child a-bawling?
Or just the futility of it all.
He told me once, a wise old owl
Very good advice, to get me through it all
The glass is either half-empty or half-full
It says a lot about you
The choices that you call.
The rain is falling, gently through the trees
A chipmunk sits there laughing
I wonder what he sees.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Yeah, but what are you really trying to say?
For want of a better term
by Louis B. Shalako
c2010
All Rights Reserved
To a blind man, the world is a dark place.
To a deaf man, the world is a silent place.
And so we can extrapolate –
That perception is reality.
And all of reality is filtered through the senses.
Everything we know is contained inside of our own heads.
And essentially, it exists nowhere else.
If a tree falls in the forest, it makes no sound. No sound.
For there is no one there to hear it —
Yet a million voices speak silently out of the darkness.
All of them whispering at once.
For want of a better term, we call that fantasy. Or a dream, or a delusion.
And the truth is what I believe it to be.
Attitude is everything. I guess it’s all in how you look at it.
The contradictions are easy to see.
But a mistaken assumption will kill you every time.
The important thing, in my opinion,
Is to keep your eyes and ears open;
Stay alert, open up your heart,
Take a deep breath…and empty your thoughts —
Now try to keep an open mind.
And if you speak my name upon the wind, surely I will hear you.
by Louis B. Shalako
c2010
All Rights Reserved
To a blind man, the world is a dark place.
To a deaf man, the world is a silent place.
And so we can extrapolate –
That perception is reality.
And all of reality is filtered through the senses.
Everything we know is contained inside of our own heads.
And essentially, it exists nowhere else.
If a tree falls in the forest, it makes no sound. No sound.
For there is no one there to hear it —
Yet a million voices speak silently out of the darkness.
All of them whispering at once.
For want of a better term, we call that fantasy. Or a dream, or a delusion.
And the truth is what I believe it to be.
Attitude is everything. I guess it’s all in how you look at it.
The contradictions are easy to see.
But a mistaken assumption will kill you every time.
The important thing, in my opinion,
Is to keep your eyes and ears open;
Stay alert, open up your heart,
Take a deep breath…and empty your thoughts —
Now try to keep an open mind.
And if you speak my name upon the wind, surely I will hear you.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Egg.
by Louis B. Shalako
c2010
All Rights Reserved
One tiny little egg is deposited
Along with a thousand fellows
And it is hidden,
Amongst russet, green, yellow
Many a day must pass
Before the first one cracks
But soon they all must go
Feed they then on grasses
Tender shoots of plants
Some of the young get eaten
And there are those
Before the second dawn are froze
It is a deadly dance
One by one they leave then
Each must follow it’s own uncertain path
One weaves a silken cocoon
And enters chrysalis
He won’t come out too soon—
Until he’s done with this
And so the weeks they pass
The appointed time now comes
The transformation’s done
He crawls out into the light
Out into the warm summer sun
He dries his new-grown wings
And he sees
With golden antennae unfurled
Tasting the currents of the breeze
Becomes aware of the larger world
Now he gives a special call
His mate he hopes to bring
Three days he has, no less and no more
He arises on the wind
Time is short.
It is time to soar.
c2010
All Rights Reserved
One tiny little egg is deposited
Along with a thousand fellows
And it is hidden,
Amongst russet, green, yellow
Many a day must pass
Before the first one cracks
But soon they all must go
Feed they then on grasses
Tender shoots of plants
Some of the young get eaten
And there are those
Before the second dawn are froze
It is a deadly dance
One by one they leave then
Each must follow it’s own uncertain path
One weaves a silken cocoon
And enters chrysalis
He won’t come out too soon—
Until he’s done with this
And so the weeks they pass
The appointed time now comes
The transformation’s done
He crawls out into the light
Out into the warm summer sun
He dries his new-grown wings
And he sees
With golden antennae unfurled
Tasting the currents of the breeze
Becomes aware of the larger world
Now he gives a special call
His mate he hopes to bring
Three days he has, no less and no more
He arises on the wind
Time is short.
It is time to soar.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Wronged.
I know I done wrong
I know I was stupid
I can’t explain it
I was hoping that you could
Why did I leave you?
All those long years ago
How could I hurt you?
Someone must know
I know I done wrong
I know I was stupid
I can’t explain it
I was hoping that you could
Always so full of anger and rage
No one really likes me anymore
Someone must help me—I want to turn the page
Help me rip open the bars of my cage
I know I was a silly fool
But then the darkness took over
Why did I leave you?
All those long years ago
I can’t explain it, but someone must know
How long will it last?
How long will it take, to bury the past?
I know I done wrong
I know I was stupid
I can’t explain it
I was hoping that you could.
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