Stephen D. Lalonde

Click here to edit subtitle

These are some poems written by Stephen D. Lalonde. Please consider all of them as copyrighted.


An ‘Alternative’ Verse


Blood pours from his poison pen,

A black hole where should be a heart.

His grin a grimace

As he holds up the next

Executive order

Slashing at the middle class.

“Let’s put this on the frig.”

He is surrounded

By the Evil Plutocracy

He recruits to his wicked agenda.

Deranged, he lies more than not,

And his underlings nod

Like bobble-heads

Celebrating his stupefying victory

Born of Fear and Hatred.

The swamp has only been

Populated differently,

Not drained.

Like Pandora, he has opened

The jar of concentrated

Bigotry, Prejudice, Misogyny and Racism.

His dedicated minions snap ‘Hiel’ salutes.

Some of them, otherwise good people,

Make excuses for his

Filthy mouth and FOUL behavior.

Kool-aid anyone?


SDL revised 4/8/17


Poets


The Poet experiences

Painstakingly creative

Word birth;

Yet once penned

The words become

Creatures

                crawling

                              across

                                         the page,

On their own,

Yearning

For an open mind.



Advertising


We are products,

You and I,

Of thing mongers'

Flashy, expensive seductions.

Like a massive box of crayons

Their colors fill our eyes,

Slogans flood our ears,

We are hammered into consumers

Like a smithy forges iron.

The assault is constant

From the moment we wake

And on and on and on

Until the end,

And even then

There’s a label on the casket.



Agamemnon's Prize


She was that empty head,

Which echoed forth reality

To unhearing ears;

Apollo's revenge.

They called her mad,

As they made ready

The death bed of Troy,

And accepted the wooden idol,

Pregnant with deceit,

Whose ashes would lie

With the ashes

Of their once fair city—

Just as she had warned them.



Time Was

I remember Grandpa wheezing
Into his old harmonica,
And just enough notes
Stumbling out
To know there was a tune...
                           Once.
I see the tear
In his eye as he tells
Of being the Best
In that contest
So long ago.


The Fog


The man and his dog

Standing still on the dock,

Peer into the fog,

The glass-smooth sea

Barely reflecting the boats,

Still they stare into the fog.

What is missing that they seek,

The man and his dog.

Silence stills the scene,

Time ceases to be,

And yet they gaze into the fog.

Standing still on the dock,

The man and his dog.