Stephen D. Lalonde

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

Smoke To Flame

A new log on the fire.

Smoke cloaking the log,

More and more, and then,

Smoke flashes into

Bright flame dancing once again.

So it is with life.

An unkind word or deed

Starts smoke of sadness.

Sadness grows to resentment,

And then the flame of anger.

But kind words can start

The warming of the heart,

And fanned with best care,

Flashes to the flame of love.

Stephen Lalonde


A Nightmare

A fat inchworm with a baby's face

Humps its way over shards of broken glass.

A comb over of blond hair

Flops around over the blond

Hitler’s mustache above a foul mouth.

Crimson slime trails behind,

Coming not from the worm,

But from his victims,

As he snarls his venomous

Putrid words of disdain,

Stupidly spit out in caustically

Incongruous phrases of nonsense.

The shards applaud and cheer

As their golden calf worm

Spews the lies they want to hear.

The cold breath of hate

Permeates the stagnant air

Of their assembly,

And the shards are completely

Unaware of their inhumanity

As if they would care,

Even if they could understand.

Stephen Lalonde


What happened?

I poke the remote.

The Babble screen springs to life.

Colorful images and talking heads

Spew garbage and sale seductions

Defining how awful and awesome

This day can be.

The ‘stupid meter’ pegs the pin.

I remember the good ol’ days,

When Walter was the trusted

Bringer of real news.

Containing the real facts,

Sans ‘alternate’ fantasies.

Qanonsense has poisoned

Feeble minds made mad

With the stuff

That used to be

Limited to tabloids

And toilets.

Civil war is again

Threatening our existence.

The realm of idiots,

American ‘Christian’ Talaban;

“Believe what we believe,

Or die.”

Corporate legislators

Abandon those hopeful

Citizens who put them there,

For the treasures offered

In exchange for their souls.

Oaths mean nothing to them.

There is no honor anymore,

Greed and sex and power

Have buried it

In the sad ground

Of a dying earth.

Decency is decaying there.

I poke the remote.

It is time for tears

And guillotines.

            Stephen Lalonde 1/14/22

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


The Poet experiences

Painstakingly creative

Word birth;

Yet once penned

The words become




                                         the page,

On their own,


For an open mind.


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...
I see the tear
In his eye as he tells
Of being the Best
In that contest
So long ago.

Available on

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.