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Ron. Lavalette's work has appeared in these fine publications:

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Outside The Inn

Every Day Poets (Online) Dec. '08
--Subsequently anthologized (Print), Best Of Every Day Poets (One), Jan 2011--

There would, of course, have to be a star
—as there always is— but
only a single star, luminous

beckoning above the merest shelter.
Around the meager dwelling,
its wattle daubed with ordinary

midnight, there would of course be
shepherds, nodding, and music of
sheep bells a softly ringing lullaby.

There would have to be an angel.
The sky, a clear intoxicant, would
open and the angel would sing

and the shepherds, keeping their sheep
would have to spread the word
and be certain.

Friday, November 28, 2008


Every Day Poets Online (NOV '08)

He likes to say
he likes her like
he likes blueberries
on his cornflakes
and he’s always quick
to rave about the blueberries

Wednesday, October 01, 2008

On Tour With The Percussives

The Orange Room Review Online (Oct '08)

Every nook held its gong, its cowbell
tabla, tamboura, tom-tom, conga, guiro
and that was all we ever knew
except for how the landscape scrolled
past the tinted windows, lights
in little houses in tiny towns
well before dawn on the fringe
of the city, no one up but us,
not even the paperboys. We’d
hear the rev-down, feel the bus
decelerate, suffer the first tug
of gravity, re-enter atmosphere, peer
out at the still-dark garage,
the unlit pumps waiting, sway
slightly when the brakes squeaked,
unaccustomed as we were
to stationary objects. 
                                       This was
always the golden moment: stepping
off the ticking bus onto the sidewalk,
sunrise still an hour beyond horizon,
all the air in every direction pregnant,
everything only about to happen;
we’d share a quiet smoke and
listen to our heartbeats, rehearsing.

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

The Great Awakening

Stirring (Online) Jan '08

Oily America swims in a red sea
while we sleep. In the morning, the news
is grim; is no news, really; is only more
of what we have come to expect:
the buffed and baritone correspondent,
straight faced, numbly earnest
telling us Jim, the news death tonight death
from death this death city is
death is all around us and we fear fear
we miss our mothers and everywhere we look
is blood and destruction, Jim,
and that’s about the sum of it
from here in deathville;
back to you in the studio. Jim?

and Jim goes right on reading
the market reports and the weather
and the story about the farmer
who raised a gigantic potato
as smart as the President but
kinder and gentler; and all about
the elections and campaigns
all across America to have Jesus
back in the classroom, Christ
returned to Christmas, churches
to be the agency for insuring the poor,
and so on and so forth until, finally,
finally, finally hot young Jessica’s tits appear
at halftime, the cheerleaders take the field
and all’s right with the world again,
praise the lord.