Ron. Lavalette

Truth Be Told

If the Secret Police come knocking
late at night, armed with terror bombs,
their visors reflecting moonlight
into the dim interior of my room,
I will freely surrender, eagerly confess
that just before they arrived
I sent out a song
on the clandestine airwaves;
that the coded lyrics, deciphered
on distant, receptive shores,
will lay all beings bare of arms,
bereft of all supposed defenses.


Ron. Lavalette collects his many published works at EGGS OVER TOKYO


 

Ron. Lavalette

Inspiration

Twice in a day and a half
he’s almost certain he hears it:
the voice of an angel speaking
from just around the corner
as if from some great distance
seeming almost lost in recitation
almost inaudible
telling some cosmic joke or
posing a celestial riddle,
repeating the words
hoodwink, subterfuge,
flabbergast.

Ron. Lavalette collects his many published works at EGGS OVER TOKYO.

Ron. Lavalette

Soon, Green

Today in the notch, despite the mere scrim
of a mid-April snow, rainy flakes barely frozen,
falling, liquefied, through an early morning
mountain air, even the casual eye could catch
(captured in a momentary parting of fog)
the small grey buds of the red maple,
the low spark, purple flame of crocus.

Ron. Lavalette collects his many published works at EGGS OVER TOKYO:
http://eggsovertokyo.blogspot.com