Ron. Lavalette
Ron. Lavalette is a poet living in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom.

Ron. Lavalette's Blog

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Apr.28.2012

Things happen so fast inside that his vision blurs and the subliminal messages piped in through the overhead speakers become plainly discernible, urging the ectomorphs and behemoths below to eat, eat more, eat more quickly. The pimple running the Fry-O-Lator has all he can do to keep up, the fries...

Apr.26.2012

As Directed

He had about ten minutes to put together the back-up plan, including a list of potential support providers in the community that could be finagled into putting up his client in an emergency. It wasn’t a back-up plan, really, but an emergency fall-back, outlining what to when the plan and the back-...

Apr.21.2012

Ron., Anthologized

Poetry Super Highway has published its (14th) Annual Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) Anthology, including the work of 80 accomplished poets. I submitted late, and consider myself lucky to have been included. Sadly, I can only post a link to the anthology, not to my specific page, so I...

Apr.17.2012

Loon

He works the phone all morning, calling to remind his clients to take their pills and drink lots of water, and to reassure them that the voices aren’t real. Some of them he calls and calls again, hoping that on the third or fifth or eighth call they’ll give in, pick up, and maybe even recognize...

Apr.15.2012

serious eggification

Okay, so after a week in the email inboxes of subscribers to Shayne Terry’s fine publication, egg poetry, my poem Catching The Dalmatian has finally been posted at the egg. Here’s a Link. When you get there, you can also click on “eggs past” to read more really fine work from other...

Apr.15.2012

News Item

Today, following a disturbance in a downtown public library, police took into custody well-known local writer Winton Krell. Krell was found wandering, dazed and semi-naked, among the periodicals on the library’s third floor. Police transported Krell immediately to the Soundview Mental...

Apr.12.2012

Everything's An Instrument

I knew this guy once. His name was Reardon. Curt. He could play anything. I went to Reardon’s funeral and the minister said lots of nice things about him, including what a great musician he was, and how all his friends said there was no instrument he couldn’t play. I knew this was true. He...

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Apr.07.2012

Maryann, If You're Out There....

To Maryann Cerasa: I hereby confess and apologize: I just discovered that I have in my possession a copy of George Harrison’s (vinyl) “Wonder Wall” album, which I totally stole from you when we were at Enfield High School almost 50 years ago. I know it’s yours because your name’s on it. And you...

Apr.06.2012

Sadly, No Poetry Breakfast For Me

Although I was very happy to have my poem Catching The Dalmatian accepted at egg poetry earlier this week (link to follow), I was disappointed with tonight's emailed rejection from Poetry Breakfast, declining to publish three pieces I sent them in mid-March. It was a friendly rejection though...

Apr.04.2012

Ova-whelmed

I thought I had the egg market pretty well cornered (Eggs Over Tokyo; Scrambled, Not Fried), but no. I recently discovered this cool weekly poetry mag, egg poetry, edited by Shayne Terry. Egg posts a new poem every week, and (bonus!) if you subscribe, it’s delivered directly to your email. You...

Mar.31.2012

The Getaway

In the dark, he puts his slippers on the wrong feet; they walk away and he never sees them again. Sometimes he misses them and wonders if they ever think about him, if they pad around someone else’s kitchen now, dreaming of his rainforest hardwood mornings, his carpeted bedroom nights. All day long...

Mar.30.2012

Professional Formality

He says 'nephrogenic' with as little consternation as almost anyone else might say 'kitten' or 'rosebush'. He says'carcinoma' without batting an eye, having practiced doing so a thousand times in the mirror; having developed the ability to deliver bad news without...

Mar.24.2012

My Last Detroit

Tiger Stadium. Three AM, I guess, or something like it. Tiger Stadium, half a block away in the middle of the night as we pumped gas and bought beer at the 24/7. It was about a decade ago, and there were six or seven of us, knees cramped from too many hours folded into the rented SUV,...

Mar.23.2012

The Rubber, After The Act

He wishes he was somewhere else and almost instantly discovers that he is. Then, just as quickly, he regrets all of his pointless desires and wishes he could go home again again. No one told him, when he was young, what he should and should not want. He longs for those days to return,...

Mar.20.2012

Tuesday In Paradise

Even when he’s outside he imagines he hears ethereal pop star lyrics coming from invisible overhead speakers, the clear blue mid-April air filled with invitation and fresh desire. Every breath is ecstasy, each inhalation more nubile and restorative than its predecessor...

About Ron.

(Sample published work at: EGGS OVER TOKYO)(Live blog at: SCRAMBLED, NOT FRIED)(Prose-ish at: SIX SENTENCES) Ron. started reading and writing poetry seriously in the late '60s, when a floral-necktied student teacher dumped a bunch of books on his desk, one of...

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