Stone Soup Croutons, 6-13-16, The Last Would-Be Poet

Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title later. I do my best to get this out by the morning after Tuesday. That didn't happen this week. Its the end of June, and I'm exhausted for too many reasons. I wanted this out by yesterday, but today is just as fine. I suspect the schedule will go back to normal next week as we get closer to the one year anniversary I started this series.

Comedian Reece Cotton was the awesome feature on Monday. As I predicted, writing my poem this week was a challenge. It was going one way during a great open mic, then Reece, like all good comedians, swerved it another way. It took me a while to catch up.  Props also to Rich Herb, who did a good chunk of work from The Last Poets and helped with the ending.


The Last Would-Be Poet

Every new writer's precious poem is as follows:

Act One - Writer sits on bench.

Act Two - Writer does something different
from all other precious poems.

Act Three, profits, thank yous.

Your ancestors tap on the window
while you're in thought.
Not now, you whisper.
I'm waiting for something profound.

The metaphorical painting
is being splotched. Working title,
"Sympathetic Narcissist in Blue."

The devil offers you five hours
of your favorite reruns
to meditate on your  thesis
against the Great Media Machine.

Your identity only wanted
a glass of fresh orange juice
Now it craves an Aaron Spelling wedding.

The devil  dregs up the caffeine
and other penny candy meds
to keep you awake till three.

The bad learner becomes
his own teacher in self-medication
for a lesson finally learned
in 10-20 years.

You want to view yourself
from outside you own fourth wall,
admire your reflection
from inside the mirror
so know one knows you're looking.

And the last would-be poem
will be your thank you note
attached to a dollar bill
on a stripper's g-string,
grateful for her letting you
snort cocaine off her body
between lap dances.

Those scribbled words
 in blotched hotel ink
get you closer
to what you've always wanted.

Special Thanks to Surat Lozowick, Martha Boss, Andrew, Chris Fitzgerald, Jason Wright, Chris Robbins, Rich Herb, LUCCI, Big Poppa Ben, and Reece Cotton.