Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Stone Soup Croutons, 7-18-16, Bruised Godhead

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 (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, the poem doesn't go up because it's good; it goes up because it's Tuesday morning.

 It was an open mic night, but that doesn't mean we don't have special guests. Special thanks to Dave Beards, who brought his tabla playing all the way from Scotland, as he wrapping up a visit with family to New England. His ten minute set helped set the theme of this piece. Apologies for starting with a William Carlos Williams riff.

Bruised Godhead

Nothing depends upon
a half-eaten hot dog
glazed with old mustard
on plate in frigidaire.
That's just stupid.

Hardly a tribute fitting to Ganesha
not even proper preparation
for a journey as quick as the quick stop.

En route, you crack your head
on the concrete. You attribute
more to luck rather than poor planning.

Did Lincoln mess up
because he didn't take a later show?

Catch your fleeting memories
like wild Pokémon.
Hindsight is the great American pastime.
You dust underneath each thought on the shelf.

Outside, protests make way under your window
in their endless journey to lethargic, uncaring ears.

You beg for release from your bed,
as you suspect some voices
will make their way back here.

Life imitates God
in your half-conscious benevolence.

Outside, children conceived
with the planning afforded
to drunken fireworks

pop by, following action
they're not allowed to follow.

Somewhere stationary,
a Tabla taps your way
to tabula rasa, a circle of peace
at the center of both sides.

Apologies to E.S., whose name is cut off at the end.

Special thanks to Rachael Eisenberg, Dave Beards, Lee Varon, Chris Fitzgerald, Erik Nelson, Matt Army, Jonathan J. Joseph, Chris Robbins, Martha Boss, E.S., and James Van Looy.

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