Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked from Stone Soup Poetry's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. You can read the other ones I've done since 2015 here.
I also have an award nominated book out now collecting the best of my first year of poems. Click here to purchase it.
Ryk McIntyre helped get rid of 2020, in case you didn't notice. So the last Crouton poem of 2020 is the first poem of 2021. I had to wait until this morning to finish. I was keeping up with the open mic until the listeners who joined Zoom by phone were all dropped. I had to get them back on while C.C. Arshagra was reading (you can tell in the video) and lost my place.
It was great to revisit this feature and its open micers. I'm glad that Stone Soup has video documentation once again. I may have to keep it up again after we go live. I hope that happens this year, and I hope you can all be part of that.
I tried to keep the poem optimistic, though it started all fatalistic. Now I'm not sure what it is aside from done. Good enough for me to start the day and the year.Plus I fit in a New Year's pun, so that's something. Thanks for reading.
How Resolution Dissolves
feeding off dust in your closet.
You time is now, whatever this means.
If only you had a faster twin
who could let you know
Chicken Little asks what you've done.
The sky is a third rail waiting
for a cat to be brave.
Your rich high school classmates
pass laws to clear their bankruptcies,
spots smaller than a ladybug's back.
While food in Harvard Square goes up,
there's a spark on your back
and it won't leave you alone.
The story of your life starts
to get written on your skin
just to motivate you.
Don't journal at night. It's considered
dirty and rude. There's no market
in your personal journey.
Your life becomes online recipes.
Anti-masker relatives make your book
a series of check boxes.
Lose your way a sea under pretense
of needing ingredients. You'll have to
ask your ghost the way back
as you late bloom through your own
skull's socket. A camera pans on
your own space, grateful for what's left.
Over there, the first leaf of vineyard
for impending celebratory toasts
to your brand new self.
Special thanks to Jon Wesick, Bil Lewis, Janet Cormier, Mary Jennings, M. Carey, Ethan Mackler, Jan Rowe, Black Byrd, El Habib Louai, C.C Arshagra, James Van Looy, Nancy Dodson, Carol Weston, E.S. and Ryk McIntyre.