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 a book collecting the best of my first year of poems. Click here to purchase it.
Stone Soup happened again. Somehow. Thank you, C.C. Arshagra. Thanks to me coming into the reading late, Jon Wesick was Zoom bombed once or twice as the opening poet. So here is a poem of false starts. Smooth transition, right?
To quote Steve Martin, "This isn't just drivel...This is pure drivel." blame only me. Thanks for reading.
A Poem of False Starts
Noah's new ark stock substituted
with animal crackers to cut costs.
Pay for life with death, then do
In the future, the nineties will still
be here, pretending it's not the eighties.
New Yorkers knuckle down. If struggle
isn't there, God sees it like stains on face.
The stage demands you finally become
the tool they always thought you were.
Poem didn't stop World War Three.
Might as well give up.
Your audience waits for your reading,
small enough to fit you all in a phone booth.
Read from the ashes of burnt books you
stole your best ideas from .
Experimental tech support sends assessment
with multiple pointless indents and no verbs.
Daring and deep, your laptop mousepad
still shakes wildly like a Dadist.
Grandmother tried to cleanse me in the ocean,
put her foot on my head when it wasn't enough.
To skip to the story's reassuringly happy ending,
run really fast until suddenly I am run over by a truck.
Die hard Celtics break your pens, burn your papers
tell you at sword point to remember harder.
In the golden hour, the joy of the slave master
waking up his work force for the weekend.
On Shakespeare's birthday, the protector of true author
break both your arms with his complete compendium.
Start with cats. how could anything end badly
starting out with cats?
[No open mic sheet, sorry!]
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