Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions selected 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.
Skoot killed it on Wednesday. I looked a the overall them of the entire open mic and found it to be family. It got me thinking about family, and it became this poem, like it or not.
If you haven't yet, please consider supporting Skoot by donating either via Cashapp at $SkootWIll or Venmo at Joseph-Mosby-1. Thanks for reading.
Here is a Poem in a Family Way
To young cousins jammed in
sepulchers before their time, who
disguised as walls to climb, to
daughters nursing tea while they
slowly read posthumous pages
from those fathers who scratched
their darlings' names onto every
alleyway, for uncles who
embarrassed entire bloodlines
at morning mass never found
again on their personal street
corner, last seen taking off
from bridges in their prototype
flying machines, to aunts
begging magic gods to undo
everything they know about
the world and justify becoming
an assassin for the running mobs,
to parents whose sons suicide
bomb themselves into prayers
from other nations' churches, Mom
and Dad left behind to take leaps
of faith, to fly in icy weather,
to catch dreams falling from
open windows, to childless sons
not even good enough to disappoint
their own children, to adult runaways
who submerge themselves to remove
all senses from the equation so
they can forgive without burning,
to those who inevitably fall in love
with someone whose eyes burn like
the fires they fled, here's to them.
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| Couldn't bother rewriting the list to hide my bad handwriting. |
Special thanks to Randy Barish, Julianne Powers, Bil Lewis, C.C. Arshagra, Jan Rowe, Ed Gault, Rita Rose, Robert Fleming, Nancy Dodson, Jeff Taylor, Taqwa D. Edutainer, Carol Weston, E.S. Navah The Buddaphliii, Annette Tarpla, James Van Looy, Black Byrd and Skoot Mosby.
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