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. You can read the other ones I've done since 2015 here. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, this poem doesn't go up because it's ready, it goes up because it's Friday morning.
We had our open mic yesterday. Not a lot of people showed. James blamed it on the storm. I blamed it on poor advertising and another last minute alert. Some of you might think that the less people we have, the easier my poem is. Nothing could be further from the truth. I just latch on to someone's line or image, and I only take it further. You'd think this week would be haiku-length, but nope. Never is. Small open mics only make the poem potentially go further off the rails and harder to finish, which I finally did this morning.
The poem's title makes it seem like it's the first in another one of my series. Heck if I know whether that will happen. Let's see if we have more snowstorms, or whether I screw up again. Thanks for reading.
Unsung of the Open Mic
At the open mic
is a poet
by the cookies,
his reading
affected by
the week's choice.
Haiku for
cheapskate
chocolate chips
too small
to satisfy
or remember.
A dancing
chorus for
a fanciful fig.
Anything fudge
he protects like
Backwater guards,
threatens debtor's
prison if you
take more than one.
If homemade,
he goes full
libertarian,
demands a poem
before you pick
from the plate,
perhaps a great
projection of
his own sins
of a childhood
looking up
for handouts.
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| Absence makes the list grow smaller. |
Special thanks to Joseph Copage, Martha Boss, Laura Lambert, Jan Rowe and James Van Looy.
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