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.
During last night's open mic, I made the announcement I'll be putting in writing on Monday. The rest of you will have to wait until next week.
Last week, I wrote a poem called "Trump in New Hampshire," which I recently corrected. For reasons that may be obvious after Monday, I want to make a triptych of poems. That means last week was the unintentional first part, this week is the second part, and the third part will hopefully happen next week.
I know that the term triptych primarily refers topanel paintings, but I just like saying the word "triptych."
The poem came together with the help of last night's participants and this piece of recent news. Thanks for reading.
Trump in Heaven
See say something,
even if it's the sun.
Some will be excited
to hear it still rises.
Stained glass windows
chant false tranquility.
Inside they start to hate
the sound of own prayers.
Outside, angry thoughts
refuse to exit mouths.
Lady Liberty pleads
get her off her island.
With nowhere to go,
keep her hidden in crates.
Elders dress in dark,
otherwise refuse to hide.
For the younger beautiful,
bunker bunker bunker.
Butterflies take to ground
for fear of no-fly zones.
Every picnic they announce
no noise, no sharing food.
Don't look directly
into any light.
Even divine ecstasy
is no longer trusted.
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| Open mic labyrinth courtesy of James Van Looy. |
Special thanks to Bil Lewis, Gawaine Ross, Martha Boss, David Miller, Laurel Lambert and James Van Looy.
2 comments:
I'm now finding it difficult to assess these poems without bias. I was there, and I know what the other poets were saying, so that colors my perception of how the poem comes off to 'outsiders.'
I understand, Gawaine.
Part of my goal is to not steal ideas/lines/images wholesale. To take ideas and make this poem sort of a pastiche/reply/reaction to the open mic.
The one time I did it was for Jason Wright's feature, putting his line word for word in italics.
I've never promise accurate depictions. That would be impossible. But I'm happy so long as no one is saying, "Hey, you stole from me!"
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