Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked 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.
I also have a book out now collecting the best of my first year of poems. Click here to purchase it.
To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, this poem doesn't go up because it's ready, it goes up because it's Friday morning.
This past Wednesday was the last Stone Soup of August. I don't have much else to say due to a lot of overwhelming exhaustion. I have something big happening in the weeks to come. I have a lot of things I still want to do before the BIG DAY.
The poem below feels like a sponge of recent impressions of this past week. Can't do much now but put down now and parse later. I hope you get something out of it. Thanks for reading.
Schooled
Sleeping through sermon,
lesson half-learned.
First learn stand,
then learn kneel.
Step three, fly somehow.
Something, something soul.
Go gently into darkness
except when you can't.
Dumpster dive for wisdom
in back after mass.
Webster's dictionary
carries your face
under definition
of dystopia.
You had it coming.
Nurses come to restrain.
Temple bell chimes on
takes seed in heads.
Want to dance
defy to home TV.
Pundits vow to set fire
to already killing sun.
Universe is being remade
from stories that don't hold up.
Last man on Earth
has no place for final words.
Earthworm has less and less
soil to kiss goodnight.
Cat watches you like cop,
pushes legs to curb.
Votes tallied, anger is in.
This landslide, world's mud.
Invisible ink tattoo burns.
Time's whatever they say.
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| Where did you go, John Stickney? Damn connection! |
Special thanks to Carol Weston, Bil Lewis, Jon Wesick, Chris Robbins, Erik Tate, Ethan Mackler, Krystal McPhaul, Jan Rowe, Nancy Dodson, Jason Wright and James Van Looy.
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