SAFE DISTANCE EDITION - Stone Soup Croutons, 12-9-20: The Year to Be Done

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 out now collecting the best of my first year of poems. Click here to purchase it. 

A memorable feature from Philip J Curtis let to a monster-sized open mic with a monster poem to try and tame. I regret not being able to take impressions because I was doing too much work with people contributing by phone. I wrote this in its entirety this morning. To help pace myself, I drafted most of the poem in sparse three-line stanzas as if I were writing a kind of haiku. Philip appreciates that factoid I'm sure, just as I appreciate Philip for putting that idea into my head. 

It's kind of a year in review. Feels completely random and without point, much like this year. I did something right, I think. I hope I don't jinx anything by posting this now and make the last weeks of the-year-I-refuse-to-call-by-its-name even worse. Thanks for reading. 

The Year to be Done

 

At long-awaited end,

only thing left imprisoned

is our attention.

No one wants to say

nightmare is over.

We're all awake anyway.

Everyone's a child

again, looking for

next abusive father. 

Say nothing. It's the

only possible way

to stay non-political.

Angry boyfriend out,

America turns into

awkward first date. 

Struggling to buy

perfect holiday gift,

shopping blind for blind date.

A post modern deity

has no need for sacrifice

worshippers already miserable.

Old/new God old fashioned

enough to crusade and jihad 

those who pray in silence.

We all have same worst year,

will pretend every year prior

best year ever. 

Just don't kill us now.

We made it this far so far.

Next month, we all turn one-hundred.

Please let mortal skin

survive enough to be seen,

touched before deaths.

Allow hands to steal

food off coworker's desk

without repercussions. 

Give chance to teach class

chock full of people

who will not listen. 

Have wind against face

submitted without need

to set a timer. 

Living crawl over dead

to proclaim suppression,

blindfolded to stand alone.

Letting it be means 

turning radio up when 

others try to speak.

Wisdom is yesterday's 

pasta, not meant to be
boiled and consumed again.

In this together until

the headline's latest victim

makes others feel guilty.

Nobody, nobody moves 

faster than information

like humans who just want

to produce. Up to new 

generation who remembers

to listen, recalls when we didn't. 

 

 

So tired...so tired...

Special thanks to John Stickney, Jane Spokenword, Patricia Carragon, Black Glitter, Carol Weston, John Wesick, Bil Lewis, Nancy Dodson, C.C. Arshagra, Laurel Lambert, Janet Cormier, Sandy Shakes, Jason Wright, gmoney Ethan Mackler, James Van Looy and Philip J Curis aka Midnight.