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 an award nominated book out now collecting the best of my first year of poems. Click here to purchase it.
We had another all open mic on Wednesday. It flowed quite nicely. John Sturm started out referencing Edgar Allan Poe, and I was able to keep Poe in most of the poem. It was a nice surprise. More playful nonsense. Thanks for coming.
Same As It Ever Was, Just More
Annabel Lee's lone stone home
makes her notice all the more
when no one visits with flowers.
For sole survivors, biopsies
get in the way of hunting bloom,
Watch The Sound of Music enough,
and you start to root for the Nazis,
who you've had to learn about again.
Poe prefers to cast off his casks
and chain himself behind walls
with prodigal sons yet to go home,
some only guilty of a dirty joke
about Grandparents in bed. No one
mocks Grandpa's conquering worm!
Even seeing Grammy in nightgown
would cause her to cry calico,
the Dutch clock to sound alarms.
The prison set are so paranoid
their own eyes don't trust each other.
They avoid fights, pummel themselves
in poetry class. Their price of success
is all this failure, journey less shamanic
and more pro-wrestler, beatnik enlightenment
through beatings. The dark bard warns:
store your fat for the cold, survive the ride
long enough to give your bad review.
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| Black Byrd, why did you leave?!? |
Special thanks to John Sturm, David Miller, Jan Rowe, Chris Fitzgerald, Rita Rose, Carol Weston, Pamela Bullard, Ethan Mackler, James Van Looy and Philip J Curtis.
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