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.
Thank you for the feature, Gloria Mindock. I'll be buying your book before the weekend starts.
It was fun to move this poem from images of discarded masks from Patricia Carragon to neglected holy symbols with our feature. It's journeys from open mic to feature like this one that make writing these poems fun.
Talking about the pandemic and lost souls seem to go hand in hand. I decided to write about some of them this week. Thanks for reading.
Let your masks
join the ranks
of bus stop trash.
Death will kindly
make each stop
Every chicken get
its roost. From graduate
with 1 ply college degree
to the politician
so upright he won't
steal away debt.
Claim rock through window
as permanent temperament.
Heckle Shakespeare in park.
Swing fists out as if
hands moments ago
rested on hot skillet.
How many variants
before consequences
silence raging throats?
Every day made of dead.
Holy symbols hide
from you all, repelled
by your bodies
of bread burnt hard
in bad faith.
Christ came back as
a carrot hides in market
that bans uncovered faces.
No food at your places,
Dating even badly
out of the question.
Say her place or nothing.
They go home alone or take
your bullets in mouth.
Walk open carry through
every crime scene, identity
confirmed in fishnet mask.
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| Sorry you couldn't make it, Jan! |
Special thanks to Patricia Carragon, John Sturm, Bil Lewis, David Miller, Pamela Ballard, Jon Wesick, Nancy Dodson, Coleen Houlihan, Chirs Fitzgerald, Carol Weston, James Van Looy and Gloria Mindock.
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