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 collecting the best of my first year of poems. Click here to purchase it.
One of the best open mics I've ever hosted happened this past Wednesday. I wanted to cancel the round because I didn't think we could top what was done in the first. I was wrong.
It was a memorable night for many reasons. Not the least of which was that it was the first time we were graced by the presence of Julianne Powers, the niece of Stone Soup Poetry founder Jack Powers. You'll be hearing more from her in the future.
That's why I didn't want to put a silly title on this poem. I almost did but I didn't want to cheapen the night in any way. I appreciate Jon Wesick and my girlfriend for suggesting a better title.
Thanks to the open mic, this poem's got a little bit of everything in it. Some Russia. Some war. Some Death vs. Love. You really should listen to the open mic if you appreciate anything that I wrote.
Much to do today in preparation for the weekend and April. Enjoy, and stay tuned for more. Thanks for reading.
On Days when Chekhov Draws First
rolling bones in cave.
Family shopping lists
used as evidence for
Putin's new bombs.
Erza Pound returns,
Dry drunks huddle
backseat, hide all
their empty hip flasks.
It's the very first
Russian Poetry Slam!
Judges with no pens.
Putin confuses rules,
pins all for the win.
Death's winning streak
against love stays intact.
Bringing a knife to
a handshake remains
the winning strategy.
Canaries get stabbed,
mistaken for doves in dark.
Poets become literal.
Beats give real beatings.
make firewater with gas.
Doors are banged, people
give each other up like lent.
Pound the PR guy smiles
crocodile wide, no need
to even lie to himself.
Inside all, Yin and Yang
eat at each other's tails.
A revolver is pulled
the moment a victim
is ready to forgive.
Race on tiny wings
with too much baggage.
In the meantime,
they'll be identifying
the body slower than you.
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| Welcome, Julianne! |
Special thanks to Julie Marie Hoey, Edward S. Galt, Jan Rowe, Chris Fitzgerald, E.S., Bil Lewis, Patricia Carragon, Jon Wesick, C.C. Arshagra, Carol Weston, Julianne Powers and James Van Looy.
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