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.
Then I went to the dentist. Now I'm recovering. From the fact that I referenced Santa Claus yet again!
At least I got to the new year with this poem. Barely. At least I'm getting warmed up for next week's in-person feature David P. Miller. Thanks for reading.
This is New, I Suppose
Somewhere in Italy,
statue of David
in child's pose,
wants to submit
while other idols
Joy a slow train
coming. We swear
it's never late.
Memorial for girl,
didn't finish work,
missed Santa.
2023 enters,
no time to wash
hand-me-downs,
dirty from those
who had names
turned to Mud,
similar stories
lost in shift
of wet earth,
smeared on beds
in hotels cleaned
by humming help.
Bucket list not
avant-garde enough
to warrant read,
barely enough
energy to plod
like power plant,
lacking wild growth
to make sample
dandelion wine.
Are you warrior
in trenches, or
just in squalor
trying to teach
roaches how to
give milk.
You refuse to
move along
with the Earth,
waiting to die
from inhaling
family asbestos.
In hero myth
mind, soundtrack
slaps, your nonsense
moves mountains,
laughter drowns
any liar in room,
and jacks always
beat queens, repel
latest zombie hoards.
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