Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions selected 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.
Stone Soup had an open mic this past Thursday, not Friday. Still getting the poem out or I never will.Despite how much fun the open mic was, it's time for me to get back to work.
Recent happenings have made me more grateful than usual to live in Boston. The poem reflects that.
Thanks for reading.
There
Town poppies hold
no surprise scents.
Clouds overhead
covers self over.
It's the Taliban with
Pumpkin spice poured
over scalding skin.
Seed's got nowhere
to grown 'round here.
Awake sober makes
more nightmares.
One step forward two
steps back your way
to city that teaches
to city that teaches
you a new English.
Now only a wallet
will ever get stolen.
Here even winter trees
get their own color.
Your new heritage
is that you made it.
Rest of world backs
away, superstitious.
Stories spread, dead
babies, eaten cats.
Watch debates, wonder
when you'll die free.
Words passed on from
poets passing to no one.
Special thanks to Edward S. Gault, Jan Rowe, Robert Fleming, Richard Spisak, Jen Campbell, Bil Lewis, Mark States, Ethan Mackler, James Van Looy and Timothy Gager.
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