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.
Ari Whipple's feature was phenomenally fun. I could listen to this feature again and again in spite of my annoying voice.
The title is stolen from Ari's poem "I Do the Lifetime Dance," one of the poems they read. I used a No Doubt reference at the end based on a quick chat we had on Bluesky.
Was going to add a swear word I don't normally use. I used the F and P words instead, so you can guess what I omitted.
With the way we're going these days, the word I dropped might be made more commonplace for the wrong reasons.
The F word seems more rebellious given our sexless, godless religious right.
To paraphrase Bill Hicks (who also was into aliens and professed to meeting some), if the word "f--k'"
bothers you, I can only imaging how much f--king bothers you.
I had fun doing this, regardless of the overall quality.
Thanks for reading.
Do the Lifetime Dance
Aliens will be stumped to warn us
all, only to find out we already knew.
Cats gone underground, tired of being
There's no skin patch that stops writers
from writing f--k over and over again.
Faith is thinking a spinning Ferris wheel
will keep you safe from rising waters.
Can't pretend you're sitting in the center
of moated land, surrounded by sharks.
Leaderless, bees can't help you now.
No one wants to be the queen, only work.
Onc side wants guns turned on others.
Other side on themselves. Both still here.
Everyone would rather live longer on hate,
not die early reliant on unconditional love.
Babies put hot sauce on chicken nuggies
to stay awake, send homing beacons to angels.
Brides and future brides add to signal fire, want
someone there for them, just not in their rooms.
e.e. cummings needed to be specific. There
has to be a better home than this, next door.
No one dreams while awake. You've tried.
Burn a book of baby names in effigy.
Dancing only feels good when death comes
ashore, ready to rise above your mouth.
Hell is a film of husband hunting advice,
and you can't play the one going home alone.
One last universal dance. before the rescue
or the abduction. Leave a new voicemail.
I'm dancing between the spiderweb strands.
Don't leave a message. Don't call back.
Special thanks to Patricia Carragon, Robert Fleming, Jan Rowe, Mark States, Mary Ann Honaker, Richard Spisak, Bil Lewis, Rich Boucher, John Wesick, James Van Looy and special feature Ari Whipple.
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