"Self Help," Bruce Covey

A chicken soup for the rainbow lover’s soul.

A chicken soup for the lover of chicken soup.

A carnage of birds, a devastation.

Chicken soup for the dried-up garden—

It’s been a lousy summer sucking us dry.

Chicken soup for the grocery list.

Chicken soup for unwanted potatoes.

Chicken soup for extinct animals.

In the west, the sun sets upon chicken soup.

With or without noodles or rice or barley,

Or vegetables—canned or otherwise—

Carrots and celery or egg drop chicken soup—

Chicken eggs, of course—or the alphabet

Or chili sauce. Chicken soup for chili lovers,

For the spicy soul. Chicken butchered

& boiled specifically for your cold.

A chicken soup for the cold soul,

A chicken soup for the sole of your shoe.

A chicken soup for decision making:

Does she love me? Or love me not?

Knots tied with chicken soup.

Chicken soup tied and sold in knots.

38 ways to tie your soup, to be tied.

Chicken soup for the protection of others.

A prayer to chicken soup, may it bring me

A winning lottery ticket. Chicken soup

For recovering alcoholics who still

Need hydration. A hydrangea’s

Chicken soup—to be loved like no other.

A chicken soup for Barry Bonds—

May he break Hank Aaron’s record.

Stick a pin in the chicken soup & bet

On its opponent. 30-Love. Match point.

A chicken soup for winners.

A chicken soup for losers.

Chicken soup for those who tie or draw.

The 60-plus occupations of soup.

Chicken for Sue, born in the year

Of the snake. The snake that ate

An alligator and died. They both died.

A chicken soup for the one who is eaten.

A chicken soup for the one who eats

Things other than chicken soup.

Transcending the bowl. A meta-bowl

Chicken soup for the transcended bowl.

Chicken soup for the transcending soup.

Chicken soup for the Marxist, steering

Away from values associated with heirarchies.

Chicken soup for the mud wrestler,

The roller derby queen. Chicken soup

For dairy queen, for the queen of hearts,

For Lady Di and the paparazzi,

For clean and dirty kings and queens.

For kiwis with wings, for the royal

Food pyramid. Chicken soup in

January, it’s so nice

To slip upon the sliding ice.

"Self Help," Charles Bernstein

Home team suffers string of losses.—Time to change loyalties.

Quadruple bypass.—Hold the bacon on that next cheeseburger.

Poems tanking.—After stormiest days, sun comes out from behind clouds, or used to.

Marriage on rocks.—Nothing like Coke.

Election going the wrong direction.—Kick off slippers, take deep breathe, be here now.

Boss says your performance needs boost.—A long hot bath smoothes wrinkles.

War toll tops 100,000.—Get your mind off it, switch to reality TV.

Lake Tang Woo Chin Chicken with Lobster and Sweet Clam Sauce still not served and everyone else got their orders twenty minutes back.—Savor the water, feast on the company.

Subway floods and late for audition.—Start being the author of your own performance. Take a walk.

Slip on ice, break arm.—In moments like this, the preciousness of life reveals itself.

Wages down in non-union shop.—You’re a sales associate, not a worker; so proud to be part of the company.

Miss the train?—Great chance to explore the station!

Suicide bombers wrecks neighborhood.—Time to pitch in!

Nothing doing.—Take a break!

Partner in life finds another partner.—Now you can begin the journey of life anew.

Bald?—Finally, you can touch the sky with the top of your head.

Short-term recall shot.—Old memories are sweetest.

Hard drive crashes and novel not backed up.—Nothing like a fresh start.

Severe stomach cramps all morning.—Boy are these back issues of Field and Stream engrossing.

Hurricane crushes house.—You never seemed so resilient.

Brother-in-law completes second year in coma.—He seems so muchmore relaxed than he used to.

$75 ticket for Sunday meter violation on an empty street in residential neighborhood.—The city needs the money to make us safe and educate our kids.

Missed last episode of favorite murder mystery because you misprogrammed VCR.—Write your own ending!

Blue cashmere pullover has three big moth holes.—What a great looking shirt!

Son joins skinhead brigade of Jews for Jesus.—At least he’s following his bliss.

Your new play receives scathing reviews and closes after a single night.—What a glorious performance!

Pungent stench of homeless man on subway, asking for food.—Such kindness in his eyes, as I turn toward home.

Retirement savings lost on Enron and WorldCom.—They almost rhyme.

Oil spill kills seals.—The workings of the Lord are inscrutable.

Global warming swamps land masses.—Learn to accept change.

Bike going fast in wrong direction knocks you over.—A few weeks off your feet, just what the doctor ordered.

AIDS ravaging Africa.—Wasn’t Jeffrey Wright fabulous in Angels in America?

Muffler shot.—There’s this great pizza place next to the shop.

Income gap becomes crater.—Good motivation to get rich.

Abu Ghraib prisoners tortured.—Let’s face it, shit happens.

Oscar wins Emmy.—Award shows are da bomb.

FBI checking your library check-outs.—I also recommend books on Amazon.

Gay marriages annulled.—Who needs the state to sanctify our love?

President’s lies kill GIs.—He’s so decisive about his core values.

Self-Help.—Other drowns.

"What I learned from my mother," Julia Kasdorf

I learned from my mother how to love

the living, to have plenty of vases on hand

in case you have to rush to the hospital

with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants

still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars

large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole

grieving household, to cube home-canned pears

and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins

and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.

I learned to attend viewing even if I didn’t know

the deceased, to press the moist hands

of the living, to look in their eyes and offer

sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.

I learned that whatever we say means nothing,

what anyone will remember is that we came.

I learned to believe I had the power to ease

awful pains materially like an angel.

Like a doctor, I learned to create

from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once

you know how to do this, you can never refuse.

To every house you enter, you must offer

healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,

the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.

"The Bagel," David Ignatow

I stopped to pick up the bagel
rolling away in the wind,
annoyed with myself
for having dropped it
as if it were a portent.
Faster and faster it rolled,
with me running after it
bent low, gritting my teeth,
and I found myself doubled over
and rolling down the street
head over heels, one complete somersault
after another like a bagel
and strangely happy with myself.

"Fate," Carolyn Wells

Two shall be born the whole world wide apart,

And speak in different tongues, and pay their debts

In different kinds of coin; and give no heed

Each to the other’s being. And know not

That each might suit the other to a T,

If they were but correctly introduced.

And these, unconsciously, shall bend their steps,

Escaping Spaniards and defying war,

Unerringly toward the same trysting-place,

Albeit they know it not. Until at last

They enter the same door, and suddenly

They meet. And ere they’ve seen each other’s face

They fall into each other’s arms, upon

The Broadway cable car – and this is Fate!

"Everybody Who is Dead," Frank Stanford

Today's poem: "Everybody Who is Dead," by Frank Stanford

Today's action list:

1. Write one reading log. Only two logs a week needed now.

2. Complete your draft for tomorrow.

"Weeds," Wesley McNair

Today's poem is at the Writer's Almanac.