Two Poems | by J.B. Stone

The Differences between Caribou and Man

My boots feel stuck, attempting to grip the crackles of ice, as I take a walk through the bar strip off of Allen Street. I still wonder how Caribous feel, as their hooves transform into icepicks, trying to piece through the frost just to move a few feet each time. We are both walks of mammalian life, we both need the air of to breathe, but that is where the similarities end. The migration of the caribou is for survival, as they nomadically roam from home to home, not settling in one place for too long.

While my migration is for pleasure as I drunkenly stumble from bar to bar, knowing that my home is just a 10 minute walk away. I stomp my boots out of crazed expressions for a drunkard’s ramble, while they stomp their hooves to dig into the ground for sustenance. They drink from a purified source of water and edible roots buried beneath the snow covered dirt, while I drink from a sinful concoction of draft beer and whiskey, bubbling up from a keg and a couple of preserved bottles. And this is just the winter. I can only wonder what other differences we share as the seasons change.





The Masquerade


I stand inside a foyer as the guest in another dimension

The dimension of the elite

I did not just step into a new world, but a new universe, or multiverse!

As if I stumbled into a cosmic hall of neon gilded doorways

Each one that opens to dimension just waiting exploration

On the outside, my appearance dictates the formal suit and tie look

Matched with the ability to fake etiquette like a professional ass kisser


However, inside of my mind, I venture away from the imagery of some ritzy soiree

I mentally transform into an astronaut,

Psychologically brought into the furthest cosmic reaches, where space and time barely matter

Gazing upon the giant chandelier that shines bright like a dwarf star

Even though I know, it is due to the light reflecting upon its crystals

Staring at the spiral staircases which cascade like comets caught in loops and zig zags

Even though I know they’re just for getting up and down the different levels of the building


And as my mind is taken into a world of blind imagination

I see there right outside the main bay window a little girl

In torn raggedy wardrobe, with tears running through her face

As if she was alone for so long and knows abandonment as her only existence

I went to the hosts of this gala about the girl outside of the window

It was the wife all dressed in enough pelt to disgust any true animal lover

Her earrings, garnished in the finest of stolen gems


Her silk dress, draped with the finest fabrics trust funds can buy

She went to me, smiled and said, no problem

Her solution: letting down the window curtain

I realized that this was not where the cool kids hang,

This is where the elite celebrate with the rotting fruits of victory,

Where they sip on wine as if it is Kool aid

And this one came in “ignorance is berry bliss” flavor


This is not where the wealthy and successful discuss important issues

Nor ways to contribute to the world

Just a place to talk about who fucked who and what dirty secret you have that I am not aware of

Like a high school ruling class without the cafeteria tables and classrooms

A schoolyard of bullies without the need to stomp or beat down on their victims physically

When they can just do it




This house of decadence is a house of gentrification

A decadent palace that can amaze you with its beauty,

But once you find out the truth

It turns into an ugly pile of white lies and false promises

Wrapped in gold and Swarovski

To cover up the progressive moving forward

With the regressive moving backwards

So don’t let the charity balls fool you

Do not let the champagne toasts of good will deceive you

Do not get lost in your fascination with these centers of fabricated philanthropy

Because you might have stepped into the Party of the Petty,

The Festival of the Faux,

Or better known as, The Masquerade



J.B. Stone is a performance poet extraordinaire who has rocked the stages all over the Great Lakes, from the Toronto International Poetry Slam to Silo City, to the Music is Art Festival. Now he seeks to bring his performances to the pages of the written word. 





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