Tag Archives: found poetry

Day twenty-four poem: LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017Still playing catch-up from my weekend travels. I suppose you might call this a kind of found poem, another exercise from The Daily Poet. I’m going to take my mother to get her hair done more often.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Overheard at the hair salon

The pain is a ten, but every time
I feel it I say, There’s that blue
five again. Sometimes it shoots
down my arm like a river
branching into my hand.

And my shoulder grates
like gravel. I can picture a plate
with holes in it, grinding
and catching as it moves.

Day twenty-two poem: LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017Another exercise from The Daily Poet.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Found poetry: Twitter

In his dictionary, Dr. Johnson defined a stoat as “a small stinking animal.”
Republicans’ proposed Medicaid cuts would hit rural patients hard
All the characters are on trial in any civilized narrative. — William Empson
Poetry can do many things. But what I value is a poem’s ability to make me simply reconsider: a single word, an image I see daily, a thought

Day eighteen poem, LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017I found a copy of Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook at the used book store last week. I picked it up this morning and these sentences jumped off the page.
(Found poetry from p. 9)

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Beyond the margins of the self

Poetry is a river; many voices travel in it; poem
after poem moves along in the exciting crests and falls of the river
waves. None is timeless; each arrives
in an historical context; almost
everything, in the end, passes. But the desire
to make a poem, and the world’s willingness to receive
it—indeed, the world’s need of it—
these never pass.

Day seventeen poem, LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017I love the library, for more reasons than I can possibly express. While working there today I made a list of intriguing titles as I wandered the stacks. Each line of this poem, including the title, is from that list.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

History of the rain

what the waves know
the yellow eyes of crocodiles
exposed
the time between
love and ordinary creatures

hard to handle
the night falling
untethered
into the beautiful north

they may not mean to, but they do
listen to me
a city breathing

secret of a thousand beauties
chasing fire

reckless disregard

Day ten poem, LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017Sometimes poetry comes to us from unexpected places. This found poem is dedicated to Craig Price, whose voice brings life to so much poetry (and whose words these are).

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Apocalypse

Why would anyone sleep
past 6 a.m. ever? I’ll never live
to find out because I have two cats
that act like the four horsemen
are at our door if I’m still asleep
at 5:45.

Day seven poem, LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017I came home from a meeting to find the kids had been playing Boggle. I decided to see what I could do with the words on their score sheets. It isn’t poetry for the ages, but it was interesting.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Boggled

met the muse
foe not poet
tied pet pit
pen tint tins
penny

coy boy toy
oboe hot cove
timed times ten
meme beam vain
froth

sun fun run
tow pew pub
wet pave heat
den swept
neat

 

Day five poem, LexPoMo 2017

LexPoMo2017I spent the day not being selected for a jury (the first time ever my number has not been called) so I was more easily able to read than write. I found the following (including the title) on p. 139 of Violent Stars, a novel by Canadian poet Phyllis Gotlieb.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

The police helicopter swept the sky

The morning was laying
its first deep blue
streak along the limb
of the world as if no blood
had been spilled ever.