One of my favorite poetry assignments the summer I spent at Breadloaf School of English was found poetry. As it happened, someone had left a copy of Archeology on the porch and I rescued it from the elements. Chat GPT tells me “Treasures of Tutankhamum” was probably still on its U.S. Tour at the time, so I think the article that caught my eye probably had something to do with that. I read the article and lifted existing lines to create a new 12-line poem. I’m still looking for it among my archives. My teacher, Lawrence Raab liked it. He encouraged me to continue and gave me an A for the course. I left there, finished up course work for an MA in English, with a feeling that I could do this, moreover, that I had to.
These days, a found poem could be one of my own, written in Notes on my smart phone.
For example:
Walking to the Horses, Shapleigh, Maine
Facing traffic – trucks, boat trailers,
give-a-damn motorcycles — I give
thanks for my two legs, their four,
the possibility that at least one of them
would lift its handsome head to look my way.
This is all I wanted in the moment,
possibly all I ever want. Or need.
I make my slow climb to the ranch house
with the huge American flag, catch a breath,
turn back for another long glimpse
of the horses, their glossy backs
reflecting only light.
At Grassy Waters
Our steps along this section
of boardwalk lead us here
again.
We call it a chapel for the way
the Cypress trees make an arch
over a collection of their roots resembling
a nativity scene. A stretch, I know
but sometimes, I see Buddha
here too, I swear. It depends on the light.
Two rocking chairs are motionless
until they hold our bodies
or catch a strong breeze.
The thatch above us is fragrant,
Reeds bend to the wind.
We have added nothing
but our presence for a brief time.
When we are done rocking
it will be as if we’d never been
here. So too the earth before
and after humans.
I’d love to know what you think of these. Use the comment section. Please share.
Woman Aloud 