Tag Archives: found poem

NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 18 – Sith Happens

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All I hear are the sounds of lightsabers.
The Dark Side is around us,
but we do serve your kind here.

When shit was real
the Sith lived in peace –
only imaginary battles.

N’hésitez pas à dénoncer auprès de l’Empire
do not hesitate to report to the Empire
the range in generations of people
falling in love with the new suit.

How much lost at the hands+
of a Jedi Princess?
There are no words to
ingest, transform, analyze
one of my all time favorites:
pink Chewbacca.

Así se ven los protagonistas
So the protagonists are
also still on a nerd-high
and I must ask all of you:
do or do not?
(There is no try.)

[Fragments taken from the #StarWars feed on Twitter.]

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NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 12 – Glimpses

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A motor-bike revs by the new flats.
I could look back and see…

The snake-hipped man sitting with the old woman
come to slake their fantastic lust –
scattering in all directions, at their wits’ end,
smiling mysteriously at the dead man.
(His silence was only another form of grief.)

Stood with my back to the sink,
I wish I might digress and tell you more.

[Found poem created by summing the alphanumeric values of ‘realism’ (=77), and choosing a line from that page of each novel on the module I’m teaching at UEA.]

NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 10 – Stuck

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I long for the summer.

You’ll follow where I go
knowing I will find
the chance to go back.

I try to do it myself,
I want to see and
let the words fall out.

I long for the summer.

I’ve just got to go,
another colour turns to grey
and I have to take it.

Just like you,
I am aware that
there’s no one left to blame.

There’s no one left to blame.
I’m walking away
now I truly realise

I long for the summer.

[Found poem. Each line is chosen from a song obtained by googling the previous line. When stuck in a circle, repeat the first line.]

NaPoWriMo Day 29 – Captions

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You are not our readers
but you need
to know this.
We need more stories
we need different stories
a healthy and vital evolution.

If we can change perceptions
relate to and see each other
when we draw pictures,
sometimes teach others
the community it represents.
Keep our pencils moving
trying to be an ally.

You are not our readers.
The true faces, true fans
“I would not–
I didn’t just–
had no idea–“,
have become obscure
now in the minority.

You’ve probably met
the Pretty Deadly
voracious reader
you’ve probably met
people that
recognize that
conversations like this
have finally started to build
people that
reject fandom gatekeeping.

It does not matter
where we’re reading it from
that doesn’t matter much
to comics as a whole
to many who work
to stand in solidarity
make the world a better place.

You are not our readers
but we
we are comics.

NaPoWriMo Day 11 – Findings

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But is it —?
Is the question of knowledge
of the first definition of literature.
It could be a laundry list,
her recipes wouldn’t be,
moving through historically
would be the question
not the matter of reading:
only certain things are admitted.

You’ve also got this word literary
which doesn’t get you very far
but an automatic selection:
this person has literature,
do you have French?
This weasel word literary,
the realm of letters or books,
two is the process
three is the product;
but the question you’re burning to ask,
educated to a certain level,
being told what’s good
in the particular generation –
it would exclude poetry.
If someone’s gone through the trouble
– may I pass round,
shall we just talk through
(rather – jolly good)
(and yes yes).

A spiritual offering:
the depth of a shopping list
if it’s about to launch.
It starts out with we
it can swallow other
fifteen minutes,
you don’t get that in
whole sets of
judgement of the
criteria of the
familiar.

The reveal:
a property, how we read it,
we can find elements;
today we would not,
conventionally.
The product of labour
presented as a question:
is it literature.

Does it make sense? Not that much, really, but still a lot more than I expected. This is a found poem, based on overheard bits of today’s UEA Café Conversation, titled ‘But is it Literature?’. Much as the session itself, the poem ends at the beginning, inevitably.