Verbatim found poetry is an intriguing collection of found poems. Poems found in ordinary, and not so ordinary places. Submit yours.
The Knabe baby grand
did a cartwheel and landed
on its back,
legs poking into the air.
A Lester upright
thudded onto its side
with a final groan of strings,
a death-rattling chord.
After ten pianos were dumped,
a small yellow loader
with a claw in front scuttled
in like a vicious beetle,
crushing keyboards,
soundboards
and cases
into a pile.
(From For More Pianos, Last Note Is Thud in the Dump. Submitted by J.R. Solonche)
He’s got a gun within reach.
He’s a threat … in that second
I shot him, two times in the forehead.
Bap! Bap!
The second time as he’s going down.
He crumpled to the floor in front of his bed
and I hit him again.
Bap!
Same place … he was dead. Not moving.
His tongue was out. I watched him take
his last breaths, just a reflex.
And I remember as I watched him
breathe out the last part of air, I thought:
is this the best thing I’ve ever done, or the worst?
From ‘I killed him’: US Navy Seal who fired the shot that killed Osama bin Laden breaks his silence, The Independent, 11 February 2013. The words come from the former Navy Seal, with ‘on’ (line 6) and ‘breath’ (11) removed. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.
of a neurological hospital has an eerie calm
Patients are lined up on beds
in neat rows
Most of them hooked
to life-support machines
All of them still
All of them silent
The only sound is that of electronic beeping
and the whisperings of medical staff
It’s bleaker than a Thomas Hardy landscape
(From A sudden stroke – and then Mum was gone. Submitted by Lisa Oliver)
For a while
I found myself
looking upwards more –
scanning
for open windows.
And swishing my hand
past my ear, to try
to recreate
the sensation
of the baby’s fall.
Taken from the Guardian’s ‘Experience’ feature, 19th January 2013. Submitted by Ailsa Holland.
I was drinking a coffee the other day
Watching several adolescent girls at another table.
Suddenly, they launched
Into snapping one another
And thereafter progressed
To taking self portraits.
This style of vain,
Self-absorbed activity
Is the lowest level
Taking photos can probably
Descend to.
Considering that,
If you are the only
Truly worthwhile point
Of interest,
In all of life’s
Rich tapestry,
Then you might have failed
To detect a few essential
Hints
In the path of learning
What life is
Ultimately about.
From The Advantages Of Photography As A Hobby at All Best Articles. Submitted by Cami Hernandez.
If Brother Julian was gardening in front of the friary,
Brother Adrian weeded in the back.
If Adrian was driving the van, Julian sat by his side.
Preparing the altar for chapel,
chopping wood for kindling,
exulting in ice cream at the Twist & Shake:
the twins were together, always.
Workers, not teachers, so ever-present as to be unseen.
Taken for granted, like the rushing hush
of the Allegheny River at the university’s edge,
or the back-and-forth of birdsong.
Brother Julian became the sacristan,
Brother Adrian the chauffeur,
but they also built the bookshelves,
maintained the garden, cleared the shrines in the woods
and rarely spoke unless invited.
How they adorned the friary trees with birdhouses.
How they toured the campus on identical bicycles.
How they often sat in prayer in the chapel,
so still that you might not know they were there.
Taken from a New York Times article about twin Franciscan brothers. Submitted by Angi Holden.
phobia is not the only thing that’s worrying
Japanese women. Unlike earlier generations
of Japanese men, they prefer
not to make the first move, they like
to split the bill, and they’re not
particularly motivated by sex.
I spent the night at one guy’s house, and nothing
happened. We just went to sleep, moaned one
incredulous woman on a TV program
devoted to herbivores.
It’s like something’s missing with them, said
Yoko Yatsu, a 34-year-old housewife.
If they were more normal, they’d be more interested
in women. They’d at least want to talk to women.
A quote from Alexandra Harney in Slate, quoted in Why Isn’t Japan Having Sex? at The Good Men Project. Submitted by Andrew Milewski.
They are inquisitive
It was a lot of trial and error
I started with two, had eight…
it snowballed from there
It is tough at times
There are days you just don’t love your job
There is good and bad, but a lot more good
She’d walk onto the stage all by herself
then walk back to me
or hang out with the cellists
She loved the violinists
They died on the same day
Just old. Can’t stop that
They went and laid back-to-back
and passed away on the same day
But they lived a good life, that’s for sure
Direct speech in the WNY.FM article Reindeer in Hamburg. Submitted by Grace Andreacchi.
The hippies of
outrageous fortune
weigh heavy on
the minds of dogs
Taken from an account of life with Tourette’s in the Guardian, 10th February 2012. Submitted by Marika Rose.
When we’re side by side
walking down the street
every glance is in her direction.
I pretend not to notice
but I feel like an accessory
it’s as if I don’t exist
I was ecstatic one summer
When she put on a lot of weight
and was wallowing in misery
I had a spring in my step
when we walked down the street
but she still managed to take centre stage
even with her muffin top
(From What I’m really thinking: the jealous friend. Submitted by Lisa Oliver)
Verbatim Poetry 
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