Verbatim found poetry is an intriguing collection of found poems. Poems found in ordinary, and not so ordinary places. Submit yours.
The bare bones of a name,
all rock and ice
and storm and abyss.
It makes no attempt to sound human.
It is atoms and stars.
It has the nakedness of the world
before the first man—
or of the cindered planet
after the last.
Italian climber Tosco Maraini describing the name K2.
I would not seek to set up
that which Providence hath destroyed
and laid in the dust,
and I would not build Jericho again.
– Oliver Cromwell
Did not wish to spend winters in England.
Felt too sick to accept. Felt he could do
his work better without it. In protest
at the nomination of The Beatles
for the MBE. Silly. What you get if you
clean the toilets well at King’s Cross;
sort of thing given to civil servants.
Man, I’m a Star Wars fan – empire is bad:
a Ruritanian charade that helps
to prop up the top-heavy monarchy.
It reminds me of how my foremothers
were raped and my forefathers brutalised.
A symbol of slavery and suffering;
British Empire, a brutal, bloody thing.
(Some potential recipients
have rejected one honour
then accepted another
or have initially refused an honour
then accepted it or
have accepted one honour
then declined another
or refused in the hope
of another higher)
I would like to
see from your eyes,
hear from your ears,
feel with your skin,
and kiss with your mouth.
I would like to
be the shadow that is born
from the soles of your feet
and that lengthens along the ground
upon which you walk.
I want to
be the water that bathes you,
the light that gives you form,
I wish that my substance
were your substance,
that your voice should come
out of my throat
so as to caress me from inside.
Frida Kahlo’s letter to Josep Bartolí, 20 October 1946.
Penalties are applied for infractions
such as walling the Pritz,
icing on fifth snivel,
running with the mob,
rushing the season,
inability to face facts,
or sending the Dummy home early.
The game officials are a Probate Judge
dressed as a British judge, with wig,
a Field Representative
in a Scottish kilt,
a Head Cockswain
in long overcoat,
and a Baggage Smasher
dressed as a male beachgoer
in pre–World War I years.
Competitors wear gloves,
a helmet, and flippers.
They pursue the Pritz,
constructed from untreated ibex hide,
stuffed with blue jay feathers.
Play begins after a frullip
is touched to the flutney
and the recitation
Mi tío es enfermo,
pero la carretera es verde!
Most squamish games consist of seven Ogres,
unless of course, it rains.
From the rules for 43-man Squamish, conceived by Mad Magazine in 1965.
Toward the Atlantic Ocean, Africa
The front of the human head cut off
at the shoulders and leaning forward to kiss
Europe, Thrace and the Black Sea regions
a young girl in a long dress
Britain, Scandinavia
who stretches her hand back
to attract a leaping cat.
Earth, the two oceans, the American continent
In the other half of Volva the brightness
is more widely diffused;
South America, Nicaragua, Yucatán, Popayán
you might call it the outline of a bell
hanging from a rope and swinging westward.
What lies above and below
can’t be likened to anything.
Somnium by Johannes Kepler, 1608.
They say a silver baron built this place
to escape the sound of human voices.
Now the Pacific cuts right through
the living room like an unwanted thought.
We drink the mezcal. We look at the Jaguar.
We don’t talk about the tide.
From a @jc____b Instagram post.
I think he thinks you’re drowning,
the husband said to his wife.
We’re fine, what is he doing?
Directly behind them, not ten feet away,
their nine-year-old daughter was drowning.
Drowning is almost always
a deceptively quiet event.
A five-hundred-pound US Navy practice bomb.
A stolen Frederic Remington sculpture.
Customized Air Jordans made for Spike Lee.
The first stamp issued in the US.
More than 5000 used blood vials.
Three pounds of marijuana.
Live Japanese grenades.
A mastodon tooth.
A live puppy.
People.
Items found in donation bins, according to The Death of a Superman.
When fear crawls out in the evenings
from all four corners,
when the winter storm raging outside
tells you it is winter,
when my soul trembles at the sight
of distant fantasies,
I shiver and say one word with every heartbeat,
every pulse, every piece of my soul.
Time, go ahead.
Time, which carries liberation
and its unknown tomorrow.
The result is certain.
Everything comes to an end.
Spring will come.
From the diary of Elsa Binder, 30 January 1942.
I deeply regret the current state
of Central Park. What was intended
as a controlled, educational exhibit
entitled “Jurassic Jaunt:
A Stroll Through Prehistory” has…
clearly exceeded its design parameters.
Rest assured, mitigation is underway:
All park-goers have been evacuated
to dinosaur-tree zones, such as
the Upper West Side and Staten Island.
We’re deploying a fleet of robotic
ducks to lead the T. Rexes peacefully
out of the park. (It worked on the goats.
It might work again.) Replacement carousels
are being 3D-printed as we speak
–now with anti-chomp polymer coating.
I fully acknowledge the inconvenience
and mild panic this has caused. I owe
the city, and especially the small dogs,
a heartfelt apology. Would you be willing
to accept a formal letter of regret,
plus complimentary tickets to our next event,
“Penguins on Parade: No Cloning This Time,
We Swear”?
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