Verbatim found poetry is an intriguing collection of found poems. Poems found in ordinary, and not so ordinary places. Submit yours.
Even our ideas
Rick
are most certainly not our own
We have read everything
somewhere
or have heard it
somewhere
We’ve got nothing
really
except each other
And we hate each other
From a discussion of the political divide on Salon.com. By Wesley Brown.
And
painters don’t
know they are.
Not
Ed Ruscha.
Not Robert Indiana.
They
just don’t
know. But they
are.
It’s good
they don’t know.
They’d
be impoverished
by their art
if
they knew.
Taken from Will Vispo Last? Will Vispo be? on dbqp. By Andrew Bailey.
Wait until the moon is out
then go outside
eat a multi-grained bread
and play your guitar to a bush.
If the bush doesn’t shake
eat another piece of bread.
From Captain Beefheart’s 10 Commandments of Guitar Playing. By Grace Andreacchi.
Slippers are designed
to be slipped into
without help from the hand.
They are monuments to
the hatred of bending down.
A quotation from Theodor W. Adorno’s Minima Moralia: Reflections on Damaged Life. By Marika Rose.
I remember running
across the sand at Seaforth beach
when I was three
chasing a red bouncing ball
and hearing my aunt scream
before picking me up
her stepping between silver studs
in the sand
I’d run into a minefield
There was no red ball
It was the family dog
that I had chased
It had been blown up
From Roger McGough: this much I know. By Lisa Oliver.
An upstairs room
with red and gold chairs,
military pictures,
a dumb waiter.
A corner bar
with interesting lights-
An intriguing locked cabinet.
And below,
a framed photograph
of the queen.
From a poetry group email sent after meeting in the Duke of William pub, Matlock. By Margaret.
By all means
let us have a policy
of full employment,
increased production,
no gap between exports and imports,
social security,
a balanced This
and a planned That,
but let us also
have fountains –
more and more fountains –
higher and higher fountains –
fountains like wine,
like blue and green fire,
fountains like diamonds –
and rainbows
in every square.
From J B Priestly’s book Delight, 1949. By Ailsa Holland.
Malcolm was dreadful
John was quite damaged
Malcolm and Kitty were part of the Fabian set
like Bloomsbury in sexual licence
but with more socialism and less art
Taken from an email discussing the Muggeridge family. By Grace Andreacchi.
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. By Lisa Oliver.
He will choose you,
disarm you with his words.
Control you with his presence.
He will delight you with his wit and his plans.
He will show you a good time.
You will always get the bill.
He will smile and deceive you
and he will scare you with his eyes
and when he is through with you, and he will be through with you,
he will desert you and take with him
your innocence and your pride.
You will be left much sadder but not a lot wiser
and for a long time you will wonder what happened and
what you did wrong.
And if another of his kind comes knocking on your door,
will you open it?
From The Psychopath in Prison, an essay by Dr Robert Hare. By Deborah.
Verbatim Poetry 
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