Verbatim found poetry is an intriguing collection of found poems. Poems found in ordinary, and not so ordinary places. Submit yours.
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.
I always go
for the beheading option
but
when I’ve calmed down
realise
that it’s not possible
in a free market economy
Anyway how are you?
I’ve been writing
even tweeted the National Gallery
All I need now is a job,
a relationship
and a cup of tea (not
necessarily
in that order)
Taken from a friend’s email, 26 September 2012. By Ailsa Holland.
Then I got up to leave
and said Stand up.
He stood. I said: Look at me.
I’m a middle aged man
with a limp and a wheeze
and a son and a wife that I love.
I’m not just a little avatar.
You’re better than this.
You have a name of your own.
Be proud of it.
Don’t hide it again
and I won’t ruin it.
Now shake hands.
‘I’m sorry.’ he said,
and looked like he meant it.
Then we shook on it.
From Meeting A Troll. By Angi Holden.
Overheard in the Co-op:
“You work bloody hard all your life
and then when you’re finished
you have to go and see the doctor every day.”
A tweet by @SeeingMore. By Marika Rose.
Consider
the fact
that
for 3.8 billion years,
not one
of your pertinent ancestors
was squashed,
devoured,
drowned,
starved,
stuck fast,
untimely wounded
or otherwise deflected
from its life’s
quest
of delivering a
tiny
charge
of genetic material
to the right partner
at the right moment
to perpetuate
the only
possible
sequence
of hereditary combinations
that could result –
eventually,
astoundingly,
and all too briefly –
in you.
From Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything (2003). By Ailsa Holland.
But then sometimes it’s time
for the nerd to come along and say,
I’m actually not that strong.
I actually don’t believe that I’m that good,
and I actually don’t believe that all of my intentions are that pure.
Actually, sometimes I’m a fucking asshole.
And everyone is, and you relate to that.
From an interview with pop artist Ben Folds in the Charleston City Paper. By Paul.
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