Tag Archives: found poetry

The Things that People Shared

This is the final poem in my series of found poems created from the July 20, 2011 edition of The Stranger.

The Things People Shared


Things that people shared:

      grilled goat testicles,

grilled pheasant,

                    balsamic bing cherries,

and the miracle

           of shit.



quibbled sweetly.

            The skies

partly cleared.

There was dancing.

Casa de la Música, Trinidad, Cuba. Octubre de 2016. Fotos. Yoel Díaz 09


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Burning Beast

This is the second of the three found poems, made from articles in Seattle’s weekly, The Stranger (July 20, 2011 edition), that I mentioned in my last post.

Burning Beast


It was a downright nonsummer,

a wet one,

pretty much ensoddening

all flesh

or trying.


Someone said

the drifting smoke

was somewhat apt.


It was raining hard.

The Beast’s spirit

seemed to

shower rain.


Original by Coconino National Forest

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Doomed Houses

Here is the first of three found poems that I put together in July of 2011 while sitting at the bar in the Elysian Brewing Company in Seattle, Washington.  The poems came from the July 20, 2011 edition of the Seattle weekly newspaper, The Stranger.  I used to know the page numbers involved, but, alas, that information has been lost.  The Stranger proved to be a fantastic source for found poems.  I really recommend it, if you’re into that sort of thing.  And Elysian isn’t a bad place to throw back a pint or two.

Doomed Houses 

I. Bang through the wall,

    filthy and happy,

of an emptied-out,


  maze of

         bank vaults.

Thousands of

     metal doors fight –

held open, pulled closed –

  trying to show

        a freer, wilder

landscape, morphing

into a mechanical

roadside attraction.


II. A raven glows

            and spins

outside the house,

      burned, meticulously,

with the limbs

        of the tree,

burned with

playful patterns

visceral, violent,

     indented in the skin,

dirt and grime


into the skin,

 a perfect deathbed partner,

 a sagging soul.


III. Something of a

            wakelike awareness

will make

   the coming


    take on

       the imagery of

             economic darkness.


   in plastic,

you see its dirt.

20131203 Istanbul 251

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Found Poem #1

I sometimes like to dabble in found poetry.  If you are unfamiliar with this particular form of poetry, this is a good definition from Poets.org:

“Found poems take existing texts and refashion them, reorder them, and present them as poems. The literary equivalent of a collage, found poetry is often made from newspaper articles, street signs, graffiti, speeches, letters, or even other poems.”
I will post these experiments whether good or bad (probably mostly bad) here on this blog.  Without further ado, here is my first one on Uncertain Pilgrim.
The inevitability of Progress
        prepared us
to be frightened,
     to smell violence and
the bodies of dead animals and
            human pleasure
oblivious to the savageries
          of history.
-from Sketches from Life: the Autobiography of Lewis Mumford, p. 250

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