9 to 5 Poet

I’ve got two new reviews out right now.  The first is my review of Two Cups of Tea for the Uptown Neighborhood News and the second is my review of Deborah Keenan’s Willow Room, Green Door for read. write. poem.  Our PBC discussion on the latter will be posted next Monday. 

It’s Day Two of NaPoWriMo and I am already scrambling for things to write.  While taking the bus home after a long day at work, I was whining (mentally) about writing another poem tonight.  But I just wrote one last night. I have to do it again?  Basically, yes. 

Then, I saw it — the treasure trove, an abandoned front page of today’s newspaper, wedged behind the seat in front of me. I grabbed it and began circling phrases that caught my attention. Then, after dinner tonight, I typed them all in and tried to craft a narrative based off of it.  Thank you, Star Tribune.   Found poetry on my very own commute! 

“Only the old man knows.”

He’s unable to speak.

The return of speech would require
a parachute found buried
in southwestern Washington, where children
found detour
wedged between the bridge’s
connection.

Language is not obvious.

He prays for sick
friends because “it doesn’t hurt.”

For the first time,
underused or fallow, he has the freedom
to sow and sell, guided by new threats:
private conversations.

He saw reason for optimism but was not
ready to predict, forecast
real change to come,
being allowed to fly.

While pulling up definitions of found poetry, I found this cool but seemingly defunct site.  Enjoy!