A list of found poems

Here is a list of the found poems I have been posting over the summer, including older posts from last…

Who would we be?, by Susan Sontag

A writer, I think, is someone who pays attention to the world. That means trying to understand, take in, connect…

When poets discover that their words refer only to other words and not to reality which must be described as…

‘An amazing stillness this morning. A sense of impending exhaustion in the air. There was one robin as I went…

‘What drives you?’ says the book. ‘Haven’t we been here before?’ ‘What drives you?’ ‘Are you serious?’ ‘Never more,’ says…

‘What keeps you going?’ ‘You do,’ I say. ‘Not the others?’ ‘No, just you.’ ‘Do you ever think about the…

A breath of our mouth Becomes the portrait of the world, The type of our thoughts And our feelings…

Young poets Who don’t think of themselves As apprentices Are notorious For resisting influences. They’ve experienced The first stages Of…

Consider what value, What meaning Is enclosed even In the smallest Of our daily habits, In the hundred possessions Which…

‘I’m not talking to you,’ says the book. ‘Whyever not?’ I say. ‘You left,’ the book says. ‘I’m never going…

‘Where have you been?’ says the book. ‘And good morning to you, too!’ I say. ‘Where have you been?’ the…

An artist needs not so much an audience as to feel a need to answer, a promise to respond.…

Why did I write it down? In order to remember. Of course, but exactly what was it I wanted to…

Is it possible to practice noticing? I think so. But I also think it requires a suspension of yearning and…

‘I’ve lost my nerve,’ says the book. ‘It’s gone, can’t do it any more. I’m done.’ ‘You haven’t of course,…

‘Did you hear?’ says the book. ‘Ted Hughes’s brother has died.’ ‘I did see that, yes,’ I say. ’95, though.…

‘I’ve been out,’ says the book. ‘So I see,’ I say. The book is dressed in a pith helmet and…

‘What are you doing?’ ‘What’s it look like?’ I say. ‘Hanging out the washing,’ the book says. ‘That’s right. I’m…