The idea for this poem originated from a blog post written by The Taler called Found Poems. In it the author explains how one can take an excerpt from a written passage and create something different, for instance a poem. In my piece I’ve chosen words from Dennis O’Driscoll’s No Thanks and Frank Horne’s Walk. Mixing phrases around like a bag of scrabble letters, I’ve managed to come up with a somewhat different context, which I must say was fun!
Franks Horne’s poem Walk may be a challenge to find online, but I was in love from the first stanza:
I am trying
to learn to walk again…
all tensed and trembling
I try so hard, so hard…
O’Driscoll’s No Thanks became my mantra years ago, and I chuckle at this poem every time I read it. You should read it, too.
Your Turn: Take a passage and ‘remix’ it. Feel free to share under comments or via a post. And if you want to up the ante, take several passages and see what you can mash-up.
Found on Twitter
Loved it so much I had to share
We never knew our way around this place
Content to navigate blindly
The lost leading the lost
I tripped you up and picked you up
You tripped me up and picked me up
Love kept us going,
Invested efforts in the wrong direction
Never knew our way
Method to My Madness 🙂
*Inspired by Day 5 of Writers Digest PAD Challenge
So, around midnight, I started thinking, what can I do for day five? As we know, this is what my brain does at bedtime.
Slowly, a bundle of words emerged:
We never knew our way around this place, but we were content to navigate blindly, more like the lost leading the lost. I tripped you up and helped you up, you tripped me up and helped me up. Love kept us going, or pride. Invested an effort in the wrong direction. We never knew our way.
Well, not that bundle of words. It was more like a destruction of words:
sms aka whatevertheyaint 11/17
Initially, there’s this raw space. We may wonder how it got there, or more importantly, why it’s there. Perhaps we conditioned ourselves early in life to bandage wounds and carry on, so we slap a Band-Aid on it until it festers, not realizing that giving it time to breathe is better than covering it over.
Then, somewhere during the process, a scab forms. There’s this protective layer now, and we go about our daily routines as we did before. That is until we accidentally bump that spot, exposing it again. Maybe we overestimated ourselves, or maybe we were just trying to…forget. In any event, there it is. And yes, it still hurts.
An undetermined amount of time passes, and we notice the scab is now a smooth scar. We run our fingers over it, remembering that unsightly place. But we can do it now, we can run our hand across that area. It reminds us that grief cut us open. Yet, we survived.
- I can only speak for my own experiences. Like most people, there have been more than a few negative events in my life, but I learned to just acknowledge them and allow myself to go through the process. This poem came from waiting on a sore to heal on my leg and then, at random (which tends to happen when I’m ready for my brain to SHUT DOWN), thinking how wounds are a lot like the process of grieving, or dealing with any life-changing event.