Found Poetry
Using what is right in front of you
I’m not at home.
I’m in the wintry state of Montana, whose seasons cross the calendar’s boundaries, with freezing temperatures arriving while it is technically still fall, lingering well into spring, sometimes playing pranks by retreating long enough for blossoms to appear then mischievously roaring back with an icy blast.
I brought every pair of wool socks I own.
Yesterday the roads were clear, not yet icy, so I drove to Missoula to sit in the cafe at Barnes and Noble, body doubling with strangers to motivate me to write a little. I used an idea from Charlotte Donlon’s Spiritual Direction for Writer’s site, where she has Daily Nourishment prompts, with a focus on Advent this month. The prompt I used suggested collecting words from your surroundings and creating a “found poem.”
The bookstore, of course, was a rich source of words! I looked around me and began to jot down as many words as I could without overthinking it, which is half the battle in uncorking the ability to write. Just write! Here is my list, and the poem I created from it.
I had been thinking about how timid I feel about going out in the unfamiliar cold weather, but wanting to not limit myself, which, of course, is a theme for my life, as I sometimes wrestle with getting out of my comfort zone, missing out on gifts that come when I do resist the temptation to turtle.
On the other hand, I am reading Katherine May’s book Wintering, which encourages resting in the seasons of darkness, receiving the gifts of quietness that teach us that the world is more than our frantic effort.
It takes wisdom to know when to rest and when to run. We need both, but we need wisdom the most. I am still learning that lesson at 64.
Here is my found poem:
It was too cold for an adventure. I stood on the edge of decision wavering, alternating between the perfect moment and wanting more. Winter is just another season. I shrugged off my doubt knowing that I could stay in my comfort zone anytime. I had wasted hours, years, a lifetime there, missing noteworthy moments I could never retrieve, serving my fear. A bright bell rang in the distance, the sound of steel piercing my reverie, unsheathing rage at what was lost. I proudly pierced my indecision with the blade of resolve, positive I would not forget what I had lost by creating a fiction of fear– ready to run toward a new story.
