So yesterday, with seven magazines and an old book and the time of three hours on a rainy day, I made an attempt on found poetry, again. Found poetry is hard because you just want that one word, but . . . you can’t have it! It drives a creator crazy! So below are pictures of my attempts and below them are the words. The black-out poetry is from John Jakes novel ‘The Rebels’ on pages, 63, 197, 200, and 255. For the black-out poetry, I have no idea what the poems even mean, but I had fun creating them. Enjoy!
“You must remember this
As time goes by
This is what unforgettable memories are made of
It starts with you.
Conquers are different from other winners they spill over with energy
Passion inspires us all to take on the world
Make a difference
The people, the places, the beauty.
It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before
Winners demand the best
Flurry of courage stifled niceties of conscience. He attacked so rudely. Framed a lighting- glare startled him. He whipped is head around. Clamored to be recognized. He saw a ghostly image. Lank hair. Slack lips. Haunted blue eyes – Trembling, covered his face. He broke out in a cold sweat, nauseous. Leaned close, whispering: “Are you more violent?” Climbed, stumbled, turned an unsympathetic eye. Afraid. No. Nothing. He tried. He slipped. A lightening burst. He sprawled on hands and knees, delirious – And then, slammed up to strike his face. Eventually, familiar, somehow.
“Yes, I’m finally learning something about it. Not without a good deal of struggle, I must confess. I’m afraid I never concerned myself before -” Held back the rest of it. Horror of memory stain her eyes for an instant. Inadvertently trapped. Calm voice, “That’s turned out to be a blessing.” Again he faltered. To conceal, perched on the edge. Another awkward silence. Made a serious error in coming here. Too painful. The sweet torture served no purpose – the silence: impulsively. A shock vibrated through, and quickly.
Depths didn’t care to plumb – very uncomfortable depths – the hazy gray loomed in his mind. Pathetic state. The image dissolved into another. Had struck much too close to the truth. Whatever the causes, he was poisoned by a frequent, almost wholly uncontrollable desire to defy. To choose one road when knew another was the accepted way? Who was to blame? As if it mattered any longer! Or would change anything. And lost himself. Safe for a while from the reality of the world outside. It wasn’t long before his inner world was similarly deadened and remote. Thunder shook. Burst of lightening glared like infernal fire let up from the bowels of the earth, reverberating through the chamber. The air had somehow invaded.
These dreadful confrontations took pleasure in tormenting the old man, in revenge for the old man tormenting him. What in the name of God was wrong with him? Faults were mild in comparison, chief sin was his oppressive iniquity. Burned bright: risen like some demonic figure. Watched him. Was afire, venomous. Surely twist, despicable. So much hate from all of them? Understood how outrage continuing friction and violence, grueling, really couldn’t fault the people when the latter were far less desirable.