#found poems

[nobrashfestivity]

from a collection of found poems edited by Malcolm Parr

[oneironaut17]

coming out with keys

"archaeologists cut through mysteries, following secrets below modern shrouds, finally reaching between the remains of the world and coming out with keys" my poetry zine for national poetry writing month (napowrimo) 2025, in which i wrote a poem a day in april.

(available on: ko-fi or itch.io or dm me for trading!)

[lostdeviantartcollages]

I, too

[ammonitetestpatterns]

you can play hopscotch

[headspace-hotel]

WRITINGS

i am an exit (the Bucky Barnes fanfic you've all heard so much about)

summary below

A broken, disillusioned Steve Rogers is afflicted by a delusion that the mysterious assassin who nearly killed him is actually his best friend, who died 70 years ago. SHIELD wants to lock him up and return him to being a perfect, sparkling nationalist symbol as quickly as possible. Sam Wilson, who has wrestled with his own disillusionment and his own ghosts, knows that Steve needs compassion and the support of a true friend, not a forced regime of recovery that takes away what is left of his shattered autonomy. Meanwhile, as Natasha tries to track down the Winter Soldier, her discoveries get more and more disturbing. She uncovers footage of the Soldier being subjected to, and forced to commit, horrific acts to maintain Hydra's cruel hierarchy. What's more, his resemblance to Steve's dead friend is too close to be coincidence. Sam and Natasha grow determined to stop the Soldier from being recaptured by his abusers, but how will Steve react when he learns the true extent of the Soldier's torture, and the true horror of what he was twisted into? Is the Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes? Or is he something wearing Bucky Barnes's face? Which of those things is worse?

My Wikipedia poems

Black Hole

Legend

Stranger

Hotel

Asteroid

Abyssal Plain

Lightning

Monster

Polar Night

Dragon

Disaster Taxon

[ptpoetry-artspace]

April 11th - The Poeming - Dracula’s Dirge

I sat quietly in the house at midnight

grasping at memories

imprisoned in my menial mind.

I have yet to control

one tangible thought.

I’m awake for hours

helpless in this

mad trap.

[This is a found poem made of words located on pages 36-37 in the source text.]

Source text:

Stoker, Bram. Dracula. Originally published 1897. First Signet Printing. November 1992

[theolivefox]

5/17/37 Dear Dorothy, One month from now + one can see this. We are writing down places where you can stay when you come, for you must. I must readily admit that in many respects these mountains have the Adirondaks beat. And Abreta admits the same about her mountains. So you see, they really are something. Am writing letter Love Kay Gardens on Great Craggy Mountains, 34 Miles From Ashville, N.C.; Vintage Linen-Type Postcard, C.T. Art Colortone Series.

[causticameracrap]

a young girl / long since dead. / lost for good / grieve her. / no sense of grief / only depression / this numbed   nothing. / the only thing that she desired from life / shall not meet her again. / dead in her heart since childhood, / she gave up / waited for death. But / death did not come 

(after perfume) 2021