I am lost in a garden at the end of the earth
sliding on its slippery mercury current,
the goddess just turned the dial back to zero
and there is absolutely nothing to do.
This is a place where people come to,
stuck all night, or maybe for eternity.
They carry crystals for cosmic blessings
under a silver path of moonlight.
They are at the water-coming-down-place,
wishing they could levitate.
I am with them, lost at the edge,
lost in hidden spaces,
sometimes in a space suit,
sometimes swimming with a watery child
who does not want me to speak.
At the edge of the earth
there are trumpeting squash blossoms,
a silent cat, and a brick wall
that know my secrets better than I,
I am at the edge with their blessings
and the light of the slippery moon.
This is more of a hybrid poem (a term I’m just making up) than a found poem. I used pictures from an article about gardening called “Hidden Spaces” and the text in the collage from another article called “Lost Coast Generations” by Chiori Santiago, both in old issues of Examiner Magazine.
I see this whole “series” as exercises. Quick art when time and life do not allow for other things. Piggybacking on the words of others…especially if they are well written words…makes me feel that the Poetry Police might come knocking at my door. I have no intentions for the poems other than offering them here. Yet, I am finding the process one of depth and emotional relevance. As I mentioned in my last post, I’m leaving the idea of pure found poetry (admitting it may have not been totally pure in the way I’ve been playing with it…but the intention was there). Setting the limit of 7 minutes to write (extra time for catching typos and adjusting words here and there) is allowing me to do a daily practice of “journaling”. I like structure… limits in what I work with… my blue marker is fading out but I like using it for as long as I can. Also, glue stick, magazines, markers…something that doesn’t have to be set up. Materials easy and readably accessible.