Found Poem Instructions

What you do is
take a piece of text,
and you ignore
the grammar,
ignore the word order,

you just regard it
as a bag of words,
and once you’ve done that,
the different words
in the bag can be mixed

with red diamonds,
and surrounded
by sirens and lights
or the afternoon winds
off the Pacific.

Howie Good, 2018

Remixed works:

Falsehood and Justice, by Henry Chapman
A Songwriting Mystery Solved: Math Proves John Lennon Wrote ‘In My Life’, by Scott Simon and Ned Wharton
A View from the Easel, by Deena ElGenaidi

A Sleep of Crowns

Cover your needs.
Descend to your roots.
[your... your... your... your with your...]
Bleed willingly (that’s a good thing).

Answer the brook.
Lips to secrets meet,
the wounded answer–desire.

Your whiteness (of course
it isn’t) in a seasonless world;

feeling what you feel,
hurry. Release

the I fragment.

Your eventide,
a sleep of crowns.

Shloka Shankar, 2018

Remixed works:
Kahlil Gibran on The Courage to Weather the Uncertainties of Love, by Maria Popova
John Steinbeck on Falling in Love: A 1958 Letter of Advice to His Lovesick Teenage Son, by Maria Popova

Jesus Was Homeless

Where are you from? Why are you here? Leave us alone. We’re tattered. We’re broken. The smell of poverty clings to even the folds of our skin. We sleep afraid, we wake up afraid. I find that I’m staying in my room, not answering the phone, not answering texts, not answering emails. Others have taken to the woods or hide in town behind piles of rubble. There’s one stone that people go and kiss. This stone has almost melted. From kissing, melted!

Howie Good, 2018

Remixed works:

Glimpses of Aleppo in an Exile’s Vision of an Elegant, Eerie Realm, by Kirsten O’Regan
A Simple Emergency Room Intervention Can Help Cut Suicide Risk, by Rhitu Chatterjee

A God’s Eye

It could have been stolen. It could have been accidentally thrown out. Whichever, the God’s eye is gone. I’ve looked for it where things accumulate, where people leave things. Every house has a corner like that. I’ve been to the market, too. I’ve walked down those cobblestone streets. But I made a conscious decision not to give myself a plan B. I’ve tried everything I can. I can’t keep drowning, I just can’t. I pull up to a traffic light and see a flame thrower, and someone wanting to sell me little Popeye figurines. And in the end, the answer is no.

Howie Good, 2018

Remixed work:

Beer with a Painter: Alfredo Gisholt, by Jennifer Samet

When to Waken Want

I.

Sorrow said, “Believe.”
Think behind and I’m the tonight.
Think really of behind, when said.
Believe-fuck.
Now talking of true hail, the hail said it
Soul-cold there:

“When to waken want.”

Moon that I fool-believe.
Summer, that goodbye to all steel,
Be death-believe. Fine.
There’s raining touch.

Close me.

Think stripp’d don’t touch.
Fool to think everything goodbye,
No pluck flying.
Think-telling when please?
Goodbye there, shit soul.
Want everyday raining what more?
You all-forsaken
Winter shit think, think
What like-stories need night.
Sleep flying soul moon.
No garden-plot, that.

Hear hail
With light lies
Beneath hope.

II.

Soul want spring realize:
Fuck-weep-soul behind th’ halo are kept-believe.
True cold tomorrow gonna
Flying lily hear some.
“Sun-warm’d no”, touch said.
Half need.
“That sick tonight”, touch said, to changing hear
‘Cause letter laugh mouth.
Chilly think lies hear behind snap, its
Want of sides
Lost.

Love-believe,

Know-believe,
Need-believe.
Night eyes think steel.
“There’s fine think on alone soul”, said tonight,
Lonely.
A when mouth.
Flying hail-soul,
Comfortless fool to believe, really.
Goodbye, same everything.
Hear a said light.

III.

Want have.

Don’t your want.
Touch, touch that behind jealous all-forsaken.
Soon death gonna we to moon.
Flying to sleep, no talk pluck.
“Beneath”, said shit. True.
Some sides believe touch.
Believe kind soul gonna we to moon.

Please realize:
Garden-plot lily summer sides
Say, “Surprised,
No fool believes.”

“Comfortless fucking when think”, said your rose:
Think, sit mouth tonight.
Mouth-think, what full to wake.
Behind soul care,
Be sorrow.
Stories flying.
Of telling.
Think, think lost,

Jealous fool.

Brian A. Salmons, 2018

Algorithmic approach:

Dada

Remixed works:

There’s No Need, by Empire of the Sun
I Don’t Wanna Hear It, by Minor Threat
A Daughter of Eve, by Christina Rossetti

Golden Glimmers

1.
The first golden glimmers of the genre,
its central magic nothing but
a charity project for themselves.

2.
A man who ends up going to live
inside his own head
in an imagined city:

entire worlds have been built
reflected in the narrow
and inexact mirrors of others.

The differences are slight,
kinetic and observed; protected
by a varnish of the mythic.

3.
The spasmodic mechanics of dreams,
transformation or absences
not one thing or the other.

4.
Huge windows that silence
all sound from the street,
the voice of someone he can’t forget;

a dissonant chaos of strings and wind
no match for the sadness
descending to the bottom of the sky.

Shimmering dead star dust,
opposite sides of the room.
These lights will never go out.

5.
The head never stops moving,
lost in intelligence.
Such a simply gesture.

Accept the idea
of time gained and time lost,
of the time that passes,

reflections and memories,
simpler and funnier songs,
that fullest of emptiness,

6.
I’m lying to myself
in order to fool all of you,
but of course it’d be a lie.

There never was a more
futuristic time than this tribe’s
capacity for abstraction.

Rupert M. Loydell, 2018

Remixed work:

The Invented Part, by Rodrigo Fresán

Sonata for Gun, Knife and Fist

I sat in my car at the intersection next
to the school mesmerized by the way
the fire was raging from the windows.

Every day I think about what I’ve lost.
John has paint he says we might be able
to use to clean up the burnt-over areas

a bit, but more things can go wrong than
right. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of crying.
There’s a bullet hole in my child’s car seat.

Howie Good, 2018

Remixed works:

Mass Shootings Spur Movements, But Gun Violence Is Constant For Some Americans, by Asia Simone Burns
The Mice Who Evolved to Live on Cheese Fries: Prowling New York With an Evolutionary Biologist, by Christopher Bonanos