Found Poetry For Reluctant Poets – Why It’s The Go-To Activity For Myself and the Kids I Work With

This piece was originally published on Medium!

Image by ShonEjai from Pixabay

Found poetry is one of my favourite activities to do with the young people I work with. It never fails to inspire even the most reluctant writers and it will usually lure in the children who are adamant that they hate poetry. Because I’ve spent a lot of time researching it, experimenting with it and preparing classes with it, it has quickly become my favourite type of poetry too.

There are a lot of reasons for this and there are many different types of found poetry. I will get to both these points in just a minute.

But for now, let’s quickly dive into what it is about poetry that puts people off in the first place. I can only approach this analysis from a personal point of view and from the things poetry-wary children and teenagers have told me over the years.

For me, and often for the youngsters I work with, poetry is something that is forced on them. I work with school children and home-educated children, most of whom also study poetry for English Literature and Language classes. It differs a lot — overall, the home-ed kids have a lot more say in their curriculum but often still have an aversion to poetry, whereas the school children have no choice in what they are taught. For this reason, poetry is forced upon them. They might grow to like it or even love it, but they don’t have a choice in studying it.

This in itself is often enough to put them off. I often encounter children in my sessions who just want to write what they want to write and don’t appreciate being dragged from their amazing story idea to focus on poetry they don’t care about. They are defensive already; their backs are up.

Also, some of the poetry inflicted on school children in particular is, lets be honest, hard to swallow. It’s been a long time since I was at school but I clearly recall studying poems that meant nothing to me and had no impact on me. In short, I could not relate to them. I often found them too long, too boring, too flowery and wordy. I was put off. If the words themselves had to be translated for me to understand, I was put off even more.

This isn’t the case for everyone and of course, there are some beautiful, in fact stunning, poems out there that deserve to be studied for centuries to come.

And this leads us to the second problem. Poetry can be intimidating.

We read things like Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas, The Waste Land by T.S Eliot and She Walks In Beauty by Lord Byron, and we are in awe, instantly feeling we can’t compete, nor should we ever try. Poetry can be beautiful, engaging and life-affirming. Like all writing, poetry can change the world. It can certainly change your life.

When I ask young people why they don’t like poetry they usually give the same reasons I used to for not liking poetry:

It’s boring.

It’s inaccessible.

It’s intimidating.

It’s not relatable.

It’s hard. (This is the complaint I hear the most from poetry-averse kids!)

It’s too complicated/wordy/long…

The first time I really fell in love with poetry and felt like I could actually write it too was when I discovered Charles Bukowski. I had already read and loved some of his books so it seemed a natural step to check out his poetry and I was blown away. So much so that I have lines from two of his poems tattooed on my arms.

Reading Bukowski made me want to write poems — finally! Reading Bukowski made me feel like I could. Like poetry was for me too.

It was so freeing. Why? Because he didn’t care what anyone thought, he didn’t try to impress anyone, he didn’t even try to impress himself. He didn’t follow rules, he just wrote from the heart. That is my favourite kind of poetry and I’m always ecstatic when I discover pieces like that.

But let’s get back to found poetry and why it works so well for reluctant poets like me and the kids I work with.

Here are a few of the forms and briefly how to do them:

Blackout poetry — you find some old newspapers, magazines, unwanted books, posters, leaflets — anything you can get your hands on. You get a big fat marker pen and start eliminating words. You look for words lost and stranded between the chunks of black you are creating.

Magnetic poetry — a really fun form of found poetry. There are various themed sets you can buy online. I currently have a nature themed one and a horror/gothic themed one. They come in cute little boxes and kids can spread them out and see what words draw their eye. They can make list poems, haikus, anything they like, and it’s always lovely to see their faces light up when the magnets create something beautiful for them.

Haicubes — I have a set of these but we don’t just use them to create haiku poems, we use them for any type of poetry and sometimes even as writing prompts or story starters. It’s basically a huge set of dice with random words on and a few with themes. Kids can pile them up, line them up or pick random ones to inspire longer sentences.

Found poetry from the environment — there are two ways I approach this in my writing clubs. One, I bring in a bag full of words and phrases I have cut out of magazines, posters, leaflets and newspapers. I cut out anything that catches my eye and it is quite addictive. I like to have as many as possible. Some will be single words. Some will be whole sentences. Some are more like headlines or sub-titles. I spread them out on the desks and let the kids rifle through them. The idea is to pick any words that call out to them and see what that inspires. We have had some fantastic poems made this way.

The other way is to use the environment itself. This is fairly easy in the school building as there are posters and notice boards everywhere! They can wander around with a clipboard and pen, picking up words and phrases and writing them down. They then sit down and try to reorder them into a poem.

Cut-up/fold-up poetry — this is currently my favourite form of found poetry as you will see if you look through my poems on Medium! I discovered fold-up poetry about two years ago when researching ideas for my clubs. The one I came across asks writers to divide a piece of paper into four boxes. You write a list of everything you can see in one box, everything you can hear in another, followed by everything you can smell in the third and then in the last box, everything you can taste. You then try to pick at least two lines from each box, add to them, rework them if you like, and try to arrange the eight lines into a poem. It helps to try and pick out themes; for example, I was recently on a road trip and the weather was atrocious, so lots of my senses boxes had lines about the rain, how it sounded and so on. The poem ended up with a definite theme and I called it Driving Conditions. However, I have to admit that the fold-up technique using the senses can be quite tricky in a classroom or Zoom setting. So, since then, we have been making up our own boxes and breaking the rules.

We choose as many lines as we like, for example. Perhaps you get lines from each box or perhaps one box gets ignored completely; it doesn’t matter. The idea is to pick a strong first line and then see where it takes you.

You can title the boxes with anything you like.

Try writing things you love in box one, in box two write things you hate, in box three write things you fear, and in box four write things you dream of. You can change it up anyway you like!

Personally I always like to have a box with things I can hear in it and love writing these poems on long road trips. Probably because I can see and hear different things than normal on a road trip. The ‘hear’ one is a favourite of mine as we always have music on, and random lines will leap out at me and get written into a box. I try to pick the lines that could be said by anyone, as obviously you have to be aware of plagiarsm or copyright infringement. One of my lines in a recent poem was ‘I’d rather die’ which came from a Lana del Rey song we were playing. I added ‘love hurts’ in front of it and made a new line with a different meaning.

There are so many ways of playing around with found poetry and I think it’s incredibly freeing. You can approach the page with a blank mind and no ideas, because eventually you will find the words and the ideas floating around you.

For young writers who dislike poetry, this is a fantastic mode of persausion. They don’t actually have to come up with the words themselves; they just have to find them. Most of the time, I see this lead to a real increase in confidence with poetry, which is wonderful.

Check out a few of my found poems below and why not give it a try?

Wanderlust – a cut-up poem

excluded from running wild
never our land
check your barriers
and thank you for driving carefully
the road gets tough
mixing petrol fumes with coffee and cream
follow the white lines
across a patchwork land
praying the car won’t die
lights coming towards us
ignite our wanderlust
the sea, behind green hills
mist rolling down the valleys
love hurts, I’d rather die
so I carved out a quiet
little
life
for
myself

The Future Is Coming – a cut-up poem

Why do people ruin everything?
wildfires — no water
rusted, barbed wire coiled like snakes
sharp stones underfoot
but we cleared up the broken glass
falling over, getting splashed
this place is hungry
the current trickles under the fallen log
let’s trespass, let’s explore
what’s that noise?
The future — it’s coming
run

Road To Nowhere: a poem

This poem was previously published on The Poetry Pub, on Medium. This poem was written using the cut-up technique during a road-trip. Cut-up or fold-up poetry is a form of found poetry that involves making four boxes and giving them titles, such as: things I can hear; things I am afraid of; things I can see etc. You then pick a potential first line and build the poem from the contents of the boxes, changing and reorganising as you go.

Image by tookapic from Pixabay

rain dots the windscreen
and I can’t take my eyes off
your careless handling of the wheel
steering us to disaster
or something brighter
we’re rolling along, racing faster
on a road to nowhere
it’s all pointless, all alone
death is coming for us all
the signs are faded
we can’t see where we’re going
it’s turning us into monsters
something new
but you can still free my mind
i can’t stop thinking about
how I’ll die
and what will be
the last song I hear
and as low black clouds
crawl in like greasy sweat
we await rescue

Those Small Moments

Do you ever feel like life consists of small moments that seem to repeat themselves again and again? Often made up of the somewhat repetitive actions we perform day after day. I think about these small moments a lot. Sometimes I feel like I am living out groundhog day, always doing the same small things, reliving the same small moments that make up my life.

Often the day itself becomes a fast moving blur and the moments I feel trapped in, the moments that seem somehow illuminated are those at the start and end of the day. Perhaps they are the routines I practice the most, whereas the day itself can vary due to outside influences such as other people, even weather.

For me, I feel like I am always waking up wrapped in my warm blanket, dying for the loo. Then I am always outside letting the chickens out. Then I am always on the sofa eating my breakfast, drinking my tea, checking my phone. Later on, I am always getting ready for bed, writing, followed by reading or Netflix back in my blanket cocoon, waiting for sleep. Those are the longest, brightest moments that repeat themselves so much.

Image by NoName_13 from Pixabay

But there are others as well, all so familiar to me, all ingrained little habits and routines, such as sitting on the bottom stair, my body angled towards the shoe rack, where I pull on my Converse and tie them up, or the way I always have an ice lolly just before I go to sleep, because I’m thirsty but I know having a big drink will mean I wake up in the night to go to the toilet.

If I’m honest, I like my little routines and derive comfort for them. Every Saturday I have a long bath around 3 or 4 pm for instance, and I look forward to it all week. It’s my chance to close the door, shut myself away, submerge myself in warm comforting water, read a good book and drink a glass of wine. It always plays out the same. I feel disjointed and uneasy if this routine is ever interrupted. It always feels like the worries and strains of the week flow right out of my body and mind as I slip into the water.

But some moments are less fun, less desirable and instead they become monotonous. Driving my husband to work, turning around, driving back, driving my son to school, driving back. I could drive those roads blindfolded and I look forward to breaks in these routines. I could happily live without them forever, in fact.

Sometimes I think that’s what life is. Small moments, repeated, small moments savoured, small moments dreaded, small moments strung together to create a life from start to finish.

And it’s always the small things that mean so much to us. It’s the little things that count. It’s always the little things that make us smile and keep us hanging on. I recently wrote this little list poem about the small moments that come around again and again in my life:

New Day

Wake in warm blanket cocoon

One sock off, one sock on

The floor is cold

Socks don’t match

They both have pink toes

But one is long, one is short

No one will know

A dress with stars and skulls on it

Belt gets caught in the loops

I don’t have time for this shit

Sit on the bottom stair to tie up shoes

Day after day

A cold wind blows at the petrol stattion

It starts to rain

People huddle at bus stop

All the lights are red

As the Universe thwarts me

A man gets out of his car

To shout at the one behind

Nothing happens, we move on

The radio sings

This is a beautiful day

This is a new day

Poem: Shadow Girl

She’s a heavy thing, this shadow girl, this shredded one

I know her well, tried to shake her off long time ago

But she was there the whole time, claws in

A vampire, bloodsucking, soul draining parasite

I got to drag you around with me the rest of my life?

No knowing why she came back, only maybe she was hiding

Teasing, biding her time, playing the long game

She’s on my back, on my shoulder, in my mind, behind my eyes

She’s the dark, spite filled voice in my head

She said, hey you thought you’d got rid of me, thought you’d get free

Thought I’d gone forever, but no such luck

I’m here to fuck you up

She says, you fuck, how did you let this happen

You used to be so in control, when I had you, you were mine

I had you in line, and you had a spine

Now you have no edges, didn’t you like them better sharp

Now you have no lines to define you except the ones on your face

She promises me peace and satisfaction

She promises me a different reflection

give her back the driving seat, the controls

If I let her in, then she will do it for me like she did before

and I will be happy, like I was before.