A Found Poem, a Collage of Language

A found poem uses language discovered in a non-poetic context ( prose) and turns it into
poetry. Writing found poetry is like creating a collage of language, the way a visual artist
might use scraps of paper, cloth or feathers.
Carefully re-read the prose text you have chosen, and look for 50100 words that stand
out in the prose passage. Highlight or underline words and phrases that you find
particularly powerful, moving, or interesting.

The Found poet then records all or some of the highlighted words and phrases, arranging
them in poetic form, choosing line breaks and adding necessary punctuation, but should
retain the original order of the words selected.
Some people allow for minor changing of tense or the addition of 1-2 words maximum.
Remember to acknowledge your source when publishing your Found Poem.
The following examples were developed in response to a wonderful novel A Monster
Calls by Patrick Ness. The exact words and their order have been retained and the only
words added are those used in the titles of the found poems.
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In the pale light
the moon shone
He could clearly see.

A tree so ancient
whispered in his ears
His heart thumping,

Suddenly the cloud passed!


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The monster grew
A powerful shape
Strong, mighty
Windy breathing,
Giant hands

Its huge eyes filled
Gave a little moan






A further example is shown using the text from the award winning picture book FARther
by Graeme Baker Smith




Poppies lined the path to my father's house. It was made of stone and slate and fastened
deep into the cliff. It was safe and rooted in the rock. But inside my father dreamed of air
and flight. Day and night he sewed and stitched and sawed and hammered and trimmed
the feathers of a thousand hopeful wings.

But sometimes there was silence. My father would appear and stare at the ocean with
tired distant eyes. I would sit on his lap until he remembered me.

Then like a great wind he would scoop me up and run outside along the old cliff paths/over
the rocks onto the beach. We would fish and swim and play cricket. He would teach me
the names of all the birds.

We would be together until the dream of flying returned/such a busy bossy dream that
would not leave him alone or give him time to play or sleep or think of other things or
even have the grace to come true for my father after all never flew though he made so
many beautiful things and so many lovely wings.




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