Poems

Found poem created from memorable lines selected using the cut-up method.

I don’t know where I’m going but I do know where I’ve been

There will be profane language

This shower just feels like you’re being pissed on

He talked about his personal plums and how they hung

She was from Whittlesea and she was in her 80s

There is no dominatrix in Hunstanton

I need to move to keep the object in balance

What do people do when they are diagnosed with 9 months life expectancy? They sign up for the London marathon

Its not my life that changes, it’s me

And then there was utter fucking chaos

There is no dominatrix in Hunstanton

I never pass up the chance to come out to somebody

Something will always come up

There was Leonard Cohen in the middle of the foyer

I’m the only one in the world doing this with my mouth

She was very good at her job

There is no dominatrix in Hunstanton

The world of therapy is like the world of politics; attracting the last people in the world who should be doing the job

She has managed to get herself into proper pornography

Can you do that now

I try to hide my limp as I go out of the room in case she thinks I am mocking her

There is no dominatrix in Hunstanton

I was not in control of how long the stalking continued

Give up on women, you just keep meeting your mother

You could see them, just quietly holding hands

Her long periods of silence seemed punitive 

You can’t just stay together for the balcony

There is no dominatrix in Hunstanton

The only company I had was an alcoholic Australian

What a way to go out

It is a City for healing

Maybe I’ll go into a Home and meet a man; who knows

The 222 to Uxbridge; no one seemed happy

There is no dominatrix in Hunstanton

1001 albums you must hear before you die; I have 735 left

         I ain’t wasting no more time

         Tomorrow… here I go again.

I cut all the bushes into animal shapes.
Only nice people come here.
Don’t drill the ceiling with your mouth open.
The police are swooping on gay bars
they are snapping on rubber gloves.
Should I stay or should I go?

I built a beautiful life; I didn’t belong.
This indecision’s bugging me.
I did a Smelly Cat competition;
I was 28, I was working behind the
scenes –
like when a fly can’t get through, can’t work its way out.
I took a bus to Norwich, I thought; this is where I live now.
If you don’t want me set me free.

I lit a fire with Mrs Dalloway,
and I call it the duvet of love.
Only nice people come here –
there is a pattern – it’s in the book.

I like a cockapoo, but I also like a cruise.
I was brought up not to notice feelings –
this indecision’s bugging me:
Milo stay or Milo find a new home?
I was sniffing his ears and they smelt of popcorn.
If somebody knits you a jumper, they bloody love you.
Only nice people come here.

*

You need to put your foot up and ice it.
Should I stay or should I go?
Am I depressed or am I bored?
Stop asking questions.
I decided to fix vehicles to try to fix people –
you need to put your foot up and ice it.
Should I stay or should I go?

If you want to move a piano come and see us.
I really want that knitting pattern,
I love this song –
I long to be your glitter shaker;
I think I should stay.
Only nice people come here.

By Helen Ivory.

i.

From time to time, we think about
the kids playing freely––
not too freely––
along the clifftops,
living in a lighthouse,
eating pretzels and doughnuts and drinking hot chocolate.
But that was not to be.
There is always hope. Still, sometimes I feel everything
is impossible. I worry I will end up like
the beached whale we saw––very sad. It was dying on
the shore with its cock out.
Then I think about Norwich––all the great spaces
and friendly faces,
how close we are to the sea.

ii.

From time to time,
I make these big decisions
for the most peculiar reasons: Oh, Epping has a forest,
I’ll move there;
flogging second-hand clothes
and bric-a-brac; becoming the lead singer in a band;
climbing out of a bathroom window
and over parked cars, and––the klutz that I am––
breaking bones/rearranging my face.
That was all before my husband died.
Now, when I consider my new place––
this courtyard is a let–down––I think: The grass may not be greener,
but it is less brown.

iii.

From time to time,
I think about the loveliest lady you can think of:
Gwen. She is four feet six
and approximately a thousand years old.
And the boxer who dared
not mess with me: ‘Charlie Manson’. All groups
have an arsehole and he was ours––until
he joined in a game. Everybody goggled!
He drew my portrait, twice––they are up
on my wall and call to mind
all the small kindnesses that made me cry. Now––if I visualise
the garden with a tall high-security fence––
the voice inside my head will say,
‘The grass is much greener today.’

iv.

From time to time,

I think about Mum and Dad
having lots of adventures––
doing lots of Australian things. Dad,
recording videos in that classic Dad way. Dad, who installed
the sprinkler system in Sydney Opera House. Mum,
hiking and climbing––being
afraid of heights but doing it anyway.
Mum, caught on camera,
catching a big fish.
And the photo of my dad with a little fish.
From time to time, they think about moving to Australia.
But they know the grass is greener
here in Norwich.

v.

From time to time,
I think about the dead cat
being pulled from a garden bush
by a man in rubber gloves,
and the loving hush of the children gathered,
struggling to let go.

vi.

From time to time,
I think about my best friend, Billy.
On the 1st of last November,
he had to be put down.
Now I have another horse, Rosie.
Sometimes we need to let
the new grass grow . . .

vii.

From time to time,
I think about being out in India,
panicked about not having
a correct piece of paperwork. And I recollect
children who had sad, dark eyes, and people
who had amputated limbs.
From time to time––when I think
the grass is greener
somewhere else––
I am reminded of my privilege
and my freedoms,
everything I have,
right here,
right now.

viii.

From time to time,
I think about
my post-university European summer––
the summer that ended––
moving to Japan and becoming
a chauffeur to a nine-million-dollar chalet.
(I can hear myself say,
in the months before,
‘Capitalism – get rid of that.’)
And how I snapped
my anterior cruciate ligament
and had to go back
to my parents’
house.

From time to time,
I think about how I now approach
life with fresh eyes.
Not fertilizer. I have seen
Filthy Women; Women in Revolt;
communal healing on a club dancefloor––
like a really upbeat Quaker meeting.
In time, I know I will find
my bigger purpose.
Sometimes I do little jigs
around the living room. No one leads and no one
follows. I just go with the flow,
like gardening for biodiversity–
gardening with nature,
not against it.

ix.

From time to time, I think about going to
a ‘job expo’ in a world-famous
melon-growing region––sounds like a
euphemism to me––hugely hungover,
trousers and shirt barely clean.
The big new building and a TV crew. The director of the centre
and beaming chefs with a cake
baked ‘just for [me].’ I cannot simply eat the cake;
I must comment on its quality. And do that before
we take ‘a filmed guided tour’ of the
‘vocational technical training facility’.
On the tour, we saw: Plumbing
(alluring loo bowls and rows of latrines); Welding;
Building Crafts; Hairdressing; Beauty Therapy; and––a sorry lifetime after the start––Baby Massage.
I had to roll with it––it was the most
intense careers fair I have attended. Ever.

By John Murphy

Found Poem from best lines compiled by Molly Naylor

Fen rules: you stop for no man.

All the best decisions are made at 2am at the kitchen table.

Am I close?

Of course, I wasn’t.

I thought, I’ll wear my new lipstick.

It was David, a minibus and us.

He could never understand why I moved out.

I knew I needed to stay really chill.

Cartoonists lead very lonely lives.

You are playing a dangerous game and possibly incurring the wrath of 60 million people.

I’m there to lose my virginity.

You must have had a good sleep, you look amazing.

Putting things up your bottom again were you?

I opened the door, and there was a bowl of washing-up.

We had a smooch and a kiss. She will eat you alive.

Where’s the eel man, where’s the eel man?

Get your sexy daughter on the phone.

Do you know how the coccyx came by its name? yes, I do , actually.

Every night we sat around the campfire. Sparks would fly.

And so I jumped.

Found Poem from best lines compiled by Molly Naylor

She told me what it was and I said, “Don’t be so daft”.

I said, “ Go and get some oil from the popcorn machine”.

He would be trembling with excitement; I would just be trembling.

I just need Clint to make my day.

He was wrapping up a toilet seat.

You need to get in the taxi, get to the airport and get to fucking Fiji.

I’m allowed notes because I’m old.

Maybe I’m just really excited about seeing Martin again.

This could be a zombie chicken.

She’d drive by, looking out the side of her eye.

The thought of Beccles boxing club was terrifying.

Best not, eh.

Yellow is in the box, I repeat, yellow is in the box.

An unbelievable capacity to make mess.

I’m even more grateful for the things I have.

She said, have another look.

And so I named my tortoise, Baby Jesus.

Found Poem from best lines compiled by Molly Naylor

That’s part of the fun of the game, trying out being new people,

It’s got a wine list,

It’s my easter goodwill,

I don’t really like to laugh at people’s mistakes,

I regret language. I regret humankind,

I’m an asexual flirt which is definitely a tease,

When people say “never again”, it pisses me off,

If you fuck up, everyone in the ship goes,

Does the shop sell frog pencils? Linda, 39, Chelmsford,

But it’s OK cause we are seasoned,

For about 7 years, you’ve been wearing a mask,

I was pretty tired of doing a cowboy accent,

No one would lie on an anonymous PDF,

She was the last version of me that they believed,

You could have an adventure,

You can’t polish a turd,

I’m sorry comrades, we are going to have to abandon ship.

Found Poem from best lines compiled by Molly Naylor

I want to meet the man inside.

It’s not the kind of thing you tell people.

I don’t know anything about canaries. I live in Putney.

Safe to say, teenage me wasn’t getting much attention.

That’s not the recipe for a chill high.

Welsh vicar seeking femme lady with traditional values.

Stories make sense of the chaos of life.

It’s going to be hard to describe without making it sound shit.

Just know he’s sexy and we like him a lot.

Thank you for channelling me instead.

I’m a Tory but I don’t mind that you’re left wing.

Dogs don’t have boundaries. They just love you.

We can go to Stonehenge and play.

We have a responsibility to give them the best life we can.

It’s quite a scary gig.

Experience told me to trust my gut instinct.

It comes when it’s ready.

We settled down to sleep under the stars.