A friend of mine writes lots of beautiful poetry, and often leaves her bits of found poetry at local coffee shops - I often find one of her pieces on the community board of our local Starbucks, only to return a few days later to see it's been claimed by someone who saw and loved it.
Lately, life has been very - exhausting. I can't think of any other way to describe it. Like, bone-weary, constant-headache, always-on-the-edge-of-a-flare-up exhausted. I've started to dive back into poetry myself, finding it easier to put pen to paper in those late hours when I finally detoxes from a day of dealing with people on the phone than try and take out paint or draw for a bit. I feel like I don't have the time to express myself in drawings, mostly because I'm caught in my own head, trying to remind myself that we all have to practice to get better while another part of my brain says, "move on to easier things." Poetry was an early love of mine, and one I've neglected for a long time.
I love the alchemy of found poetry, of being at the mercy of words on a page, how it both limits and expands our capacity for creativity and expression. It's like being able to sit down with your imagination for tea and are taken on a wild ride. Found poetry opens up a whole new world, gives you the chance to glimpse, if even for a moment, the world beyond.