Crg Hill's poetry scorecard

othererworld

Cinderella's Shoe, circa 2007

Announcing Webster's Daily, Dictionary Found Poems

From Josh Walleart:

"I post one "found poem" every day from the first edition of
Webster's American Dictionary (1828). For example:

Hope [n.] A sloping plain between ridges of mountains. [Not in
use.]

http://webstersdaily.blogspot.com"

Me, too, has mined/mind the dictionary, e.g. Dict: A Bridge.

Minds, Hours, Oars

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: FOUND POETRY

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: We seek submissions for an anthology of international found poetry -- writing which has been made poetic through the manipulation and / or re-contextualization of existing texts.

SUBMISSION DEADLINE: March 15, 2007

SUBMIT: Please send 1-5 pages of unpublished or published poetry (please indicate where previously published). Statements of texts' source are welcome but not necessary. We will consider colour or black and white visual pieces as well as textual. Please include a brief bio. If you would like a written response, or your materials returned, include a self-addressed stamped envelope (SASE)

CONTACT: Please email submissions (in *.doc or *.jpg formats) to found.poetry@hotmail.com or by mail to: Found Poetry c/o #2, 733 - 2nd Avenue NW, Calgary, Alberta, Canada T2N 0E4. If you have questions, drop us an e-mail.

Thank you

Jane Thompson

& derek beaulieu

Editors.

PLEASE FORWARD WIDELY. THANK YOU!

Please note: Due to international interest this call replaces the previous call for "Canadian Waste"

derek beaulieu

#2, 733 - 2nd avenue nw

calgary alberta

canada T2N 0E4

derek@housepress.ca

From Index of First Lines Selected Poems Charles Olson

I come back to the geography of it,

I don’t mean, just like that, to put down

I have been an ability–a machine–up to

I have had to learn the simplest things

I live underneath

I looked up and saw

Imbued / with the light

I met Death–he was a sportsman–on Cole’s

In cold hell, in thicket, how

In English the poetics became meubles–furniture–

is a monstrance,

I sing the tree is a heron

I sit here on a Sunday

It’s so beautiful, life, goddamn death

it was the west wind caught her up, as