It Started to Rain Blueness

I always enjoy making my found poetry. I close my eyes and pull out a handful of cut out words from the little vintage tin. Then I spread them out on the table and regard them. Sometimes a poem emerges quickly, sometimes piecemeal. Sometimes, like this morning, the fragments lie scattered across the table while I eat my breakfast and let them sink in. Then, like a jigsaw puzzle they mysteriously, magically fall into place.

Today the random poem lead to a doodle, and then to another more tragic than the last – which turned into a darker fancy than all that had gone before. I had to write a sequel to dispel the sinister turn the day had taken. But more on those another day. 

Oh, check out the Facebook page for a colour version of this collage poem – I couldn’t quite decide which I preferred.