I’ve struggled to write this year. A way back to the craft for me is using someone else’s words – but not all of them. This is known by several names: redacted, erasure, a form of found or most commonly, black out poetry. I’ve been working my way through a 1950’s Nature Atlas. The lush vocabulary mixed with the strong sense of the rightness of colonialism is a striking mix of words to play with.

 

Deep roots in story
Carved words into the hearts
Of lovers
A silvery rise
Sun-touched roof
Fair to eat, they thrive

Fires take a heavy toll
In this drama
The beginning flourished
Spreading sweet blight
Introduced everywhere
The disease we carried
Ghastly grey, us
Doomed anyhow

But lately definite
Progress has been made
We may again
Be beautiful.