I like to imagine
I like to imagine a world the way I think it should be. As a perpetual dreamer, I look at things the way they are and immediately start rewriting them in my head. Sometimes, I even write those ideas down and quietly convince myself society is one good blog post away from a breakthrough. I also imagine a large public celebration the day my ideas are finally accepted by the masses. There will probably be cake.
But now, fellow bloggers, indulge me for a moment. Let’s imagine together.
Imagine Fridays becoming days to celebrate learning instead of simply surviving another week. Imagine classrooms filled with curiosity instead of countdowns to the final bell. Hallways would buzz with students showing off projects, sharing discoveries, arguing about ideas, and maybe even voluntarily reading something that was not assigned. Wild concept, I know.
What if we loosened our grip on the glowing rectangles we carry everywhere? What if we walked more? Actually walked. Down sidewalks. Through neighborhoods. Past people we might eventually learn the names of. Conversations would replace some of the angry posting and mysterious one-word text messages. Front porches might become social media again. Traffic would quiet down a little. Kids might race bikes instead of algorithms. And yes, there would still be arguments, but at least they would happen face to face like the old days.
What if we turned down the constant outrage humming through modern life? Not ignored problems. Not pretended everything was fine. Just stopped treating anger like a competitive sport. Imagine disagreements handled with reason, patience, and maybe a plate of potato salad at one of those giant political potlucks. Honestly, I trust people more when they are holding a paper plate and trying not to spill baked beans on their shoes.
The world I imagine is still imperfect. People would still be stubborn. Someone would still reply-all to emails unnecessarily. The ice cream machine would still occasionally be broken. But maybe we would listen a little better. Maybe we would slow down enough to notice each other again. Maybe hope would stop feeling naive and start feeling practical.
And somehow, we made it through this entire dream sequence without quoting John Lennon. I consider that growth.
Find the poem
Sometimes a poem is hiding inside the prose. Buried between ideas are lines, images, and phrases charged with more energy than the paragraphs can hold. Treat this post like raw material. Read through it and pull the moments that feel alive, visual, rhythmic, or emotionally honest. Ignore the need for complete sentences or full explanations. Look for connections other readers might miss. Rearrange ideas. Place distant lines beside each other. Cut away everything except the sparks. Collect what stands out to you and see what new poem emerges.
About found poetry
Found poetry has been around for more than a century, growing out of artistic movements that experimented with collage, fragmentation, and remixing existing language into something new. Writers and artists began pulling words from newspapers, speeches, advertisements, conversations, and other texts to create poems hidden inside ordinary language. The goal was not just to copy, but to discover unexpected meaning through selection, arrangement, and context. A found poem reminds us that poetry is not always written from scratch. Sometimes it is uncovered.