Poems . . . Lost and Found

Rediscoveries in the writer shed

Photo by Jonny Gios

Journals, papers, files, pens, candles, incense, a few talismans—stones from the desert, the coast of Ireland. There’s a coffee grinder and there’s a small kettle. A fan for the summer months. Heater for the cold. Artwork from my sons and stepdaughter. Two typewriters—a Smith-Corona and an Olivetti, both from the early ‘60s.

And scattered about—books. Lots of books. And poems, words on small sheets of notebook paper, some typewritten. Poems abandoned or forgotten or placed aside to consider at some future time.

Those books and those poems took the lead in my most recent straightening-up/cleaning-up of the writer shed. I love doing this. It produces forgotten little treasures.

These poetry collections are golden. Maggie Smith’s Good Bones is beautiful. The title poem is dynamite. Bobby Elliott’s The Same Man explores the complex relationship between the author and his difficult father. Dowsing by Michael Jackson (not the famous musician) is a little-known poetry collection that uses the metaphor of water-divining to explore our search for care and connectedness.

I sat down and read through them all . . . again. It’s such a pleasure to “find” something you didn’t know you “lost.”

And then, in a stack of notes and journal papers on the right side of my desk—found poems.

One I wrote just months ago. Another two years ago. Sometimes I write a poem and I’m not sure whether it’s “done” or “good enough” yet, so I put it aside. Many are forgotten. Until I go looking for it or stumble on it. There were many there that had lost their initial luster; time had deteriorated them. But a few still held up. Are they perfect, probably not. But the act of “finding” them did give each a new kind of weight or importance. Something about the lost and found aspect gave them restored life.

You lose your wallet and find it and it’s relief. Anxiety is tossed aside. Same with losing and then finding your car keys or anything of reasonable importance. But rediscovering something “lost” is another kind of joy. It reconnects you to a memory or your own identity, maybe evoking a kind of renewed fondness for what you thought was gone.

The “finding” gives that thing, whatever it is you have “found,” a new sense of value, and it might even allow for added appreciation through the act of being “lost.” Its absence gives it weight. While it’s “lost” it gathers a second level of merit or worthiness.

Here’s to rediscovery. It’s like experiencing life a second time around.

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David W. Berner is the author of several books of award-winning fiction and memoir. His latest poetry collection, Garden Tools is available now from Finishing Line Press. He is the Poet Laureate of the Village of Clarendon Hills, IL. and his novella, American Moon will be published by Regal House Publishing in September, 2026 and is currently available for pre-order.

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