I think you can find poetry anywhere. The two poems below include pieces of actual dialogue from two documentaries I watched, Southern Rites and Murder in the Bayou. Sometimes the words of those around us tell the most powerful story.
Part I: In The Bayou
It was a shiny body curled up
forgotten on the road
beaten down with the rage of men.
I did not do it.
They tried everything to blame me for it.
But they couldn’t make it stick, because it wasn’t me.
He go back on Racca Road to go fishing
To honour his mama
Cause he can feel her presence
He say, “my mama’s here”
And she speaks back, through his heart
You know the Mardi Gras mask?
That was all that was left This…this black bone
She had the most beautiful eyes
But she didn’t have any eyes then
That pretty little office you stand in?
That pretty little carpet you stand on?
I’m gonna take it apart thread by thread
Part II: A Conversation
Take that tree
If you go and cut a branch off that little tree
It ain’t gonna die
But you start messin’ with the roots
That tree gonna die
That tree that sways in the moonlight
With the cicadas singing funeral songs
That’s the problem with society
People is messin’ around with them branches
But if you get to the root of the problem
Then you can fix it
What did you do?
Is it your .22 pistol?
That shot that boy?
I need you to step away from your gun now
The deputy is at the door
I need you to step away
From all of it
I ain’t never been scared of no one, not really scared
Because if you had a problem
You could just walk up to them
And talk it out
Now you can’t do that
That’s the problem with this country
That boy who ran into the woods
So scared of you
Because you wouldn’t talk to him
Why didn’t you talk to him?
This an old, old book right here
Its as old as the hills
He didn’t call the police
He didn’t call the ambulance
You know who did?
I did
You know who he called?
His mama
He called mama