Since magnetic poetry was invented, my refrigerator has also become a poet’s corner. My kids gave me the artist’s version for Christmas. Words like sculpt, create, and masterpiece abound and short poems, one-liners, and clever quips are blossoming like forced paperwhites all over the door.
For example, “Live wild, weld nude.” (The thought gives one pause, doesn’t it?) How about, “dazzle with metaphor,” or “chisel her beauty in concrete.” One of my favorites, “stop inside and water the moon,” is right next to, “she is more like an angel than I imagined.”
I’m especially taken with a short poem that appeared behind a departing guest. “Come see the glorious green water, like harmony and rhythm painted on a shimmery canvas.” You can tell a lot about people by the poetry they leave behind.
Now and then, I take all the phrases apart, scramble the words and lean against the counter, letting my eyes scan the offerings until some new combination appears. The words seem to associate on their own. The next thing you know, “black ink looms as a monument to imagination.”