I do like this week’s clutch of magnet poems. The oracle is in thoughtful mood. The rain is red today, with sun spray blown in the wind. Light flickers, shot through with shadows, a drunken symphony screamed at the moon. Come dance with me and be my love hold my hand and keep […]
These are lovely, wistful, melancholy. The restrictions of fridge magnet poetry produce healthier blooms than unfettered access to language, much like pruning a rose bush.