when you stand yourself in front of the fridge to write a magnetic poem, it is not so much the fact that the words are magnetic that define the dynamic, as the fact that you are forced to write whatever you are going to write using just a few words. the paradox of working within any kind of restricted form -- from sonnet to limerick to haiku -- is that while you are constrained by the limited vocabulary or by the rules that define the form that you have chosen, those very limits force you to explore ideas, relationships and directions that you might not have considered. chances are that, if your cupboard is full, you will make the same thing for supper that you had last thursday and the thursday before. if you have only graham crackers, sardines and tinned peaches to work with, you are going to have to use your imagination.
i think it is important to come to the fridge without a set menu in mind, prepared to change and adapt depending on what you find there. you might find the word love and the word bouquet in your collection,
and you might say to yourself: "hmmm, I might have the makings of a poem about a suitor bringing flowers to his sweetheart..." but you don't have a flower or a blossom or a rose in your limited vocabulary. you could, of course, start again... or you could see if there is another word there on the fridge that might take you in a different direction... hmmm...
"I give my love a broccoli bouquet" ... not the poem you started out to write, but it has possibilities... maybe...
how does she react? maybe a rival gives her something more desirable -- "he hands the girl a smile" -- then you notice that there are several other words in your collection that refer to food; perhaps you should keep that theme going...
if you are in an optomistic mood that morning and the vocabulary allows, perhaps your gift will be happily received.
you didn't have a second love to put in there, and no girl or woman or sweetheart so you decided to give your love a name: susan (constructed by sticking s, us and an together). you don't have the word sigh in your collection, but you can substitute a homonym for sighs -- size.
another nifty paradox there -- you are limited by the rule set that you have chosen to work within, but you can bend, break or remake the rules if you choose. i am sure that there are people out there who would frown at the idea of making a window out of win and dough as Jesse did in one poem; i think it's fun.
maybe the poem needs one more line... a "capper"... you spot the word night
RICHARD THOMPSON
THE STORY VINE
THE STORY VINE