Late Friday night, when it finally rained so hard that the skylight once again sounded like some sort of cosmic percussion instrument, we decided to seize the moment in case the drought returned as soon as the storm passed.
We turned off all the lights and fired up the fireplace and the stereo and lit all the candles. Didn't talk much. We just listened to all of it. Fa and I silently messed around with all the little word strips in the magnetic poetry tray on the coffee table, marvelling over how wowzy one can get whilst composing verses under the influence of some truly great jazz singers, candlelight, and the rumble of thunder beside a sizzling fire. For example, this hot little number:
we could
be in love
under every full moon
stagger with me
through this brilliant dance
dizzy I sing
to myself
It started raining even harder. The Shieldmaiden and Spuddy drifted in and forgot to leave. We put on some Puccini arias, nabbed our blankies, and chatted quietly off and on until the candles extinguished themselves. Fa and Spuddy curled up together and drifted off to La Boheme, never to return. It was sublime.
And so this one I can only blame on myself and Madame Butterfly:
Oh give thou me
a popsicle
and perchance
I shall give thee
a delicious green kiss
Quite appropriate for March, the month of St. Patrick's Day, no? (Say, I may have invented a new way to accomplish the wearin' o' the green!)
oh, ps. The title of this post? That was Spuddy's magnetic poem. He was definitely flopped on the sofa. I rather like it.
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2 comments:
You know you can play magnetic poetry online, right? Go to www.magneticpoetry.com , ignore the non-family-friendly parts of their catalogue, and find the place with the virtual fridge where you can play around instead of doing whatever else you're supposed to be doing on the computer.
Magnetic poetry is rightly named. While staying at the Green's house, I found myself drawn to all those tiny strips of magnets every morning.
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