Monday, September 15, 2014

September you liar

In which we call the kettle black


Are we the cheaters tonight or what. We might as well be September, a month that's cheating us of the last days of summer, these cool, drear and cloudy rainy days rather dragging on our usually sunny karma. So why not take a page from September's book and be a frig magnet cheater, we needed words that didn't exist in the magnet universe and it's our sucky poem and our frig (or not) and words of the world that anybody can use freely. And loosely. Badly. All the adverbs. So there refrigerator. And September.

Loss of Light

September you liar
Seven you’re not
Summer you’re not
Benign you’re not
Nine you are
Light eater
Summer stealer
Bloody leaf thief
September you liar.


Well, at least Frank makes us feel better. And it mentions spring.


The leaves of brown came tumbling down / Remember, in September, in the rain / The sun went out just like a dying amber / That September in the rain

Sunday, September 14, 2014

This is not the post with the words

In which we're elsewhere

It's like if you were looking for the droids -- these would not be the droids you're looking for. The words you want are elsewhere, and if you ever see them, or not, who knows? So many places we could have put the words -- here, or on Modpo, or even the refrigerator. But today, we prefer to let them rest in an undisclosed location, while you wander here. As the frig magnet kits have taught us, there is a closed universe of words, and this is not the time-space continuum they're in today.

Let's let an imagist talk about it, William Carlos Williams in

A Sort of a Song

Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
sleepless.
-- through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones.
Compose. (No ideas
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits
the rocks.

Between the words are the spaces. In the spaces are the


When all of your flaws and all of my flaws / Are laid out one by one / A wonderful part of the mess that we made / We pick ourselves undone

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

MYOB, all you distant and distanced deities

In which we go heavy and deep


Not like we meant to. A word clinging to the frig catches our eye and it lines up from there. Sometimes it gets put back in the stacks and sometimes it goes center stage -- note 'eternity' in this particular inventory. And the title started out singular -- 'Eternity's Fool' -- but that seemed too exclusive and the addition of the 's' opened the whole thing up. And we liked the progression -- 'eternity,' the infinite now in the title that leads in the first line to a 'marble god,' distancing itself from the idea of the human Christ; 'eyes' that are blind, unlike the omnipotent vision of the Christian God; and the 'cloudy secrets' of humanity, life hidden from the distant, uncaring deity. Almost a deus ex machina thing.

And, dear readers reader, you have just experienced the most pretentious and unnecessary close reading of a refrigerator poem, EVER. 

And because we like punctuation

Eternity's Fools

A marble god's 
      eyes can't see
          our cloudy secrets.

Oh, after such a preposterous post you deserve this


She'll let you take her home / It whets her appetite / She'll lay you on her throne / She got Bette Davis eyes

Saturday, September 6, 2014

The muse giveth and the muse taketh away

In which we ignore current events to once again obsess about things meteorological 



Obviously, what you DO get is another bad frig poem, FREE, so aren't you glad you stopped by? I thought so.

Moon Fall

Thin, porcelain light
     this ghost circle leaves
          a dark and quiet shade.

And what you don't get is even better, for this is not a blog post about the rowdy and rumbling thunderstorms that chased summer away, bulldozers pushing the heat and humidity into big piles of clouds and rain and flashing electricity. It's not about current events: not dead comedians, for we've addressed those; it's not about atrocities, those things of which we cannot speak; it's not about first days of school, or first football games, or first pumpkin spice lattes. It's certainly not about fall. But maybe is it about the thin and porous moon that disappeared behind the early storm clouds tonight.

Can't grab the embed code on this laptop, but we're singing along with the Stones tonight: You can't always get want you want. 

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Reasons and excuses

In which we explain away an entire blog post


Well of COURSE it sucks, there's small excuse for that, but when you've wandered outside of an evening and you see this ('Clouds Over Aboite')


really, a girl loses her reason and can't be held responsible for any poetry that happens on her frig.

Might as well, right?.

And if you follow there may be a tomorrow / But if the offer's shunned you might as well be walkin' on the sun