Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Peanut. Brittle.

In which we explore the uses of limited vocabulary

What I noticed about the frig poetry is, I tend to use the same words over and over. And being meta. And cheating by cutting words up and stuff. So I decided tonight to grab a word I hadn't used -- at least I don't think I used porcelain -- then pick out words that struck me as any way related. Wished I had the word 'brittle' but, nuts! -- no such luck. Given the small universe of words on the frig, there wasn't a lot of places to go with it. Kind of like semantic jail. So poems (bad) are written that I normally wouldn't ever write. If (ab)normally a poem is written around an image that won't let me go, or a phrase that takes over my brain, a frig poem is all about the words. And the things seem to make even less sense than usual -- hello, again, post-modernism! But it's almost like the words are in charge. Although come to think of it, maybe they're in charge anyway.

It's Neville Longbottom's birthday, Neville, the bravest person in Gryffindor, a Samwise Gamgee of a friend. This is for him.

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