My oldest son, Noah, and I love words. Though he is only 9 years old, I am constantly amazed by his vocabulary and wordplay. As you can imagine, Noah and I have a lot of fun with magnetic poetry. Below is Noah's first 'magnetic poem.' Of course, I thought it was brilliant--but I'm extremely biased.

Below is my attempt. When I showed it to Noah, he said, "I think mine is much better. Yours doesn't make any sense!" As I read my words now--I realize that he's right!

Hugs to everyone--Here is my previous magnetic poetry post.

Out Loud

his voice
makes my
poems cook
like a tin saucepan
on a gas range
his inflection--
feverish, hot

this choice
does satisfy
a brief look
a blink, a scan
moments of change
such perfection
within earshot

true, his voice
like big sky
an unfettered outlook
blue heat, he can
exchange
predilection
for fresh thought

Obvious

• a man who sends roses
• hip hop
• daytime diamonds
• full bodied red wine
• women shopping at victoria's secret
• bottle blondes
• phone sex
• children selling lemonade
• hangovers
• desperate housewives
• may-december coupling
• sequins
• soulmates
• false modesty
• too bright nail polish
• henpecked husbands
• winning in straight sets
• summer lovers
• sore thumbs
• poetry that tries too hard
  
  *the above "poem" is an example of catalog verse which is a form of poetry made by compiling long lists of everyday objects, names, or events, united by a common theme and often didactic in tone. I have posted catalog verse in the past, though I can't seem to locate the link. I do remember several of my readers telling me that catalog verse should not be considered poetry. Though this type of verse is not something I feel strongly about, I still consider the above example to be poetic. No less poetic, I would say, than a Haiku or Limerick. That's just my opinion, though. As always, I love to hear all feedback whether it is complimentary or not.

Fact

a fact:
I'm broken
somewhat cracked
damaged, disillusioned
to be exact
each day seems
abstract
surreal, vague
crowded and packed
the monstrous neuroses
which I attract
at every turn
so difficult to distract
eyes shut
avoiding contact
wishing for seclusion
refusing to react
ensconced, reclusive
ignoring tact
I'm better alone, that's
a fact

Dream

standing
at the top
of a polished
mahogany stairway
I see him
looking at me
twenty steps below
with one elegant hand
on the sturdy bannister
Black Snake Moan plays
somewhere
a soundtrack to something
unknown
he speaks
though I can not hear him
my high heeled foot taps
and though my heavy
undisciplined hair
tumbles over my
polished mahogany
shoulders,and
my heartbeat feels
like heavy footsteps
I can not move....