Creep (an acrostic poem)

Cutting to the front of the line was Bill’s status quo

Really the world was all about him

Even when it wasn’t, Bill made sure to correct the mistake

Everyone really hated Bill and what he was inside

Perhaps that’s why Bill did as well

 

Image: i.jeded.com/i/creep-2014.36370.jpg

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Classy (an acrostic poem)

Coupon cutting was such a chore

Losing that money though never made sense to Gary

Although the stare at the checkout would piss him off

So what if he did have forty something coupons

Saving money was important, even if he did make six figures

You needed that money to make sure you could donate as much as he did

 

Image: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3b/Coupon_Pile_Stock_Photo_%2810865703765%29.jpg

Adrift (an acrostic poem)

Always looking for the new thing

David believed in the accumulation of experiences

Reality was he was always looking for what he was a “natural” for

It never seemed what he was doing would fit

Frustrating him and forcing him to search ever elsewhere

To never find what he thought he must be born to do

 

Image: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8f/Puzzle_pieces_1.JPG/1280px-Puzzle_pieces_1.JPG

Allergic to Love

Chris stalked Jennifer carefully, not wanting to reveal his presence.  She was with that guy, Fred.  Chris wanted to claw Fred’s eyes out.  He just always rubbed Chris the wrong way.  Fred even had the nerve to lie about being allergic to Chris to keep Jennifer away.  The bad thing is she believed it and was now trying to meet with Fred secretly.  Well tonight Chris was going to ruin their little rendezvous.  If Jennifer didn’t know what was good for her then Chris would just cut the pretty boy’s face.  That would make Jennifer see the light.

As Chris crept closer, Fred began to sneeze.

Jennifer pulled back from Chris’ embrace.  “I showered and changed my clothes,” Jennifer said.

“It just started up,” Fred said, how voice cracking.  “It’s like…”

Chris couldn’t wait anymore.  He dashed out from underneath the bush and leapt at Fred, claws ready to kill, when Jennifer scooped him up in her arms.

“Bad kitty!” Jennifer said.   “How did you get out?”

Fred practically fell backward off the bench as he scrambled to his feet while sneezing at least ten times.  “Sorry, got to go,” he blurted out as he fled the backyard.

Jennifer looked the cat in the eye with a hint of malice lurking there, but Chris began to purr.  Jennifer shook her head in disbelief, but then began to pet him.  “I don’t know what I am going to do with you.”

Just keep doing what you’re doing, thought Chris.

Stumble (an acrostic poem)

Slipping beneath the sheets, Martha reviewed her day

Too many regrets greeted her observations

Useless tossing and turning commenced

Martha watched minutes slip by as she snuggled up with those regrets

Blaming herself for every little thing she had done

Little things that most people wouldn’t lose sleep over

Especially that little glass of wine, but that was one glass too far

Bloody Kiss

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  The chips of virgin white marble flew with each hit of the chisel from the hammer, littering the floor with inspiration.  Morgan had spent seven days going over this particular block looking at what was hidden within.  Seven days of laying on of hands, to get the feel of the rock.  She spent hours upon hours looking at the block from every conceivable angle.  Now she was obsessed with releasing the imprisoned statue held within the marble tomb.  She tasted flecks of cold hard marble as she continued her work.  The sound from her chisel and hammer gave her clues as to how she was doing with her excavation.  The smell of her sweat mixed with the marble dust made her almost intoxicated.

Tap. Tap. Tap.  The statue began to come to life.  Morgan could feel it start to breathe with the life she was pouring out of her hands.  It began to flex the muscles she carved into its limbs.  The creator was working on the created, while the created worked on the creator; a circle of energy that kept building and building until…

Crack.  A small imperfection of the marble block made itself known with the release of energy and sound pent up for millennia. Morgan stopped her hammer mid swing and let it drop of her deadened fingers.  With a second crack it fell to the floor.  The created life fled the lump of stone, leaving a petrified corpse behind.  Morgan felt her creativity evaporate under the glare of the broken piece of art in front of her.  She placed her chisel softly on her lips, as if to kiss the whole endeavor goodbye.

Morgan puckered her lips a bit, feeling the sharp end slice her lightly.  The blood she tasted woke her out of her torpor.  She picked up the flawed marble statue and gave it a bloody kiss.  Where she had kissed the marble left a blood red “lipstick” mark.  That made her smile.  It was almost like a goodnight kiss on their first date.  She would figure this piece out eventually.  All good relationships just needed time.  She left the marble behind on her table, the chisel laid beside.  Tomorrow she would try again, but first she needed to take care of this bloody lip.