Plane (an acrostic poem)

 

Perhaps the story was a bit too flat

Letting it feel two dimensional

Allow your characters to take off and fly

Now I would also shave off a bit here and there

Eventually cutting out all the plain.

 

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Empty (an acrostic poem)

 

Emaciated emotional state

Means he didn’t even feel numb

Pushing aside those around him who care

The worst part was normally he was so full of life

Yet here he was, a walking black hole of nothingness

 

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Poet (an acrostic poem)

 

Perceiving the world through the lens of the soul

Ordering the chaos while making order more chaotic

Everything is their purview, and yet they focus on the basic building blocks

Those are love, loss, hope, despair and the building blocks of humanity

 

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Smith (an acrostic poem)

 

Selecting the right words to give strength to the tale

Managing to weld together sentences without seams

Intricate work with the hammer to make the whole thing take shape

Then quenching it with an editing pass to give it durability

How a writer forges stories from raw emotional stock

 

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Write (an acrostic poem)

 

Wrestling with all the words

Recording a random assemblage of them

It is worse than a million monkeys reproducing Shakespeare

That’s when most people are ready to give up

Except you can’t.  That story needs to be told, so you…

 

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Blah (an acrostic poem)

But the plot will come if you just type words.  You just have to believe.

Like that would really happen.  He laughed bitterly.

All it meant was the letter vomit on the page might be some sort of Rorschach story form.

He closed the document and went to bed.  He had seen enough.

 

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Trash (an acrostic poem)

The rubbish he was writing piled up around him

Rambling ideas clashing with the other balderdash

Any semblance to story was pure happenstance

So when he was just about to throw the refuse away

He stumbled onto what he was going to write.

 

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Create (an acrostic poem)

Can’t make anything out of nothing

Really that’s a crock of bull

Everyone knows storytellers weave lies into whole cloth

And wrap you up inside nice and snug

That’s the stuff godhood is made of

Even if the magic eventually fades into memory

 

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Struggle (an acrostic poem)

So many children were screaming into the void

That the void got frustrated and threw the cacophony back

Resulting in an aural tsunami that came crashing over my consciousness

Undercutting the foundation of my sanity

Giving me a sonic lobotomy

Gone was any chance of getting anything done

Leaving nothingness

Existential emptiness

 

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