Clogged (an acrostic poem)

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Clutter rampaged across his mental landscape

Leaving a mess of chaos that scrambled his thoughts

Old ideas mixed with current observations and new connections

Giving him no chance to respond to her questions

Grimacing all he could do was shrug his shoulders

Everything he wanted to say tried to come out at the same time, allowing nothing to escape his lips

Distraught, he knew that job opportunity was lost

Crash (an acrostic poem)

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Clutter of electronics covered his desk like high tech lichen on a wooden rock

Reality bending miracles of the past now mere pieces and memories

And he kept contributing new relics to the collection

Swearing, he flicked the switch again, but

His computer still wasn’t booting, just more of the blue plague infecting his vision

Window (an acrostic poem)

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We look into each other’s lives and wonder what lies behind those curtains

If others have things so much better than us

Not realizing that as we stare in that they can stare back

Determined to see past our drapes

Observing all the cobwebs and clutter

While wondering why we have it so much better than they do

Messy (an acrostic poem)

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Maybe you feel life is a bit to chaotic lately

Everything keeps adding to the clutter of your days

So what? 

Sometimes there can be beauty in the random

You just need to catch your breath and see it

Putter Clutter (a 100 word story)

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He looked at the clutter around him.  Neglected, half-finished dreams littered the desk, table, and sections of the floor.  At one point each project had held so much life and promise, but now they were on life support, or worse yet zombified corpses.  He wondered what was the best approach going forward.  Maybe he should just put everything away and pull out pieces when he was ready to resurrect them, but that would mean confronting his failures, and he wasn’t emotionally prepared to do that just yet.  Besides, he had a brand new idea, and he knew it would work.

A Pun for the Ages

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He looked at his desk and wondered where his day went.  He kept moving things around, putting away the clutter, but he still couldn’t find it.  In the morning it dawned on him…

Clutter (an acrostic poem)

Counting the number of tchotchkes lying around his desk

Lee chuckled at his little army

Under his desk was at least another box or two of them

To think at one time they personalized his cubicle

That was before he was laid off this morning

Eventually he would have to find a place for them at home

Realizing he had no space for them there, he left them there as a grave marker

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Place (an acrostic poem)

Putting things away, be they trinkets, memories, or even people

Leaves me feeling complete, and yet filled with an uneasy energy

As if the more compact I make my life, the more space I have to get lost in

Could it be clutter is the equivalent of comfort

Even to the point of not knowing where I am anymore?

 

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