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

Hammock (an acrostic poem)

 

Hanging in the breeze without a care in the world.

As my drink perspires from all the hard work we are doing,

My mind wanders the cosmos.

Making connections that James Burke would be proud of.  (Look him up.)

Only the rustling of leaves and birds doing actual tweets break the reverie.

Can this solace last forever?

Kidding.  Child number two flops onto me, dumping us both onto the ground.

 

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