Hair (an acrostic poem)

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He rubbed his bald head in frustration

All his follicles had rebelled so young

It made him wonder what he did to them to make them hate him

Really they just wanted to show off his head’s perfect shape

Shine (an acrostic poem)

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Stars do their ballet dance

High above her head

It gives her goosebumps

Nighttime performances like this were awe inspiring

Especially as some performers blazed across the stage

Mechanic (an acrostic poem)

Image: By Sicnag – 1964 Oldsmobile 442 2 door Hardtop, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45448417

Machine magician, doctor of octane studies, wrench whisperer

Every one of those titles match well with her engine grease pedicure

Changing the blown out head gasket of an Oldsmobile 442

Her wizardry breathed life back into that smoke belching dragon

And by the end it bent to her will, purring with all eight cylinders

Now ready to consume as much blacktop and gasoline as could be reached by the tip of the pedal

It was the masterful application of her sorcery and to celebrate its completion she pushed her mount to the max

Causing twin black streaks as evidence of her passing as she rode the beast into the distance

Plus (an acrostic poem)

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Putting things together for the first time inside my head

Letting me complete the equation of why and how

Until now I was foolishly worried about each part individually

So now I can worry about the whole thing as I should have all along

Angels (an acrostic poem)

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After the bell rang, Clarice looked behind her.

No wings yet, but she kept her head held high.

Getting them would mean she hade made it

Everything came down to that moment in her life

Looking at the program she smiled and settled back

So many more chances as the handbells started their next song

Sprint (an acrostic poem)

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Scurrying thoughts running crazy inside his head

Put him on his mental treadmill, trying to exercise them away

Reaching an exhaustion level that would allow him to fall unconscious

It sometimes worked, but tonight the ideas and thoughts were too fast

Not that he gave up dashing after them, but waking hours passed slowly

That’s what made the alarm the next morning such a rude starting pistol for the new day