Boots (an acrostic poem)

 

Been cheating on me, okay I get it

Obviously I bore you because I’m just a cowgirl

Ordinary with a drawl, but let me tell you about country girls

These feet are definitely made for walking

So as Flo used to say, “Kiss my girts!”

 

Image: cowgirlsuntamed.com/images/WhiteCreamEmbroideryandUnderlayCowgirlBoots2b.jpg

Medal (an acrostic poem)

Maybe this was her Olympic chance.

Everything hung into balance.

Did she have what it would take?

As she leaned in for a kiss she had the answer

Looking for the gold, she was settling for the bronze.

 

Image: stillmed.olympic.org/media/Images/OlympicOrg/News/2019/07/24/Tokyo-medals/2019-07-24-medals-thumbnail.jpg

Hint (an acrostic poem)

How was he supposed to know how she felt?

It was like he had to be a master detective.

Now they were alone, but he still wasn’t sure if she liked him

That was when she gave him a quick kiss

 

Image: whoinvented.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/magnifyingglass-1280×720.jpg

Legend (an acrostic poem)

Little more could be said, much less done

Everyone just stared as she walked across the floor

Gwen had accomplished the nigh impossible

Eyewitnesses would spread her story from here

New tales even more fanciful would be spun from the cloth of this truth

Destiny can kiss her ass.  She owned that bitch

 

Image: suddendenouement.files.wordpress.com/2018/05/woman-with-arms-crossed-and-cigarette.jpg

Thorn (an acrostic poem)

The rose bit Olivia’s finger, releasing a single scarlet drop

Hendrik felt horrible.  She was the love of his life and he had caused her pain

Olivia sucked at her wound with a small pout on her face

Realizing he needed to do something, he leaned forward to seal it with a kiss

Never seeing the rose as she smashed it into his face

 

Image: 5.imimg.com/data5/AA/KK/MY-6677193/red-rose-500×500.jpg

Spin the Bottle (a 50 word story)

Empty beer bottles spun, mesmerizing Freda.  She wondered if there was some sort of astrological significance to their motions as they all slowed down and stopped pointing in different directions.  She laughed, thinking how that used to signify who to kiss.  Now it just signified how absolutely drunk she was.

 

Image: rookiessports.com/sites/default/files/happy_hour_beer_2.jpg

Mother (an acrostic poem)

This is an old one, but still rings true to me each year.  I think this is the only poem on my site I have reposted.  Now I do it for the second time.  I hope you enjoy.  The original title was “My Favorite Superhero”.

 

Mortal though she may be

Obviously she has super powers

The ability to absorb pain and suffering with a single kiss

Hearing so acute that she doesn’t miss a whisper from a mile away

Eyesight so keen that she can actually see through and around solid objects

Remember that your mom is a superhero!

Thorn (an acrostic poem)

Temptation called to Irene as she drank in the sight of the young man

Her smile left little to his imagination of what she wanted

Outside they began to kiss passionately

Reaching for a handful of hair, she pulled his hair back

Neck exposed, she fed and felt her flower bloom in excitement

My Favorite Superhero (an acrostic poem reprint)

Mortal though she may be

Obviously she has super powers

The ability to absorb pain and suffering with a single kiss

Hearing so acute that she doesn’t miss a whisper from a mile away

Eyesight so keen that she can actually see through and around solid objects

Remember that your mom is a superhero!

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.