Wisp (an acrostic poem)

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Winding through the dark recesses of my mind

I follow the glimmer of an idea as it floats just out of reach

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when I fell into a mental swamp

Pushing me under the murky surface to drown in the fetid cerebral sludge

Pop (an acrostic poem)

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Puncturing that pompous balloon made me happy.

Observing his collapse to his mental floor a mere shell of his old ego gave me was the highlight of my day.

Perhaps I better worry that someone might do the same to me?

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

Head (an acrostic poem)

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He danced along his mental landscape

Enjoying the infinite possibilities inside his mind

Allowing his imagination to go wild

Determined to escape the reality his meat brain was stuck in

Grace (an acrostic poem)

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Give yourself a little space today

Realize that you are not perfect

And that no one in their right mind should expect that from you

Care for yourself and give yourself a huge mental hug

Everything might not be okay, but you can still grant yourself a little…

Soothe (an acrostic poem)

 

Surging emotions hit her mental sea wall

Overflowing into her life

Outside she looks like a wet mess

That is just temporary

Her storms will pass and the emotional sea will calm

Eventually, she will dry off and be herself once more

 

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Tempest (an acrostic poem)

The storm was coming; she could feel it in her bones

Electrical shocks paused through her emotional system

Making her nerves sizzle, waiting for the other shoe to fall

Penelope didn’t want to be this apprehensive

Everyone has a bad day every once in a while

So she was due, and yet she knew this was different

Thunder rolled across her mental landscape.  Then the downpour started

 

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Grading (an acrostic poem)

Giving points out like Halloween candy

Reaching into my bag, I pull out a number

And I drop it onto their paper

Defining their mental capture of my material

It is an inexact science for sure

Now when they get that judged paper back

Going to wonder if they think it’s a trick or a treat

 

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