Postage (an acrostic poem)

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Putting letters into envelopes

Outside affixing addresses

Sending them from random mailboxes

That way they can’t trace it back to him

And when his victims open them?

Giving them something they will never forget

Everyone loves a fresh hundred-dollar bill, even if they are homemade

Ground (an acrostic poem)

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Gripping the dirt like he was afraid to fall into the sky

Really it was his muscles clenching all at once

Outside the thunder rumbled, marking sonically where he had been zapped

Under those angry clouds, the smell of ozone persisted

Not that the people with the ski masks on noticed.  They were too busy trying to flee, but they

Didn’t have time because Thor stood back up and smiled.  “Now it’s my turn.”

Spoon (an acrostic poem)

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She cuddled up to him under the covers

Pulling her body along his to get warm

Outside the wind blew and the cold rain fell

Outside the chaos of jobs and bills demanded attention and yet…

None of that mattered.  They were together in that moment

Open (an acrostic poem)

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Outside she was closed, boarded up with locks and everything

People passing by saw there was absolutely no way in

Except that one guy that came by every day and sat there and listened

Now they are each other’s happily ever after

Knot (an acrostic poem)

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Knowing hands twisted and tied the thick cords with ease

Noting where the rope had begun to fray

Outside the wind began to howl, which he thought fitting

There was no better accompaniment when at the gallows

Vessel (an acrostic poem)

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Image by my 14 year old daughter

Vehicle for fluids is raised for another toast

Enables waking dreams as you stumble being possessed

Sometimes you can host a multitude of different spirits simultaneously

Such as wine, beer, and hard liquors

Enough visitors that you reach your max occupancy limit, and you’re forced outside your body

Leaving you empty and full of yourself at the same time

Hovel (an acrostic poem)

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Home is home, but sometimes you just live in a place

Outside is allowed to get ragged, inside things are just left where they are

Vistas of unkept memories and mementos cast aside without a care

Eclipsing all hopes of doing something about it, to make it a livable space

Leaving you to wonder if it is just a condemned dwelling, or a wasted life

Goose (an acrostic poem)

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Getting aggressive during play fighting

Oblivious to the dangers at hand

Outside the air was turbulent with drama

Such that the only thing you could do to get out of the spinning rut was eject from the situation.

Except that damn glass ceiling got in the way, killing any hope of promotion

Thor (an acrostic poem)

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The lightning and thunder are at his command

His hand holding a spinning Mjolnir

Outside he looks like he is as calm as the eye of a hurricane

Reality was the true storm was raging inside