Review (an acrostic poem)

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Reading books was always a chore for Melonie

Every page was a struggle for survival with respect to staying awake

Viewing the text made the words devolve into scribbles

It was enough to give her a migraine just thinking about it

Even the pages would cut the wafer-thin skin of her fingertips

When she finally was done, it was all worth it when she left a one-star …

Poet (an acrostic poem)

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Placing emotions on a page, then folding them into intricate origami dioramas of life

Or pluck stars from the sky and plant them under mountains to grow gemstone geodes

Even distill humanity, boil off the dross, and serve up a potent shot of pure intoxication and misery

Then crumple up the whole thing, delete the file, and try again since the craft was not perfected

Whole (an acrostic poem)

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When the ground opened up, it swallowed the entire town.

How could such a thing happen without any warning?

Oh, and the hole kept getting bigger and bigger

Leaving an ever-growing scar across the landscape

Everyone was horrified as they turned the next page of Stephen King’s newest book

Wise (an acrostic poem)

person holding gray twist pen and white printer paper on brown wooden table

Words tumbled from his fingers and pooled upon the page

Irrigating the fertile ground allowing new thoughts to take root

Slowly those ideas grow tall and strong, awaiting harvest

Examining his crop, he began harvesting those who’s time had come and pruning the rest

Blah (an acrostic poem)

But the plot will come if you just type words.  You just have to believe.

Like that would really happen.  He laughed bitterly.

All it meant was the letter vomit on the page might be some sort of Rorschach story form.

He closed the document and went to bed.  He had seen enough.

 

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Word Count (an acrostic poem)

When sitting down in front of her computer

Olivia began her daily penance

Racing fingers

Dancing on the keyboard

 

Crafting new realms from the ether

Outpouring her imagination onto the page

Until she felt she could write no more that day

Nanowrimo would push her to become the writer she wanted to be

That or break her will to write till New Years.

 

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Red Ink (an acrostic poem)

Rallying all his reserves, Fannie pushed on

Every time the pen touched the paper

Doubt in her teaching competence would grow

 

It was always soul-crushing being an impartial arbiter

Now her hands were covered in the remains of her grading rubric

Killing her will to continue as her soul bled out on the page

 

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