Moss (an acrostic poem)

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Maybe the rolling stone wasn’t that great after all

Only by finding a quiet, still place can you put down some roots

Soul-nourishing peace grounding away the pent-up anxious energy

Soaking in patience waiting for the right stone to come

Cider (an acrostic poem)

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Cold pressed apple fluids left outside in a large jug

In the dead of winter the water freezes on top

Driving the flavor into a more concentrated solution below

Each time the blah ice is then removed and the process repeats over and over for months

Rewarded finally with a fermented drink that tasted of sunny autumn days and patience

Immature (an acrostic poem)

I didn’t want to have to tell you this

Many times the words would rise up into my mouth

Maybe I should have said them, but instead I swallowed them back down

Allowing you to have your little temper tantrum

Too bad you never got it out of your system

Understand I have limits to my patience

Really I should have handled it better

Especially after I stuck my tongue out at you!  😛

 

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