News (an acrostic poem)

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Noting all the brand new stories from today that were arrayed in front of him, he liked the buffet of content

Except there just wasn’t anything spicy enough to be worth the headline.

What he needed was sizzle, but all he had in front of him was steak.

So he carved everything up to bite sized pieces so at least they had to come back for more.

Document (an acrostic poem)

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Didn’t read the fine print of the contract

Of course that’s how a lot of these stories start

Catch 22’s galore in the legalese that no one can decipher

Unless you are a lawyer, and even then you have to be speak a dialect of Parseltongue

Making the rest of the tale about maneuvering out of the inevitable

Enabling our hero to have the last laugh

Now only if that worked in real life

Then I would be so done with these student loans

Barber (an acrostic poem)

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Boy could those men tell you stories amid the smell of talc and aftershave

About times in the past that people have forgotten

Remembering with such clarity the neighborhood throughout time

Because they had been there for a combined hundred-sixty years

Everyone came there to sit in those ancient green chairs and listen raptly

Relishing their experience with those historians.  The haircuts weren’t too bad either.

Struggle (an acrostic poem)

 

So things are getting pretty tough

That might be an understatement

Really it’s moments like these that define who we are

Understanding how to work past pesky problems

Giving each other a hand and cross the finish line together

Going the extra distance because we choose to do so

Looking forward to sharing stories over a cold one at the pub

Enjoying our victory over this…

 

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Smith (an acrostic poem)

 

Selecting the right words to give strength to the tale

Managing to weld together sentences without seams

Intricate work with the hammer to make the whole thing take shape

Then quenching it with an editing pass to give it durability

How a writer forges stories from raw emotional stock

 

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Too Tired To Write (a 100 word thingee)

Stories echo in the emptiness of my mind.  Their overlapping voices entangle and knot, causing me to lose one inside the other, like a series of babushka dolls.  Slowly I try to separate each story, but I fail and they fall back inside the cacophony of words.  I try to calm them down, coax them into a state of stupor, but suddenly I wake up with keyboard indents, and a river of drool flooding the canyon between the z and x key.  I shut down my computer and head to bed.  Well played stories, well played, but there’s always tomorrow.