Carbon (an acrostic poem)

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Couldn’t see flaws in the diamond on her finger

And he looked hard as he held her hand

Reality sometimes was hard to pencil into a narrative that worked for him

But he usually found a way to turn the coal in his stocking into something way more valuable

On this occasion, he turned his smile up to eleven to see if that would strike a shattering blow

Nothing could deviate her attention from her fiancé.  The boy, on the other hand…

Tempest (an acrostic poem)

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The look in his eyes forecast a storm of emotions about to hit

Everything to this point had been smooth sailing on calm seas

Mentioning her name, though, had brought a sudden change for the worse

Pushing himself up out of his chair, he leveled a finger

Everyone was quiet, waiting for the lightning bolt of his anger to strike

So when the finger went back down without a word, well everyone thought the worst had past

That’s when he took one step forward and a rain of fists poured down

Fried (an acrostic poem)

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Fast-food restaurant grease ran down his chubby fingers.

Reaching for the cup of bubbly sugar water to wash it down, he took a long swig.

It tasted so so good. He snatched up his burger and took another ferocious bite.

Eventually, the stuffing of his face subsided and he turned back to the problem at hand.

Differential equations had destroyed his brain, but after that carb load, it was time to strike back!

Chess (an acrostic poem)

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Courting the queen was a dangerous move

Her ability to strike out was legendary, and she was so shifty

Every knight on both sides was hopping about to avoid her

So it was a surprise when she seemed to stumble into a trap by the opposing faction

So while they celebrated their minor victory, their king was brought low

Night (an acrostic poem)

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Now, now is the time to strike back

Igniting the passions of the oppressed

Giving the darkness a soul of fire and destruction

Hell’s gates have broken, and we are not going back

To our oppressors, flee.  We will do more than just go bump in the …

Hunted (an acrostic poem)

He stalked his prey

Until it tired, letting him get close

Now he was ready to make the final strike

To claim her as his trophy

Emboldened as he struck out, but he suddenly realized he had been wrong

Didn’t get to see her triumphant smile with his lifeless eyes

 

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Balls (an acrostic poem)

Bowling down her competition

Abagail paused to catch her breath

Looking for a sign for where next to strike

Laughing at how they mockingly told her to grow a pair

She threw herself into finishing them off

 

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