Thread (an acrostic poem)

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The information dragged on and on as far as the mind’s eye could see

Her imagination trying to scoop it up and deposit it into memory

Research she knew she would use later

Examining lines of thought and spinning them together

As she wrote down her ideas

Determined to weave her story

Create (an acrostic poem)

Can’t make anything out of nothing

Really that’s a crock of bull

Everyone knows storytellers weave lies into whole cloth

And wrap you up inside nice and snug

That’s the stuff godhood is made of

Even if the magic eventually fades into memory

 

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Deadline (an acrostic poem)

Didn’t you know it?  This was going to go down to the wire

Every word was being counted, but the paper still wasn’t long enough

And he still had to organize his bibliography

Disheveled notes cluttered the floor beneath his desk

Littered with disparate ideas he was trying to weave into a coherent narrative

It almost made him cry when he thought of it.

Not getting it done would make him cry even more, though, so he kept typing

Eventually, he submitted it and began to pray.  It was late, but maybe Doc wouldn’t notice

 

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