Crayon (an acrostic poem)

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Crayola’s yellow box made his eyes go wide.

Realizing all one hundred twenty colors inside were his to work with.

And that thought had him wondering what he should color first.

Yukon forests?  Dragons breathing fire on a horde of gold? Something from the Matrix?

Of course, he could let his imagination run wild and do something totally out of the box.

Next moment he was using a heat gun to make a three-dimensional sunset!

Lunch (an acrostic poem)

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Looking at her plate, she wondered how she had gotten here

Under the fluorescent yellow liquid cheese, a treasure trove of textures and flavors existed

Now her stomach rumbled in anticipation of the excavation ahead

Crunching a loaded tortilla chip, her tastebuds danced to the symphony of tastes

Hefting her beer and taking a swig, she smiled loving her little bit of heaven

Style (an acrostic poem)

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Stripes of red and yellow paired with polka dots

That were purple and orange

Yelled out loud that she had entered the room

Leaving no doubt in her confident defiance of the norms

Everyone envied Grandma’s audacity

Cycle (an acrostic poem)

Charging down the finishing straight

Yellow jersey amongst the cacophony of colors

Creating a chaotic dance of machines and men

Looking to master the course and each other

Every eye eventually bending towards the end in Paris