Night Attack

FLAILing against dark bodies, a moment whose dreams will leave me panic-
GAUNT. One moment asleep, the next fighting the unseen.
SMELL the skirmishers, yes, but ours or theirs?
SHONE the light next morning: a third of my brothers missing at roll.

Last Day of School

FLAIL your limbs, young men and yapping labs! Race uphill and
SMELL – Lap up sweet scents of fescue and freesia.
GAUNT-cheeked no longer by rigid recitation, but again 
SHONE the freedom of happy abandon.

The schemer

GRIND my baggage into my cabin and

HOARD all available space. Full steam

AHEAD, the Captain cries, leaving my

WOOER with egg on his face.          

Alliterative Silliness

WOOER of words, whose wonder and whimsy  
GRIND gritty graceless granite into glorious gilded gloss and
HOARD hyperbatons and homophones to hail halcyon histories with humorous harangues, 
AHEAD of his age, amusing the masses, elevating all our affections