Image: Pixabay
Hot head, short fuse,
Sorry for the abuse.
Forgive the heel to butt,
I just treat you like my mutt.
Cushy bed, hot meal.
Make amends, begin to heal.
Now do me till I squeal,
That’ll seal the deal.
Lucille . . . ?
Feel the Heal
poem
Plea to See
Image by blogetta
Art, art, where art thou?
Modern art, you’re elusive;
Appear before me.
Is there a message?
What mystery do you hold?
Oh, nothing at all.
Morning Bling
Image: Pixabay
He snickers at me;
Poppy seed between my teeth.
That’s my morning bling.
Chomping my breakfast,
An everything bagel
Gives me my black gem.
Sizzle to Fizzle
Image: Pixabay
Their chemistry was right
At least at first sight,
For months they were tight
Then came the big fight.
Both their hearts took a bite
From each other they took flight,
Then after nearly a fortnight
They agreed to reunite.
But things don’t always crystallize
They soon realize,
When there’s no more to analyze,
Or a desire to compromise.
Hamstring Blues
Image: Pixabay
Got me a banjo made of bones,
Strummed the strings
Gouged from your hammy gams
To wail my song of woe.
My heart’s been hamstrung by you;
Can’t blame me for tossing you in the Bayou.
Asylum
He’s not happy here.
Ev’ry day in padded rooms;
Drugged, tagged as insane.
Empathy for the Bedeviled
Image: Pixabay
A 6 by 8 compartment,
Surrounded by cement,
Every waking hour a lament,
Along with piss and excrement.
Day in, day out;
No sense of what’s about,
Only constant self-doubt
And gradual fade-out.
A seeming endless descent
Spiraling like a coiled serpent
Filled with malcontent,
Doing time in solitary confinement.
Family Blend Trend
Image: Pixabay
Yours, mine, ours,
Or theirs?
Too many sets of kin—
One from Stetson,
Another from Berlin.
But, what about Aunt Lynn?
Is she mine or yours?
Neither,
Just a freeloading stranger.
The Finish Line
Image: Pixabay
Rich red wine
From the very best vine.
Drink and dine, drink and dine.
Later together me and you
Zip right through
This long powdery line.
Marking
The beginning
Of our decline.
Barely Thirty
Image: Pixabay
Feeling young
And carefree,
Air blowing hair
As I’m cruising,
Suddenly horns are honking,
Now feeling eighty
For going barely thirty
On I-65 toward Indy.
Karina Pinella 
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