
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.

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.

He’s not happy here.
Ev’ry day in padded rooms;
Drugged, tagged as insane.

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.

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.
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.

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.

Image: Pixabay
Woulda
Coulda
Shoulda
Been either
A mover or shaker.
Instead
Settled
Disgruntled
Became neither
Just a lost dreamer.

Image: Pixabay
Jack is nimble,
Small as a thimble,
Just like his friend Tom,
Whose last name goes by Thumb.
Raining cats and dog,
Better than warts and hogs.
Though rain won’t go away,
Thinking of Rebecca’s sunny day.
Still with hundreds of kids
All crammed in a Keds,
That old woman makes enough soup
To last until they droop.
He goes by Rumpelstiltskin
With such an evil grin,
He’s known to be mischievous
And can be so devious.
Tales so wondrous,
Fond memories
Of my friends,
Invisibles and pretends.

Image: Pixabay
Once a dazzler,
Called a stunner.
Years later,
Just a wheezer,
Waiting for the reaper.

Frigidly fringed eaves
Nature’s ready-made dagger,
Straightened iced sickle.
You must be logged in to post a comment.