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Best Mystery Poems

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Definition & Discussion of Mystery Poems
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See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Indian Ink

“Indian Accent”

Hear the whispers inside

Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow

A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices falling from the sky
Rising hymns release ancient demons that cling to the soul

The darkness dwells under gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World,
Exposing Indian hands that weave native smoke into the air
Their spirits taunting burrows from the muddy Earth
Moccasin makers rise from underneath
Guardians of dream catchers
Smooth thread from the outer edge, bowing heads.
Luminous gems of ivory,
Chasing a florid kiss.

Through the winds of enchanted drums, voices cry out for rain.
The hollow chimes mesmerize  
An ancient rage begins to flare
Stale madness, 
The spears of the perfumed buffalo skin pierced my senses
Removing the veils that cover my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Washing the scalp that bleeds on my face
They collect tears from memories of the past.

KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!

Raven silk braids, feathers fall from my hair.
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly.

I AM A BIRD!

By; PD

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Pandora's Kiss

"Pandora's Pearls"

Crystal tears drown under the best velvet distinctive feel
A Ghostly feel that leads into a clear diamond road
I found myself seduced down an Ancient Silk Caravan path, 
There she hid behind the golden stones she built around her heart.
She was a white gem against the deepest night
She spoke Latin words upon this dreamy sky
Her eyes were deep and the size of my mother’s midnight pearls
I fell into the stare of her bedroom eyes
Wishing to taste the sweetness of her coconut milk fragrance. 
She lowers the cloak to reveal the beauty in her black pearly eyes
Raven hair under her soft sensual disguise
Her lips redder than the violet rays of the sunset

She buried her beauty, and then exposed what’s under the cloak
Soon, her body turned into rot and bones
Her fingers pointed towards another path,
A rugged road of stones and pearls
I took a blade and press it against my skin, 
Concealing my life shut, after she revealed all my forbidden sins
Her lip, her eyes, her pearly grin, my last vision as my blood drew thin
A sweet kiss of death, falling into the eyes of Pandora’s Spell

by;PD

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Past-Life Nightmare

A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.

Night after night she feared going to bed.
What caused these nightmares that raged in her head?
Even when grown, the torment persisted,
so a therapist’s aid she enlisted.

“Hypnosis,” said he, “might offer some clues.
Why not try it?  You’ve just bad dreams to lose.”
Once under, he guided her to a room --
here people’s lifetimes in books were entombed.

“Find one that is yours,” her counselor said.
Quickly she did, but before it was read,
she felt an ache, saw just a faint title.
The words, she thought, said “Alister Bridle.”

The hypnotic trance now suddenly broke;  
puzzling questions “Mr. Bridle” evoked.
For many years she thought that was her name;
perhaps a past life had been filled with pain.

Who was this man?  She simply had to know!
Seasons passed, summer suns made way for snow.
In Florida now, 1998,
she thought all the nightmares she had escaped.

But strange dreams always catch us by surprise --
when the lights grow dim, our minds fantasize.
Cloaked in velvet, she left her parents’ farm,
stealing away on a late autumn morn’.

To meet her love, she climbed on the carriage,
knowing her folks would forbid their marriage.
Warm-hued leaves carpeted the hillside road,
and her pulse beat fast; she’d soon join her beau.

She thought only of him; joy cast its smile,
but that’s when he called, “Alice, the bridle!”
The leather band broke and wrapped ‘round her knee.
To the ground she was pulled; her horse ran free.

She met death, but past-life dreams recycle,
and she’d never been “Alister Bridle.”



*Based on real events I experienced.

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Deep Down Trauma Hounds


Deep down trauma hounds
nipping at the shadows in my mind --
it's ironic that in light's absence,
certain things can be easier to find.

Tried running away from my roots,
only to devour an apple fallen from the tree.

When I looked into your eyes
I knew that you were never coming back again,
having changed far too many times.

Didn't envy the broken circuitry of your brain,
but instead, I spat upon the seven sins,
jealous of how quickly you could change.

I tried so hard to change for you;
to catch up to the channel-surfing that flickered through your head,
not realizing soon enough, that you had become the walking dead.

There I stood as the fool ....
.... no matter how many times I pulled another card from the deck,
it was always the Fool, I chose.

Threw myself into the muddy water,
and awoke upon a foreign shore,
a tropical drink offered to me by a stranger struck with curiosity.

Threw myself from a mountain of mirrors,
only to bounce on a bed of invisible heather, below,
brushed myself off without a scratch or bruise
while viewing the horizon from a tarot-riddled plateau.

Descending into a forest of spirit trees,
I found a woman -- or maybe, she found me --
who is willing to hold onto darkness,
for without darkness, light is an improbability.

Deep down trauma hounds
nipping at the shadows in my mind --
it's ironic that in light's absence,
certain things can be easier to find.



2014 Penetration Remix
September 21st, 2014




+/-

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Creature In The Night

Where cold stars exist in the dark,
serene winds whisper to trees
and scarce human ears can listen,
lone songs wail in the distance
in frozen moon's silver spotlight,
a mark left where paws had paused.






Written by: Kelly Deschler. January 16th, 2015

Inspired by creature #3 Coyote

nette onclaud's contest - NIGHT CREATURES


This poem was also inspired by actual events. A few weeks ago, I discovered 
some large animal paw prints that were left in the snow, near my home. I later
found out that the tracks were made by a wolf.


Details | Mystery Poem | |

THE HOUSE OF SPIRITS

It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until 
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.

BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Night Owl

Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.

With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.

He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.

Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.

I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.

A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?

My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!


Details | Mystery Poem | |

Double Phantasy

Mama, did you know the precious amethyst shadow hours
I spent beside you, cuddled cosy-close, nestled in blankets of light,
shawled in your red-gold hair? I kissed each tear you cried;
each one a starlight pearl forged from the depths
of your fragile soul. I rocked seashell-shut to each lullaby note
and silently watched as you rocked my cold, empty cradle.
Sometimes you sensed me coiled at your breast -
a small balled knot of grief. You felt my tiny fingers plucking at you
as tingling shivers. And sometimes I bounced sunshine-free
on your knee, a giggling orb of light.

Little one, once again I felt you here,
entombed in the womb of this eternal everywhere room,
your spirit sifting through my fingers like hourglass sand.
Pain has blanked my mind wraith-white, but I felt
your lips nip the warm rosebuds of my nipples
as I pressed a lullaby to the delicate shell of your ear
and brief blessed seconds spun out like years.
My sentient heart will always hold you, my grip will never slip
as my earthbound hands, human-warm, reach through time
and heather-shadowed ether to love and care for you.





*'phantasy' is a deliberate misspelling, an amalgamation of 'phantom' and 'fantasy'

Details | Mystery Poem | |

In Strangler's Wood - tanka version

In forest dark where trees bend low
beneath a slice of half moon’s glow,
          silent shadows waver there,
          chilled by gusts of autumn air.

Quavering, as if afraid,
they fall on stumps from trees decayed.
     among those stumps the shadows creep
     and shroud a form that seems asleep.

Lightning flashes . . . Thunder peals.
A sight forlorn the light reveals
          a man, quite dead, in woolen coat,
          with scarf of death left on his throat.

The shadows saw, and now they quake,
lone witnesses in murder’s wake.
     They cannot speak, but if they could,
     they’d tell all travelers of the wood:

"We’re not the foe.  It’s one of you
that makes us tremble as we do.
          Although we loom and cause you fear,
          something worse is lurking here."

Then Thunder echoes in accord
as from the sky, cold rain is poured.
     And silent shadows start to shrink
     into a night of blackened ink.


At a dead man’s throat lies the rain drenched woolen scarf that stifled his screams. Cold Wind howls through decayed trees - witnesses in the shadows. For Debbie Guzzi's Metamorph Poetry Contest a rhyming poem changed to a tanka

Details | Mystery Poem | |

On this lovely morning

On this lovely morning

I sit here, this fine morning
And I feel I have to write
Just as the day is dawning
It gives me sweet delight
Black Cockatoos fly overhead
It's a lovely mystic morn
On this wondrous path I tread
A new day it is born.

The sun comes shining high above
The sky is mystic blue
It bathes the flowers with its love
They shine in every hue
As only love can fill my soul
The love for everything
The whole wide world it seems so whole
My heart begins to sing.

As birds they feed upon my lawn
Such pleasure I do feel
The mystery that comes with dawn
So tender and so real
I feel it to my deepest core
It mesmerises me
How I really do adore
Dawns lovely mystery.

15 October 2014


 









Details | Mystery Poem | |

In the Middle of the Universe, I stand

In the middle of the universe, I stand 
My mind seeking comprehension 
The mysteries of life tantalize my tenacious grip on wisdom
I stand
Observing omnipotent organization
The universe expands as I stand in wonder
What does it all mean?
Infinite answers press against my finite mind
Clamoring for recognition
I stand: dazed, amazed, crazed
By all I don’t know and can never fathom
Until there is light
And the light dawns
And the meaning of the universe unravels 

Your celestial body orbits mine
Time after time
Your gravitational force defies logic
Refusing to stay in the paths ordained
The laws of nature are flaunted
and...we collide
My head is crowned with your constellation kisses
I travel in the nebula of your dreams and fantasies 
As you dip into my body the Milky whiteness of your WAY
The universe explodes in the starry heavens of your eyes
Meteorite words of ecstasy
Streak across my sky of consciousness
Blazing...

Time becomes a non-entity
The mystery of love overshadows the mystery of life
And now I see…
The beginning and end of all creation
The sum total of my existence
Of life
Of the universe
Of...EVERYTHING
Is here
It’s eternal

In the middle of the universe, I stand
I understand
The universe is LOVE

In the Middle of the Universe I Stand Contest
Sponsor: Vernela S Walker
February 5, 2015


Details | Mystery Poem | |

Obsidian

An almost stillness came about
as she strode into my door,
like breath itself refused to move,
fearful of touching her mysterious beauty

But her obsidian eyes betrayed her. 

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
she looked at me, 
and I knew…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Molten lava spilled forth from her mouth, melting our clocks—
eighteen hundred nightmares compressed in two hours.
Long hand moving forward, as the short hand moved backward
How can memories persist in such an acrid life?

She spoke of a beast in the guise of a man,
 one who ravaged innocence with the flick of a click
A coward that collected milk teeth for hardened bones
of other horny beasts with no spine

That throaty tenderness when she spoke 
sprinkled crystal seeds of frustration in me
She says he loathed him, denied she loved him
but her obsidian eyes betrayed her

There she was, a bud he plucked from the nuns’ garden
He grafted then he pruned her, 
spreading her pollen, wafting her scent
yet folding her petals to himself

Caterpillars feeding upon her leaves,
she lets them devour her,
yet once they are wrapped in their cocoons to sleep,
she stabs them with her thorns.

Tears then slid down from her midnight lace eyes
and it was all I could do to catch them
She said she was weary of curtailing butterflies,
of tearing their wings before they can even fly

I had to ask, how many… how many winged gems?
She lifted her sleeves, and showed me her scars
One ugly mark for each innocent child plunged deep,
my heart getting slashed at least three hundred a beat.



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------


A certain stillness came about
as I strode into her door,
like fear itself refused to move,
letting breath touch her mysterious beauty for the last time....

Her obsidian eyes had betrayed her. 

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
I looked at the knife beside her.

Maroon-mapped sheets, a stunted womb.
 
Strains of Bon Iver’s “Flume”
flit past the sighing air like a butterfly,
and I knew…









08112014


Details | Mystery Poem | |

I feel God's breath in nature

Irish sonnet


I feel Gods breath in nature

The birds are singing. Beautiful it be
The trees are swaying on the morning breeze
Oh how it fills me with such mystery
Oh my, how nature fills me with such ease
I love the flowers; love the birds, and trees
I feel Gods breath in everything that grows
Something it glows within the heart of me
A force of love so deep within me flows
When I’m with nature something in me knows
That God is good, how can this not be true
When birds sing out, I always feel his glow
The perfume of the flowers brings it too
Oh, nature, how she thrills me through, and through
Seems, God is there in everything I do

17 November 2014

Irish Sonnet
Obviously influenced by the English sonnet there ia also still a Celtic influece in making a link from stanza to stanza.. It still follows the three quaterns and a couplet pattern, but each stanza is linked to the next giving a rhyme pattern of;
a. b. a. b. . b. c. b. c. . c. d. c. d. .d.d.
Here is an example. It is written in 10 syllables throughout.

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Pulse

Inner conflict dissolves under your lunar eclipse
playing across my fingertips and lips 
tracing the hoodoo of your hips,
causing me to burn down into cinder-sticks
reborn as a Baton Rouge Phoenix
by the gravitational pull of Jupiter
orbiting in your eyes.

Rising above the ashes,
siphoning-off the swamp,
I collide in a slippery mudslide
of euphoria, until steam blows off
and only spring water remains
raining upon soil sprung apart
by the Trident of Hermes,
exposing for us naked iron
to place into a flame
dancing along liquid-skin language.

The extraction of you being the exception,
leaves behind a hole
to bury our fortresses of tragedy
grappling in our roots;
now broken-apart by our roots,
until the last crumbling stone 
sprouts into untainted sheaths -
rigid - yet willing to bend

with the mending currents
of change. Becoming cleaner within, 
hanging onto a truth to be found 
in the wholesome speck of dirt 
longing for my fingertips and lips
to feel the hoodoo in your hips;
a complementary dish of duality
alongside your whispers bleeding 
into the blood-waves of my heart
merging with your lunar pulse.






.

Details | Mystery Poem | |

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

Today I penned a love letter
I know you'll never see
Secret thoughts and feelings
Bottled up inside of me
Romantic muse on my heart
Words written with the mind
My forbidden introspection
I know you'll never find
For I, myself, am the bottle
I'm not floating on the sea
The message is deep inside
Heartbroken that we can't be
I know this sounds freaky
But every word I say is true
Although we've never met 
My heart is missing you!

Date: 11-7-14

Details | Mystery Poem | |

WE'RE STILL WE

Just because we're not together
Doesn't mean we're far apart
You may no longer see me
Cause I'm hidden in your heart
I am the warmth in your sunrise
The breeze dancing in your hair
Don't think for even a moment
That I'm gone, no longer there

I'm singing through that sparrow
My fragrance is in the rose
My shade is under the big oak
I'm in the poem you just composed
I still see you in the moonlight
Tell all your secrets to me
I'm closer than you can imagine
Never alone, girl we're still we

*A father on his deathbed pens this poem to his daughter to encourage her when he's gone, to remind her that he will never really leave her!

Date: 11-11-14

Details | Mystery Poem | |

let sacred delirium flow

(in-between wakefulness and dreaming, in-between free verse and prose....it flows - I wouldn't trade it for candy-coated couplets, nor silky sonnets set in cities of gold, for my delirium is uninhibited, unhinged, freely flowing) delirious non-linear shutter-frames capture us over there, here now, before - a nuance, a taste on the tip of my tongue leading me towards need without a name nor face. Prying open other people to see if you were inside. Searching for a known desire with an unknown label, to find something never actually lost - to make it more palpable - closer. Crawling out of my skin, out of my skull, slinking through invisible trees, you appear: a jungle cat licking my mind - you always made love to my soul first, before enticing me with a liquid growl off-set by the pitter-patter of paws and purring. Your purr, your velvet purr rumbles for my submission. Willingly I accept the invitation of vulnerable humility bowing towards a fearless trust lush with a luminary borderless meshing, catching up to right now. - Right now - Your black-light curvaceous muscled trembling licks my mind, my body, my hands and mouth glide across your skin, testing the earth for stability. The tectonic plates of my belly quake resettle within your womb. Inside-outside, outside-inside a lotus-soul union, just as ancients had hinted, dissolving, letting you devour me, before I drink from your salty grail. Over-stimulation leads to an un-thinking deep rhythm, waves pushing out - in until the shoreline and tides become indistinguishable, a backdrop to a pace quickening. Outside-inside of you, you are outside-inside of me, there is no longer the need to fear unknowns, for the unknown guides us higher, guides us ever deeper, until even our release merges with the flow of ancient rippling rhythm. .

Details | Mystery Poem | |

The mist around the boulder

The mist around the boulder

She kept her staring eyes beyond the ridge and orange skylines,
where sun descended crowning bells, and dithering mauve thistles;
it was the time the shadows fell upon the fragrant grapevines,
while blue was spreading from the east and winds in branches whistled.

The dark of night embrace'd her form, espouse'd her thought and breathing,
how lonesome was the specter of this shortened time and order
when bold the blades of memories returne'd and beame'd unsheathing,
granite became his thought, and hers, the mist around the boulder.

The dark of night embrace'd him, then, and wraiths, above, surpasse'd him
across the Acheronian stills where shadowed lifted billows,
bestowed on him armorial vows and her betrothal bracing
of orchard blooms and stalwart deeds among the astral meadows.

© 2015-02-19, Georgios Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(Iambic decapentasyllabic verse)

Sponsor: gautami phookan
Contest Name: I THINK OF YOU
Deadline: 3/13/2015


Details | Mystery Poem | |

The Ballad Of Poet Destroyer

"The Ballad of The Poet Destroyer"

Destroyer, and creator of words
Flying high on the wings of a bird
Drowning every inch, by foes and friends
Where has she gone?

When push came to shove, 
She continued standing tall after every fall
Falling fearlessly like the falling star tapping the lips
Topaz, a star in the eyes of envy the enemy
A dreamlike, miracle mirage, fresh like mints
No reason in remembering yesterday's sad song
Slightly she moves in with the new barren breeze,
A maze in disguise, no way out
A feeling so good, you hate
The naming of names, that won't escape you 
Your eyes of lust, imitate PD's sweetest touch, 
Destruction, with pleasure
A new day, killed by the morning after pill
Everyone gone, shadows remain
Where, has she gone? 

A feeling so good, you hate
Your unmatched precision, wobbles your stability
She'll give you a taste of rays, despite your low self-esteem 
Happiness turns to sadness, making every jaw drop
Where has she gone?

She's not the painting of Mona Lisa, 
However, it does not stop you from spending your cash-
-To see a picture painted with a frown,
Look what you've done!

Never to return, what was, what is!
You say you love her, then you run
A dry barrel, an empty gun, 
Never will the enemy be number one, 
Nothing but a shadow, a rug for PD,
Like a dream, her imagery is haunting
Love her or leave her, her pen name remains
Poet O' Poet where are you?

Advocate of smiles, enjoy her copy paste kiss
Trace her silhouette found in the midnight mist
Blindfolded, indulge by the wind
Breaking, the Texas Hold EM' Hand
Her freedom, her land
Gone insane, she laughs, 
Untouched she remains, she lives
Inside of me

By; PD

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Kindred Spirits

~(tanka haibun)~


    Awakened from my walking reverie by movement ahead, I spy a Red-Tailed Hawk perched upon the wrought-iron railing of the flood-wall. The hawk is regal, stoic beauty. I stop walking in hopes of urging the bird of prey to stay its perch. It does, filling me with a sense of relief. I wonder why it let me get so close; if it was my calm, thoughts-up-in-the-clouds, meditative stroll that somehow rendered my thoughts and steps silent enough to catch the bird unawares. We eye each other, a bitter gust of mid-winter wind blows against my face; ruffles the back-feathers of the hawk. I am overwhelmed by a sensation how the two of us know exactly what we are, who we are, what we are supposed to be doing overall, but we are presently caught in a moment of unknowns, letting these unknowns erase the lines that keep us separate -- beast from human. 
I take a step closer, causing the hawk to finally alight, and I am struck by its vibrant feathers adding a dash of colour to the surrounding monochromatic grays. 
The hawk flies only a short distance ahead before landing on the railing again, so we re-enact the scene of this play. I come closer, closer, closer, until the hawk lifts up, flies a bit further along the river-walk, before landing again, until eventually it probably decides, that indeed, this human is going to traverse the entire path, for the hawk flies up into trees located further ahead. As I walk past the trees, the hawk launches out of an evergreen, with twigs in its talons. The bird flies over the river; a river made tumultuous by ice-melt.

in Winter's gray light
a Red-Tailed Hawk paints the sky 
with its feathers,
my soul lifts, follows the bird
over an ice-gorged river

The hawk lands on the base of a church steeple, and disappears behind an ornately carved corner. It appears as if the steeple is attempting to pierce the snow-clouds with its tip, trying to tear gashes in the sky, until spring blue bleeds into gray. On this Tuesday afternoon, does the church seem personified because it is devoid of Sunday parishioners milling in and out of its thick wooden doors? No matter how hard the steeple tries to break-apart the clouds, the grand sky dwarfs the church, causing it to look like a toy model. The church fluctuates between looking like a miniature-scale model, and an architectural feat.

with defiance
the steeple pierces clouds
looming overhead -
the snow-laden clouds
make the church appear small

Passing the church, I find it ironic how today the church is empty inside, yet on its steeple and roof-lines, countless animals are nesting, making this House of God their sanctuary. Slowly making my way home, I ponder about the hawk, how it is not only a predator amongst prey, but a predator amongst predators -- it flies around in plain sight, yet also hides right in the middle of the city. Coming up to the path leading to the back-door of my home, I scan a small trail of footprints in the snow. The footprints vary, but all are familiar to me. 
It is at precisely this moment that I fully acknowledge the Red-Tailed Hawk and I to be kindred spirits; how similar we really are.

the path leading home
is a winding snowy trail
of few footprints,
for only my loved ones know
where I truly live



.

Details | Mystery Poem | |

LOVE IS A PERFECT PRESENT

Late night walk around my lake
Midnight stars are all in bloom
Crickets singing happy songs
A perfect night and a full moon
The brightest star came closer
Said, I think you should know
So I'm going to share a secret
Then I'm going to quickly go
Said, she is thinking about you
A thousand thoughts a day
And at night a million dreams
Your face she loves to play
I've heard her talk about you
So I thought I'd check you out
I feel your thoughts and feelings
You've left me with no doubt
Said, you're wishing and needing
It's as clear as this night sky 
That's exactly what she's doing
Dude, you're the apple of her eye
Said, tonight I've been thinking
You two make a perfect pair
And love is a perfect present
It's time to let her know you care

Date: 11-11-14

Details | Mystery Poem | |

The Tide of Time

Washed
up
on the
shore

broken
by
the
ocean's
roar

waiting
at
the
foot
of
heavens
door

I
touch
her
fading
beauty
with
my
trembling
hand

a
broken
shell
lying
in
the
burning
sand

~~~

Author:  Elaine George

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Umbrella

There she stands 
Centre stage for all to see
Tall and slender 
Precariously she balances.

I reach out for her
Draw her to me 
My hand skims her body 
Slowly reaching her skirt.

Playful fingers find hidden areas
Delighted her legs spring forth
Displaying the very beauty
Of her delicately adorned skirt.

Gaily she dances around
Dizzily twisting and turning
In the brightness of day shading
She gently tends to my needs.

Personal ballerina takes to toes leaping
Merrily bobbing up and down
As emotional to her performance
Clouds cry a thousand tears for her.

Reaching our destination
Slightly shaken, she leans
Watches me quietly drips
Against the wall.

Reminiscent of the day's fulfillment
We acknowledge one another silently
Restful knowing we shall be
One once more.

Details | Mystery Poem | |

As river flows

As River flows.

As river flows so peacefully
I sit here just content to be
As Ravens fly so high above
This morning, it was made for love
It enters deep into my soul
It’s sweetness making me so whole
This softest morning mystery
Oh, how it reaches out to me

The trees, they dance so gracefully
They wave, and flow upon the breeze
Bird song drifts from happy branches
Oh lord, how this my heart enhances
Silence rules above all this
A kind of stillness filled with bliss
Captivates my very core
Oh, I’d not wish for any more.

The river peaceful, calm and still
So wonderful it makes me feel
As it reflects those dancing trees
I watch and let the morning breeze
Caress my skin so tenderly
Then all is gone, there’s only me
The emptiness of all that is
I’m sailing on the waves of bliss.

15 March 2014 @ 0705hrs.

Details | Mystery Poem | |

Gettysburg Hauntings

Gettysburg Hauntings

When General Meade met General Lee
At Gettysburg in 1863

Sons of the South battled Northern brothers
And neither side has ever recovered

Fifty-one thousand lives lost in three days
Of a summertime swelter, July haze

Souls rose not to heaven from bodies piled
On blood-soaked battlefields spanning 40 miles

An on-scene photographer moved fallen men
To snap better images with his lens

Hats off to Alex Gardner if you please
Today picture-takers’ cameras freeze

At a large bouldered site called Devil’s Den
Sharpshooter hid, killed unsuspecting men

Travelers at night on Pennsylvania roads
Claim they see soldiers, hear cannons explode

A century after the Revolution
United our states to wage war as one

Virginians were forced to choose blue or gray
Mason Dixon Line divided that way

If only Tom Jefferson’s wise notion
Had not been struck from the Declaration

Slavery, the impetus for war and hate
Would have been quashed before State versus State

Gettysburg might have been a peaceful farm
Where soldiers had never succumbed to harm

But restless spirits, faces pale and gaunt
Never retreat from their Gettysburg haunt

Our nation’s darkest hour plays out each night
And passersby still marvel at the sight

Where sons of the South battled Northern brothers
For neither side will ever recover