Best Investigates Poems
On a cold winter’s morning
in the Wicklow mountains
a lone man stalks the land;
his hound shadows him.
He moves silently, swiftly,
approaching a clearing
where the pine forest gives way
to heather-covered hills.
Alert to movement,
he steps carefully into position.
His dog stands stock still, waiting;
its nose quivers
in the icy air.
He slips the rifle from his shoulder
moving to a tree
bare of branches.
Carefully he pulls the trigger,
the dog darts forward.
Dragging the carcass of a Sika
he walks through a forest
stripped of bark.
Trunks ooze with infection;
the reason for the cull.
He hears gunfire ahead.
‘Could be poachers.’
He investigates.
Poachers are the true vermin
in this environment.
They kill for money,
no respect for the species.
Stags beheaded, bodies remain,
inexperienced hunters,
the wounded animals suffer.
An animal lover,
he lives a solitary life
at his isolated cottage.
Keeper of the deer
deep within the mountains.
7/3/2018
A waxing crescent moon shed a sliver of mystified light on the silhouette of the lonely shadow of a woman.
She sat cross legged on a chunk of hard Earth overlooking a circular abyss of stones.
Different shapes and forms of stones interlocking like puzzle pieces in the Universe’s jigsaw.
Mature naturally arched trees leaning forward as a hunched back Mother Nature would.
Her long locks of leaves high enough never to touch the ground but bowing low enough to dangle freely with the breeze, tickling the woman’s’ brow in a gentle sway.
A barrier of green, a curtain around her sanctuary secluding her from the outside world of black souls and Godless structure.
Misty clouds of dusk play hide n’ seek with the moonlight, showering her vision with schizophrenic darkness and illumination.
She lifts her heavy eyelids, revealing glacial blue irises speckled with amber.
Cool under the shade of her fanning tinted black lashes.
A stray cat investigates a pile of abandoned possessions litter and decomposed plants beside the woman.
Its slender figure perched on top of the pile, gazing at the sky with fluorescent lime eyes signaling sorrow to scattered stars.
The woman’s chi topples over, unbalanced, her meditative state lost.
She is transfixed with the black cat’s hypnotic purrs, its indecipherable plea to a listener above beyond all perception and visibility.
The woman’s throat fell victim to a viselike grip.
A thief in the night robbing precious oxygen…her bulged open pupils losing energy.
Slowly, her strength subsides…her eyelids close like bedroom blinds between a Peeping Tom.
Her body drops against the multi creviced rock.
Alas, she is weightless.
The skull encasing her cranium cracks against countless stones as she is tossed into the shallow hole of the unknown.
Amidst the cacophony of raging emotions
In a nexus of conflicting passions
Lies a beguiled soul
He is embedded in a labyrinth of racing thoughts
And interlocking fears
He investigates his surroundings
While a sinking sensation grips him
Immobile in feeling
He plots his course
Frozen in indecision
Trying out different personas
He reaches invisibility
As he grasps to others for direction
Becoming as lost as ever
When will the conflict end?
When will stability be attained?
He thrashes around in the cage of his existence
Finding a spot to land on
Arriving nowhere
He cradles himself in a bubble
Peering out from the chains he’s strapped in
Hoping for a beam of sunshine to pierce through
One day the solution will come
And things will regain their meaning
Until then, he’ll remain with the entanglement that is now referred to as existence…
Miss Marple is a famous sleuth
She investigates and gets the truth
Murder intriguing has been committed
Just as well she's quite quick-witted.
Whom does this crime benefit most?
We can rule out our charming host
Victim was found dead in his room
Around his body flowers strewn.
Completely by accident Marple saw
Delivery of flowers at kitchen door
Where busy maid spends her day
All mundane tasks are sent her way.
She might be poor, but that blackguard
Sent flowers with invite scrawled on card!
Never expecting she would not comply
The fillet knife aided his dying sigh.
Flowers she threw in such distress
Then walked away from mortal mess
Bravely she sought Marple's advice
Who said 'she was skating on rather thin ice'.
Enigma surrounds this long closed case
The victim, no gentleman was a disgrace
Home in her cottage, thinking things through
Marple wondered what Poirot would do?
Start Sleuthing
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by:
Natasha L Scragg
17/08/2022
Public Domain image: Agatha Christie 1910
Legend Of The Black Dove
Part 1 - "Enter The Black Dove"
The Year is 1749. A horse-drawn coach is travelling down the Dover Road in Cornwall
Outlaws attack the coach causing it to plummet over a cliff to the rocks below. Realising
There is no sign of life they leave. All of a sudden the coach door flew open. As the badly
Injured John Norrington emerges he notices a cave with a bright glow inside. With his
Last remaining strength he investigates and sees a giant meteorite embedded in the cave
Feeling so weak he collapses into unconciousness, moments later he awakens to find
That he has amazing strength. He rushes out of the cave and climbs the escarpment.
Then makes his way back to Norrington Manor. He then sets about making a costume
He has a purple jacket with a Black Dove ensignia. He slips it on and then puts on a mask.
It is time for the Black Dove to ride, he saddles up his magnificent white stallion, then rides
Into the night in search of the outlaws that wrecked the coach and killed his friends and
Beautiful wife named Beth. The Black Dove tracks the outlaws to a shack, their leader
Is Jack Wild. He is the man behind the murder of his friends. He climbs on the roof by
Leaping off a large rock, his gun in hand, then climbs down to the ground, kicks in
The door and holds the men at gunpoint. A fight breaks out as the Dove wrestles Wild to the Ground, he then forces a confession out of him and ties him on his horse. They both ride Down the highway, were they pass some of the King's soldiers. They pursue both men and a chase follows, Wild is captured as the Dove manages to escape. Wild insists he was
Captured by the Black Dove and he frames the Dove for the coach murders. Meanwhile the
Other two men pursue the Dove shooting at him, he is shot and is then lying on the ground. They realise they have to get rid of him permenantly, so they put him in a box and drop him down an abandoned well. His fate is sealed as the box sinks down into the watery depths.
Whether the Black Dove will live or die, you can find out in Part 2....."The Golden Coach".
Alice in Wonder
Alice in wonder, landed a handful
From depths of a dryer eerily playful
Another sock missing, the dryer she’s dissing
A goblin within she fears is hissing
Disgusted by waste, calls Scotland Yard in haste
Thoughts of buying more socks, she repels with distaste
Sherlock investigates, Watson pontificates
No clues can either sleuth contemplate
Stepping through the door, she’s compelled to learn more
But finds herself falling; the dryer has no floor
Through the hole she plunges, a Mad Hatter lunges
And finally all doubt expunges
The rabbit hole clan, before her stands
Socks used as ear warmers looking so grand
So Alice climbs out, with a boost from a mouse
Vowing no more socks in her washer to douse
She’s barefoot now, folks, this is no joke
Sock expenditures had left her broke
* Entry for Paula's "Why do dryers eat our socks?"
A dream within a dream that calls my name,
And echoes through the night while sleeping still,
That voice that never seems to sound the same,
Yet comes from deep within against my will,
And in that dream, my senses know no shame.
O darker side of love within me dwell,
Possession, obsession familiar traits,
The darkness I have come to know so well,
The baited breath that now investigates,
Unnerving words my dreams cannot repel.
Form: Sicilian Quintains
~ ~
Each limb could write a thousand books, --
as wind investigates the pages
______________________________
For Brian's Contest~ 'As You Like It'
When the brain inside debates
When the storm inside abates
When sleepless nights assassinates
When the past creeps in and investigates
When ego surrenders and guilt arrests
When memories walk past but time awaits
When every thought inside procrastinates
When fear dies and tear evaporates
When utopia hides behind society's gates
When fate says you are not mates
When dilemma stays like a mistress
When the heart plays in distress
When her absence still affects
When your dream disconnects
When your own love suspects
When you lose nerve and frown on your defects
When you break down and hurt yourselves
When you succumb but nobody helps.
The latest survey
eighty suicides per day
by our Veterans
Such a big disgrace
CBS investigates
this whole cover up
These folks fought for us
no one's taking care of them
they would rather die
Someone should be held
accountable for each one
who takes his own life
If they had something
that they could look forward to
they won't want to die
There's hope in Jesus
message needs to go across
that bad times don't last
My Dog.
Tosca is his name.
He is always the same.
Loving and true.
By my side he will stay.
Morning, noon and day.
He licks my face.
He wags his tail.
Never does he fail.
To comfort and protect me.
He can read my mind.
Knows whats to come.
When for a walk we go.
His lead he will show.
Knock on the door.
Telephone ring.
He will tell.
He is my ears as well.
A noise in the night.
He investigates without fright.
He keeps me happy.
Night and day.
I can tell.
I love him so well.
..................................
There is always reason for a poet to write,
A miraculous pen of a poet is to write good and bad things,
When a poet fails to understand his role on earth,
He"she" will lose some emotions like :
Feeling pain...
And
Being sad...
A poet defines emotions well than google because he" she" experiences ,
investigates some actions ,
writes true stories in different forms.
A poet knows to enjoy with happy people,
When he " she " is happy too.
A poet always cry, crying with sad people by using his " her" miraculous pen to write and his " her" mouths to recite.
Emotions pain and sad take time,
If being rich could mean white skin coulour , there could not be a white poor on earth.
If poverty could mean black " dark "skin "coulour, there could not be a black "dark" billionaire on earth.
Why majority of dark " black " people are law class in
Americas,
Africa,
Asia,
Oceania,
Antarctica
Europe,
Midle East?
It is because the world governing system is captured by the minority to protect their interests and break hearts of the majority which is so unfairly.
As a poet , can you be happy when you witness inhuman into some humans on earth?
My pen has much ink to write ,
My mouths have much energy to recite this sad poem to all lovely people of the World,
to continue standing with all the victims.
Being happy or sad , it is a human nature
It is so unfair to ignore the pains of other people,
As no human in this World has a steel heart to resist pain.
March 13/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
A poet is a freelance investigative journalist
on voyages of discovery to unknown lands
With hands dwelling in clouds and grey stars
opens their petticoats searching for the hidden
Mind restless as a school boy eating hot potatoes
investigates why humans live and die on earth
The tongue vibrating as xylophones on timber
questions what is heard, unheard and said
Ears permanent residents in the bushes of life
are secret listeners to conversations of creatures
Soul escaping and wondering whole universe
sails the rough storms in search of ultimate reality
A poet’s nose is a test-tube in a laboratory head;
testing molecules to explain life equations
offers free snaps
uses microscopic eyes
investigates wallets
My child…
My child newborn
Feels earthly warmth
My joy abounds.
My child now young
Hears yes, no, maybe
My sky’s the limit.
My child gains stature
Sees viewpoints, images, illusions
My world surrounds.
My child still cautious
Speaks mirrored words
My heart swoons.
My child reaches wider
Investigates with why
My brain electrifies.
My child examines afar
Investigates with why
My being sparkles.
My child now wiser
Thinks balanced wants more
My presence explores.
My child grows adult
Remembers related times
My love abounds.
September 18, 2020
For Piipar and Robert