Best Murder Mystery Poems
We saw a dim light upon top of the Bell House Tower
a scream echoed out and then a dark shadow slipped
by the light, in the midnight hour.
What was that? I asked my friend, I don't know
she said, but it sounded as if something has met
it's end.
The wind was blowing with such a strange howling
and all the city lights were off making it dark for
mysterious prowling.
A loud, maddening laughter rang through the air and
stood on our arms, every one of our hairs. We ran like
crazy down the alley way and never looked back until
the light of day.
The next morning a crowd had gathered at the Bell House
Tower and every one was shocked to see it was the bell
ringer who rung the bell, hour upon hour.
Not a sign made anyone sure of what happened, but we know
what we heard in the midnight hour, mad laughter from upon
top the Bell House Tower.
Dead Poet
Are you a poet?
Are you a good poet?
No you can not be
You must be dead
In poetry DEAD is good
We can read and NOT listen to the dead ones
Silence is golden
One day I am sure
I will be a good poet
With all my cheering fans
Dear Lord
Dear Lord, please don’t take me now
Let me here awhile longer
Dear Poet, I will let you there on earth until you
Compose the best poem ever written
Oh Dear Lord, bless you, bless you
Are you all hippopotamuses?
Some one was asking , not me
REVOLUTION BABY
Am from the backseats of mean streets
I got my eye aiming the Wall Street
They said education is the key
I wonder why they made it expensive for we,
Am sitting around hood rats,
Gangsters and Ex- prisoners
Sniffing, snatching, stuffing stuff
Mama expects a lawyer, a doctor, a mayor,
Newsflash!
We are in the middle of a crisis
Am the original copy of a son-of-a-gun
I define the odds
I believe to break a law,
Is to make a road
You go east or west,
Home is still the best
But with a bullet in your chest
Don’t mess with these streets
They will give you a free ride to hell
Pot and crack do rounds all over,
It’s a mess,
I am needed, you are needed,
We are needy
Damn!
We are in a man eat man generation
You either survive or succumb
There’s a billion ways to die,
Choose one,
It’s time for a change,
Change of perspectives,
Change of attitude,
Change of behavior
Let’s get out of our comfort zone,
Coz that’s what’s drowning us,
We need a change
Change for the better
It’s revolution time!!
when autumn’s last but long exhale
left mists of winter in its trail
her thoughts turned to the past to look
at greenway and the paths she took
where reading signs inside her skies
she'd dream up deaths and alibis
along the short cuts through the wood
with thoughts of stabbings and of blood
while hemlock often made her think
of slipping coniine inside drink
then with the breathless views behind
a choking often came to mind
though with the river dart in view
her thoughts would turn to drowning too
and passing by the greenway bell
she'd sound out bludgeoning as well
then muse once at the greenway gates
of ordeals, follies, pigs and fêtes
before she'd vanish through her door
to ‘kill’ some time and write some more.
She's thrice now had a scarlet groom
Adorned in silk this dusty room
She sobbed away sorrows in black
When she discovered the knapsack
In gold and pearls, did sorely lack
And her head and palm greeted, smack!
Like his body met the floor, thwack!
The house empty, less her they track
Hardened heart, hollowed like a tomb
Was it lover's spat or planned doom?
------------
Duo-rhyme? Not quite got the iambic tetrameter down, but I tried.
Noble and wise watchers they be
‘Homage resounds in that Melodious Crawing that their salute too the great all and Everything begins too Herald.
upward
‘and downwards
‘with purpose and respect ,
Ancient remembrance’s of always dancing this new day’s magic’s too be .
A Broyvy of Avian lore that resounds eternal amongst ‘and through the mightiest of the peacefully standing giants there is .
Renard lays still in that golden dewed meadow ,
feeling the warmth of the new mornings star ‘his powers of invisibility also now at rest .
gentlefolk from the forests deep and peering out from secret hiding’s ‘respectfully listen with attentiveness in all that is being sung .
This murder is majestic in its sounds ‘and Mysterious in its wondrous morning Call .
Oh, frightful word scribed at the end
The finger-painting mannequin
Composed a message to his love,
From ink he’d made of his own blood!
Crimes twisted and horrible are solved by a group of Elite FBI profilers,
re-runs I watch even though I have seen them several times, it matters not.
In each episode the BAU (Behavioral Analysis Unit) solve a mystery.
My favorite character is Spenser, pretty boy, genius, special agent,
in eleven seasons, I followed each nasty crime, at the end my prize is a quote.
Now, I am waiting breathlessly for Season 12 to start in September.
All the characters lives are part of the drama, that makes it interesting to me.
Last episode of Season Eleven, hunky Derek resigns to care his wife and baby.
Most of the characters are like family, JJ, did you know, Henri is her real son,
interesting how Emily just faded away, and Garcia, baby girl, oh so flirtatious,
now has to find a new man to tease. Rossi, oh he is so serious, but I like him.
Do you know Gideon wanted out, they killed him in Season Ten, that was sad.
So you see, I know them all, I solve crimes with them, I am hooked for sure.
__________________________________
July 14, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Criminal Minds
Copyright Protected, ID 16-808-874-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Your Favorite Habit-Forming TV Show
sponsor, Tom Quigley
Fifth Place
I woke this morn a chilling sweat alarmed
No recollection of the night before
The sheets were drenched and mixed in beading blood
That's when I heard the knocking at the door
I sauntered to the front glint through the drapes
Am startled by a beauty, don't recall
“Not leaving” she says, “open, let me in”
Last night I shared with her what would befall
Some memories coming back I turn the knob
She plants one on my lips, then many more
On sofa out she blurts “Well, is it done ?”
Don't answer her til I remember things
She smiles and says “you did it” views my cuts
The blood that's on my body source unknown
Still no reply from me until I'm clear
She voices “bye, I love you” her bemoan
It's coming back to me “was I set up ?”
Descends compendium of my cars trunk
She must have drugged the brain between my legs
Garage-my car-I'll search I could be sunk
I turn the key to open up the lid
A large dead man is scrunched up in a ball
The sirens getting louder “I've been framed”
I shake my head, about to take the fall
Walking alone in the dark
All is silent
Until theres a snap of a twig
Hands come from behind
Holding my neck
I try to scream
Noone Hears
The hands grow tighter
I give up fighting
I take a final breath
He lays me in the bushes
My body cold and still
Noone knows who did it
They probly never will
"He looks like anyone;
you and me.
He can turn into a woman, a boy,
an old man, post man.....at will!
Detectives have tried to capture him for years;
once he disappeared in their midst, looking like a cop
he had just murdered -
the cop's body had two holes punctured on his neck.
He kills whenever he feels victorious, threatened or hungry.
There's only one thing he fears most; cats. Whenever
they see him, they all run after him. You would confuse
him for a mouse.
Cats are protectors of the underworld,
according to ancient Egyptian mythology;
they protect the underworld from agents of Seth,
the evil god, and brother to Osiris.
The faceless man, therefore, is a mummy -
luck for a better word.....
I close this case!"
Writings of Detective Rodgers Smith
(Sherlock Holme's grandson)
She gazed into my haunted eyes
Knowing my devotion was absolute and complete
She fulfilled my nefarious dreams
Ever so peaceful in her green eyed slumber
She struggled with the rope and tape
I whispered in her ear
Relax, your destiny is clear
You shall sail to the sweetest of places
I shall allow you your escape
Slowly, smothered with my pillowed love
She lies lifeless
In peace
With my poems upon her chest
She has found paradise at last
As the light fades from the far away sea
Old roads become watery graves
North she sails with my words upon her very soul
Dedicated to Seren Roberts the Green Eyed Girl of Wales
Once I was crossing into the deep forest,
There was no one except me,
The birds are chatting seems to me airburst
The dead leaves were making odd rhythm.
The sky was clear but there was no sun light,
I was wondering to go forward,
Suddenly I saw something was not right
I wanted to go backward.
I stored some air into my lungs,
I was confused what I supposed to do?
I noticed a body was lied beneath the rugs
My head was moving like speed of torpedo.
I started to cry for help,
Was anybody there?
My sound was similar to yelp,
I had to leave searching for a forest ranger.
Finally somebody came there to take her,
I did my job and left that place,
I never knew what was really taken place there
I was wishing for her grace.
So much potential, courage and love
Alan Williams, Jr. was truly a gift sent from above
So young yet so wise; he fought to be true
Never giving up when times became blue
He dared to be himself, when everyone rejected him
His cup was never empty; it was always to the brim
That’s how he saw the world, dreams and second chances
No lost causes, just new songs and funny dances
He hadn’t seen his family in quite some time
They didn’t see the angel he was, they never let him shine
But that didn’t make him bitter or mean or lost
He deserved love and he was willing to pay the cost
He loved unconditionally, believing everyone was good
Even when it hurt him, he did all that he could
To accept his own flaws and put aside the pain
So that he could help another move past the strain
He never asked for anything back; he gave from the heart
And even though he’s gone, he’ll always be a part
Of each and every one of us, the people he held close
His brand new family, the one that he chose
His passing is a tragedy; no one knows why he’s gone
He will never be forgotten; the sun sets then again comes the dawn
Visit my blog to read the rest of my Free Supernatural Poem Novel: https://freesupernaturalpoeticnovel.wordpress.com/
In early eighteen-forty-four,
In Cornwall’s heart; on Bodmin Moor,
Charlotte Dymond, a young farm maid,
Had her throat slit with a steel blade,
She crossed fast streams and deadly bogs,
Found her way through mists and fogs,
But couldn’t stop that fatal blow,
That stole her life and laid her low,
She walked to meet someone that day,
Just who that was ... no one would say,
Found days later beside a track,
Laid on a cart; her shroud a sack,
The surgeon, Thomas Good, was fetched,
Had in his mind, her white face etched,
Charlotte untouched by fox or crow,
Had she been moved ... he did not know,
No evidence was ever found,
But her young boyfriend had gone to ground,
Fingers so quick to point his way,
Matthew Weeks panicked; ran away,
The hapless cripple, was soon caught,
No other culprit was ever sought,
The judge was just a rubber-stamp,
Bodmin Gaol was dark and damp,
The scaffold built, the crowds arrived,
Matthew swore he had not lied,
The floor gave way, the rope drew tight,
Was justice done ... the verdict right?