The antiquated train tunnel had not been working for years.
Paranormal researchers asked about it, but we did not encourage them.
No one I knew had seen anything strange or weird there.
I have clairaudient tendencies, and I had not heard anything.
But they insisted on trying go conjure up something.
I was amazed when I saw their completed documentary.
Because in the recesses of the tunnel there were four men
Wearing derbies, in dress coats, who came out of that tunnel.
Weirdly enough, no one else saw them including the investigators.
They are right there! I said, pointing them out to my husband.
He said, “of course they are dear.”
There is a disadvantage some days of being para-sensitive.
There was headspace for thinking,
but the roof sagged low,
it restricted imagination.
Rooms stacked on rooms,
all boxed in.
The only way to hear
any other part of himself
was to drill holes,
in the dry walls of dead cells.
Nurses attended to his hands and feet,
he told them often,
that he felt they had been
nailed to a crucifix
he once found painted,
onto a public restroom door.
When dead at last,
his brain was thinly carved,
slices were offered
to a holy communion,
of private investigators.
A much-redacted report
failed to be widely published,
it could not be read,
not even between the lines.
It once dawned on me
I can't make many see
A variety of things,
so vitally important
Often feeling pressure,
to carry truths alone
For others not to condone,
wrongful actions playing out
Lady of justice, empty handed
Smiles from thee casting lies
False accusations rampid
Oh, where are those spies?
Truth telling investigators,
in positions of authority?
To resolve matters swiftly
Let's not fight like alligators
Save lives, this is needed
Walk away from evil now seeded
Heidi Sands
12/6/23
Not long after she kissed me
on my lips,
I was completely burnt,
and in my heart is heard
a loud smash,
To find the real cause of the fire,
investigators should sift through my ash,
but they should be careful enough
not to make a splash
too much of a release
is not a bad thing
when a simple morning
touch and a certain song
by dusty springfield is playing
so gently while sipping vanilla
cream coffee starting up the day
with Thanking God for her Smile
of Reassurance
good love from her is never too
much of enough
sweet kisses so southern that her
saliva tastes like melted butter on
potato rolls always too little and too
fast like temperamental time
however i rejoice and Praise Him for
the privilege of it all is hidden by big
pictures of big things
this is why i don't cheat.....it leaves the
open to devil red changes that one is never
ready for
all women are detectives and investigators period
her smoke, flavored with scathing scorn, is not
what an unwise man wants
with that in the back of my mind, my knowledge grows
tenfold.....and as a result, i got her good side to keep me
warm.....
One day our local newspaper reported
a corpse was found and recovered from
a gigantic industrial funnel.
Corrected, the next day’s edition
read the corpse was murdered in
a large ceramic tile drainage tunnel.
Now, I don’t know what to think,
Not that it would make much difference,
for dead is dead, as I see it,
whether be a funnel or a tunnel.
I certainly hope the local investigators
are more careful with the "facts" they are telling
than the reporters are with initial spelling!
POET- Wilmot Benny Bullo
POEM- CøRrupTïøn, The blindfold
Blindfolded like that of the movie Bird box
Our minds have been blindfolded, and at times I ask myself will corruption
Which has been married to our nation and seek divorce be eliminated?
Integrity has become a thing of the past and has been laid down to rest since and it grave has never been decorated with savouring colours but with colours of frustration
Corruption has rained in every part of the nation and our houses have been flooded to the roof
Now we are homeless,and we roam the earth with tears
Killing anyone who stands in it way and leaving their families in tears and justice will never be served cause the doers are the investigators
Hailing those corrupt leaders at the highest level and putting an end to those lives who fight against it like an animal
We no longer see the positive things because our eyes are covered in dark by that endless blindfold and only God can save us from this agony
Sleepless nights struggled to untangle
Searching dreams of private wrangle.
Which has beaten back unravel partners,
Solve the riddle with investigators.
In angry purple bruised arguments,
She Scrawled, insisted on resentments.
Covering up the truths in how she feels,
she does not like what Truth reveals.
to ruin her influential institutions,
I will lose by making the right decisions.
But unhealthy living is not a moral duty,
But a decision upheld on appeal by penalty,
Forcing the reign of bad, behavior rage
To be drawn into the attention of this age.
I would want to be the honest investigators' Book of wisdom
That can cheer hearts against life’s boredom
Enabling them to bask in peace-driven freedom
As they regard God’s blissful heavenly kingdom*.
With my truth, the wanderers can find the right way
Since they are guided by my illumining ray
Toward triumphant path where they can stay
Overcoming the witch’s deceiving “yea” and “nay.”
As I’m consulted by seekers with sincere diligence
I pray that by faith, they accept my counsels’ persistence
Along my good, gracious, and great revelation’s prevalence
Enduring over skeptics’ doubts and critics’ eloquence.
For such assertions, I declare my request
That genuine wizards of goodness would study me to the fullest
To lead others to the Supreme Ruler Who's the wisest
For them to be transformed, creating another great story's zest!
*Matthew 6:33 But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness...
Personification in Rhyme
November 17, 2018
2nd place, "OFF TO SEE THE WIZARD" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina; judged on 12/5/2018.
I’ll always preside over right deeds
And will not be immoral over right deeds
My commitment will be my loyalty
And every fruit of it will be our royalty
I’ll be very powerful
And will condemn every unlawful
My service will not favor a criminal
I’ll be so different from today’s general
The law will come and create a path
For everyone to have a right to pass
I’ll prosecute the today’s criminals
Who have hands on death of several
Civil rights of my citizens will be restored
All books of these criminals will be stored
All cells will be full of today’s instigators
And will form not a group of investigators
DEAD Ghosthunter or Spiritualist
Spiritualist realm can or can not be our friend
One thing for curtain there nothing to play with
Spiritual realms careful they are real and
Seal no deals with the devil's beware kiss
"Paranormal Investigators" think ghost hunters
Are nothing more than casual hobbyists
You the pubic of free will can choose to
Either Scientifically or sp speaking dis or believe
The supernatural nothing to play with
It can or could be as something to fear
But God hasn't given us the spirit of fear
Apparition dead person believed to appear
Ghost hunter in front, beside or in back around in your foot tracks
Spiritualist events phenomena such as telekinesis Spirits intact
Clairvoyance they're beyond the scope of normally be not a soothsayer
Don't PLAY with Let the dead bury the dead beware of this behavior
10/04/18
Ghosthunters and Spiritualists Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kevin Shaw
Without reticence of our duties civic
Won't it now be disingenuous to attack
Sanctimonious radar of indolent criminals
Who don't nod or show symbolic morals
Are we drawn onward to a new era
Where the law-abiders air an aria
We few who don't want legislation
No it is opposition governmentation
Do we have to borrow or rob the system
Refer investigators for the mission
Pull up the plethora of evidence
Dammit I'm mad at this happenstance
May 6, 2018
The garden was abloom
Life passed in glee
They were close friends
In a happy levity
He never felt that
She had started believing
The whole canvas of his poem
Was her exclusive possession
When he got the morphed photos
Involving him with a little girl
Who was his favourite student
All his peace went into a whirl
No such enemy he could find
As could do the ugly job
With a view to smear his character
And arouse a furious mob
According to cyber detectives
It was a morbid grudge
She was in imagined relationship
Robbed of power to judge
He stopped the investigators
From spilling the beans because
He did not want the blooms
To come to a permanent pause
But for her they were flowers of evil
She kept unleashing her maligning nature
Until the police warned her one day
Elaborating on her dark future
He still wanted to sit with her
Following the denouement
It came about never
_________________________________________________________
17 August, 2016
Denouement - Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Nayda Ivette Negron
The corridor to her heart
Was lined by shelves with dusty books
The walls were adorned with a myriad of portraits
For whom all had haunting looks
Upon first entering there was ample room
One could turn around to run
And now it is as though I'm a bullet chambered in a gun
Bleeding through my armor plated chest its clear to me
There's no such thing as manifest destiny
In the hallway of my life I stand before
The last door at the end
To petrified to knock, much less let myself in
The open palms of want were turned upside down
As offerings were thrown upon uneven ground
Isn't it funny how quick things change
When what we want gets re-arranged
Sides chosen for their beauty can turn ugly by time
And the air just gets thinner the higher up that we climb
In a bed of tragedy wicked thoughts are spawned
As one lover drowns the other in a heart shaped pond
Investigators send samples of the water to a lab to be tested
Where there is a man in a white coat who has nothing invested
The results are rich in iron and high in agony
A crown of thorns laced with bitter irony
Immortality reigns in the land of the living
opening its windows for Life to close its doors.
So much evil, chewing the helpless human flesh
senses of sight and smell condemned
with hearing and feeling greatly exaggerated.
Mobile forces with intentions so evil
carrying deadly plans and missions
not waiting for their waters to break
scavenge for anything with life like corrupt investigators.
For a hundred predatory tongues, blood is the only meal
outrunning the spirited out-runner
chasing like a hundred chariots with tireless limbs.
Terror suffocates confidence
and smells terribly like a bad odour.
Existing shadows in thick darkness
whispers in baritone, of an intimidating forest
in a crunch contest between the winds and the spirits.
Silence also gives so much noise
imaginations get obese with steroids-overdose.
Trembling manifest as man’s original creation
and each scream gives out a thousand echoes.
So alone in the hollow of death’s joker
one surely raging, painful and slow
producing a gentle lay in a casket of poisonous spiders.
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