Long Sleuths Poems
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Is it wrong to be curious
Waiving scarlet badges as sleuths
When seeking universal truths
Dangling notions precarious
Willing to eviscerate all
Nimbly tantalize or extoll
Worrisome beliefs fallacious
Distorted enough to inflex
Then twirl in a blurry vortex
Dubious if not oblivious
Seeking truths and taking the plunge
Finding distortions to expunge
Two cents short of being delirious
Bubbling falsehoods bewilder
Bundled lies for the coroner
Is it wrong to be curious
Dangling notions precarious
Worrisome beliefs fallacious
Dubious if not oblivious
Two cents short of being delirious
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Should the darkness come to you
where would the light shine through?
The waters are mere muddied sleuths
with lies stacked higher than any truths.
The Government rule has so much to hide
and the honest citizen is lost in the rampant tide.
Orwells 1984 comes a little late in the game
everything plays out in secrets of another name.
The darkness clutters any release
of what was once the land of democracy.
In shame I blush
as secrets lie in the hush.
Can the darkness be more dark
then Washington's blemished mark?
Leonard Cohen;s
You Want It Darker
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0nmHymgM7Y
Heard the news all about strait of Hormuz
Israel derail flail impale Septic tanks muse
Evisceration of entire nation excuse do use
The emancipation of a pariah state the ruse
Eschews queues of pundit crews from pews
Abuse truths confuse proof of sleuths views
Clues bright clear hues who did light the fuse
Whichever side you choose everyone will lose
Fossil fuel rule the soaring price of a barrel
Notoriety of warring society as things unravel
Deploring apparel Dickensian dystopia carol
Impropriety imploring piety noone can travel
Trump myopia even after alarm of Vietnam
Cruise missiles trials denials all about harm
Disarm nuclear piles more lies from the farm
Can’t becalm not napalm just arm AI wiles
No qualm war once more hush defile isles
Crush the rush of plush paedophiles files
The splendor of books enthralled me early in life,
being attracted by the weird animations imprinted in them.
The nascent imagination of the five-year old
morphed within me as an exploring book worm.
I grew up with other timely interests in the transit,
many passing passions came and went,
but looking for mystery the childhood book worm grew
as a constant companion creeping secretively in my head.
The lure of books attracted me to the bookstores
like an obsessed honey bee to the posy of flowers.
I enjoyed the flavor of the mystifying nectar,
concealed in the suspense scripted by Doyle or Christie.
In my journey through the corridors of unveiling mystery,
created by Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot,
I took up their roles till I reached the precinct of the last pages
where the ace sleuths solved the enigmatic puzzles.
Although my old myopic eyes degenerated very much,
the strain over the years made the failing vision blurred,
the senile book worm still crawls to find the mystery clues,
letting me feel the power of fiction.
It was from the early 1800s
This phrase was first used
I'm sure it has other meanings
So please don't get confused
If your understanding of the term
Was just like mine
I thought "to pull the wool over someone's eyes"
Were the eyes of the woolly ovine
I thought this terminology
Was clever and quite cool
It seemed very logical
As the sheep supplies the wool
You have to pull the jumper on
(One you may despise)
And at some point of doing this
It will cover both your eyes
So it seems quite reasonable
Without investigating too deep
This explains the phrase
It started with a sheep
Some others beg to differ
And say it isn't so
They say it came from woollen wigs
Worn by judges years ago
It was from the early 16th century
Up to the present day
It seems like these ridiculous wigs
Are here to stay
Judges could not trust deceitful lawyers
Who often told them lies
Along with other unlawful people
Who tried to pull the wool
Over the judge's eyes
The judge's wig was made of wool
The wool comes from a sheep
The wig sometimes slipped
Over the judge's eyes
So he could only peep
He could not see things clearly
This was what the lawyers' hoped
It would cost the lawyers' dearly
Knowing they had stretched the truth
They should all have known better
Most judges are super sleuths
I don't know the answer
Or the reason why
These phrases come into being
So I close this with a sigh
Not one of resignation
Or even relief
A sigh of contentment
I'll keep to my belief
I'm a romantic
Who doesn't want to delve too deep
The phrase "To pull the wool over someone's eyes"
Will always be the sheep's
A golden spoon gilded vase by heirloom.
Acolytes shouldn't be anxious with gloom.
There never seems to be a shortage of cash.
One person's treasure is another's trash.
Gratitude from a large group of people
Gold sludge had fallen from his steeple
Deeply genus to all those who hailed him
Many, yet, quietly loathed his petty whim.
He lost all his money on a gambling spree
Peers faded in the dump; plain you can see
Revered and blessed at a party and dance,
He left this earth friendless and in a trance.
The rich and famous are held in high regard.
Face truth if they no longer have any; it is hard.
Why do poor individuals seem to have no friends?
Consider where man's splendor starts and ends.
Life is a chimera, for it is steadily shifting
Running toward the break line, men drifting
Why do we even strive to live if we must die?
Why are we playing if we later must cry?
Everything fades away, and nothing will last.
All the stars have been stripped of their cast.
Since death is prevailing, it is unwise to be wary.
Just cope with it, either in bliss or by being scary.
Realize the ultimate truth: dying isn't the end.
Once found, each truth is doss to comprehend.
Starting a fresh life, we are struck by the curse.
Love is the ultimate truth at core of the universe.
Truth, as gold, isn't found by increasing its value.
Drain all but gold, and gold will never devalue.
The ultimate truth is to be in a flawless state.
Mature minds agnize genuine truth as fate.
If we can grasp and ponder the ultimate truth,
It's going to purify the mind of grime and sleuths.
Forging sincerity for each other is a key step.
As such, the quest for the final truth is vital and pep.
Drawing a blank, now how's that possible
Unless you use invisible ink
Then what's the purpose if no one can see it
Kinda senseless don't ya think
However it seems I can kinda remember
The comics offered this kit
You wrote with a pen containing invisible ink
After rubbing it appeared bit by bit
Thought the whole thing was simply magic
Master spies is what we became
Belonging to the army's intelligence corp
Sending notes in an espionage game
Oh those were fun days of make believe
Pretending to be super sleuths
Slinking around passing invisible messages
Those super fun days of my youth
© Jack Ellison 2014
Classic Radio
I crave classic radio!
Boston Blackie and The Shadow;
Captain Midnight; Fibber Maggie and Molly;
Ace detectives fighting crime;
Or comedians making up limericks in rhyme.
Keep the TV for my husband to watch now
As I wear earphones, letting him wonder how
It is I’m laughing so much through every hour
As snarky sleuths and Groucho Marks make our
Pups wag their tails as my happy mood devours
The winter gloom that can pervade the room.
The old jokes I hear are so old they do seem new.
The shows span post-war-2 through the mid-fifties,
Before every home in America had TV’s,
So thus passed every hour by radios every night,
Waiting for suspense dramas or live boxing fights.
I was a baby in those days, hearing the Lone Ranger
On Silver riding masked into the sunset, a better
Man in an era when good differing bad was clear.
Still, it’s I who now, in this era, keeps a mask near.
You can search Classic Radio shows on the net,
For hours of escape in our chaotic days, and get
Your hands busy to do other things, for you
May exercise or write or clean or dream into
The imagination expansion power of Listening cues.
———————————————————————————————————————
c)sally Young eslinger 1/30/21
“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”
Rumi
It was the summer of 1967 and the sun was almost bran new
me and Tony L. skipped to the corner to raid the candy store
sometimes we bought a paper bag full of small penny candies
other times it was a fancy box, full of Cracker Jack popcorn ...
We grew up like sleuths on 2nd Avenue by the rubble of Miron
sludging through dried clay and playing with colorful marbles
As we played with washed up marbles, we grew up in time
laughtering our days until the sober rays of adulthood arrived
No one will ever forget that place on St. Michel dear bro,
it was where the pine tree grew, when life was spanking new
all the prizes that we won, are still laying on the concrete floor
Written by : Mystic Rose
Jungle clamour
Banter twisted like vines
Lions with psyche scars
Monkeys as crackpot sleuths
Snakes in a labyrinth guise
Parrots preen an oily beauty
Giraffes creak in rumpled posture
Immersive labelling
My colleagues salivate slippery ambition
Pre-occupied with image
Our digital frontier, computer glitches
Terrain fighting, coffee muted
Hidden fracturing
Beasts that claw parchment cubicles
Self propelled advancement, perpetually out of reach
Few scraps of conscience
Strong scents prevail
All of us are watchers
seeding what cannot be grasped
spirited wishing
to pass beyond our bars
to re-write uncaged narratives
Poem composed: February 23, 2021