The scrabble app says it misses me
It sends a notification to remind me
It's lonesome without me.
Let Poirot use his little gray cells,
Let Miss Marple knit too much,
Let me just catch up.
Dust the unused corners,
Sweep away the cobwebs,
Throw out the crumbs
Of procrastination.
Poirot and Miss Marple are characters in Agatha Christie novels
England’s Dame Agatha Christie
wrote novels with plots often twisty.
Best-selling fiction writer of all time,
her Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot solved many a crime.
At three 'o clock this afternoon,
A shaft of light pierced my room.
Curtains flung back as I arise:
An actor's life I do surmise!
Working halls and live theatre,
Singing songs in every meter.
Playing Hamlet, then a clown,
Each week it changes in this town.
Tonight my accent is deep Fen,
My entrance scene is played again.
People come to see me ramble,
I am a cop; Inspector Randall.
Bungling cases, then success:
Miss Marple would be so impressed!
I love the clapping of the crowd,
We take our bow, feeling proud.
Then travelling home in my old car
To see my kitten, Balthazar.
The night is cold, it's nearly three,
My kitten is here, on my knee.
I sip some vino, 'Espanol',
The kitten thinks I am his doll.
Razor needles pierce my skin,
But I am calm deep within.
Night owls hoot, it is bedtime,
I finish off my blood-red wine.
Take Balthazar his little toy,
To watch him play is such a joy.
I say goodnight and shut the door
Thinking of tonight's applause:
An aged actor's life to stay.
Tomorrow it's a matinée.
Satirical
Clerihew
Satirihew?
So, Miss Jane Marple
isn't Meghan Markle
One is a fine sleuth
The others, Goofaloof.
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
Liar,
Liar
You've been exposed
Obviously you didn't expect
Our own Poetrysoup Mrs Marple
would be on your case put in charge heading up the investigation
And i think you'll find you have bit
off more than you can chew
C.C
Regards
Your Card has been marked
Plagiarism
Is what naughty children learn in detention writing line's
Because they can't think for themselves all's they can do is Repeat
In my child’s mind a gumshoe sleuth detective
that would be me.
Nancy Drew or Ms. Marple, invented by Agatha Christie.
Trixie Belden and Honey too,
there were so many choices you see.
I spent many an hour reading these books,
training for the detective in me.
How many job choices along the way could there
possibly be?
Lots of common blue collar jobs before I finally
got a degree.
If I am honest, I might have to tell you a total
of around thirty-three.
There was no book-reading in those days,
except the boring texts assigned to me.
I am a Gemini oozing with flexible thinking, it is
my main and only true-blue decree.
In my thinking, a gum shoe sleuth detective
is what being a guidance counselor has
made of me.
A sacred heart of timber;
With embers in ashes set apart;
So consumed in words torn apart
And burning into red embers.
Though big boys shed no tears
So in mine own eyes look never,
With words of fervor I'll never tire.
My wooden heart consumed over
So give me quill pen to draw pictures
Of this passionate desire that
Sets ablaze the oak of my heart.
Wooden ashtray holds a glimmer
Leaving my heart on fire.
Turned into so hot red embers
Is a sacred marple heart ablaze
Hot cruise under waters so vast.
Oak burning hot in the inward
Where fire cracks in silent whispers
Turning hardwood into charcoal so black
That will ever and over start a new fire.
So doused is the heart of timber
In petrol and set on fire!!!
If in a contest you don’t place
Wipe those tears from off your face
If you’ve been here on soup a while
You can recognise a certain poet’s style
Read a VERY well penned sonnet
Andrea Dietrich’s name could be on it
Broken Wings writes poems that are very sad
Her experiences in life have been truly bad
If you read a poem with a humourous line
Chances are it could be one of mine!
It doesn’t take Miss Marple
To join in the ‘its fixed’ debacle
Having no names on poems will make no difference
But putting your name on a poem is now an offence
7th January 2016
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.