Sir Lawrence Olivier
would play
a few guys that are hard to like -
Heathcliff and Sleuth's Andrew Wyke.
(murder mystery or not? In Senryus)
She wore red lipstick,
so their first kiss would be like
classic cinema.
She got it on his
clothes, in case he was, you know,
married or something
“If I were rich I’d
collect beautiful things like
you.” (he'd said.. awkward?)
Her silence was the
most articulate thing that
he’d misread, so far.
He said “you’re so real,”
she thought, “Ok, I’m seen, he gets
that I am alive.”
She’d archived his chats
like something that might be proof
of a crime someday
.
.
A song for this:
work by no na
Who killed the MC?
There he lay, splayed on the street
Chalk outlined mic and fist
A broken clock reads four past nine
Tatters of a golden thread left at the scene
Who gained from his silence?
Streets alive with revelation
Anarchic fire in the air
They’re coming for us with their rhymes
Gentlemen this isn’t what we had in mind
What will happen now he’s dead?
Yacht-and-champagne fantasies
Cheap factory beats repeat repeat
A few mad prophets rise and fade
Suburbia falls back to sleep
Who killed the MC?
A hot tub forged conspiracy
June 23, 2025
Leaves of the oak trees congregated in clumps of whispering soldiers
A devilment was afoot; the fey felt this and scurried to the meadow.
Someone was dragging a heavy sack into the darkest shadows.
The night shuddered, recognizing the evilness of the scoundrel.
Perfect place to hide a body, most agreed. Those who were brave to look.
Others hid behind stumps and rocks, hoping the culprit’s thirst was sated.
He has been here before, always leaving flesh that turns to putridness.
Finally whitening and stiffening into a stick-like corpse.
The evil doer did not give the trees or the sack a backward glance.
This was his dumping ground; he felt no reverence for it in the least.
A place to leave the shell of the people he hunted and killed.
In twilight's hush, where shadows play,
A paradox reigns, in endless sway,
The good perish, while the wicked thrive,
In this land, where virtue's brief, and vice survives.
Patriots fall, like autumn's leaves,
Assassinated, poisoned, for their noble deeds,
Their voices silenced, before their time,
As darkness feeds on justice's prime.
Bola Ige, Barnabas Igwe, Marshall Harry too,
Ogbonnaya Uche, Ken Saro-Wiwa, and more, anew,
Their memories linger, like a mournful sigh,
As tyranny's grip tightens, and hope says goodbye.
Gen. Aguiyi Ironsi, Gen. Murtala Muhammed, fell,
Their legacies lost, in a tragic spell,
For how long shall the good people die?
When will justice dawn, and tyranny's night pass by?
Oh greatness, the king of days
You look so tired and stressed
Are there no maids in the race?
You acquired so much torture in quest
They violated you for your good ways
Great man full of honour, and no stress
You began encountering their riotic pace
Who killed the your power to test
You had believed in acquiring grace
Now that revolts are worth the rest
WHAT attempt have you told the face?
Oh great upstream python, you suggest
That great minds should face the race
For winning is the very best.
In the cozy inn by the fire's warm glow
Lies a woman's body, lifeless and cold
Her hair splayed out, like flames in the hearth
But no fire could warm her, not even in death
The guests all gather, hushed whispers abound
As they try to make sense of this tragedy profound
Who could have done such a heinous crime?
In this peaceful place, where we come to unwind
Was it the lover she spurned, in a fit of rage?
Or a stranger passing by, with demons to wage?
Perhaps it was someone she thought she could trust
But now she lies broken, her body just dust
The cozy inn is no longer so warm
For the chill of death now lingers and harms
The memories we had of laughter and cheer
Are now tainted with blood and filled with fear
So let us remember this tragic night
When murder came calling at the cozy inn's site
And may we find solace in the warmth of our kin
For life is fleeting, but love will always win.
It starts with a hiss and a screech
as the murder train pulls in at the station
Its cars painted black its windows darkened
by the secrets and sins of every nation
The conductors smile is twisted and cruel
his cold dead eyes collecting his fare
Passengers board with a sense of dread
knowing they soon will be beyond repair
The train lurches forward then moving with speed
barreling through the night without a care
Huddled in their seats the passengers
cower in fear and despair
A ghostly man appears in the dark
whose blood was spilled on this track
He haunts this train for revenge he rides
upon the people who forced his final act
The air is thick with feelings of guilt and shame
as every passenger relives their evil crime
The face of the victim before their minds
till guilt drowns them to their dying time
And when it finally reaches its final stop
theres no escape for the ones aboard
For in their own personal hell they are trapped
forever haunted by the murder trains accord
So beware if you ever see it coming
this train of death that roams the land
For once you board theres no turning back
youll be forever at its command
• Open a fridge door and see
• The monster I grew up to be
• Joe from next door is in parts
• He disappeared the night I was playing darts
• Frozen in place from shock?
• I'll push you off the dock
• Peep at me through the window?
• I'll turn your wife into a widow
I stabbed
straight into her heart
then wiggled the knife,
twisted and turned.
The blood oozed out
covering the blade and
my hand in scarlet red.
She gave a blood-curdling
shriek and moaned.
She looked at me with sheer terror,
There was a crazy look
in my inflamed eyes
My chest was all puffed up
and heaving badly
My body trembling with pent-up rage
I gave her a vile sneer;
And then…
She could hold it back no longer
and burst out laughing
When she saw
the retractable toy knife
and a couple of ketchup pouches
in my hand.
Raking in yet another pot
the enigma had won an awful lot
Then a premature bid to leave
served him right in the temple
~ he was shot
I simply did not understand
It was completely out of my hand
Looking in from the outside
Eyes and mouth open wide
Never will l unsee
Etched in my mind eternally
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!
It's a whodunit
with mystery and suspense
right up to the end
The rain it pelts
The lightning crashes
A shadowy figure
Through streetlight dashes
The strangers meet
The wine is poured
To infiltrate
The secrets stored
The army man
The cook, the nurse
Field questions deep
Without rehearse
To crack the code.
To solve the crime.
Complete the task
Pre coffee-time
This desperate crew
This shady bunch
Explore, unblinking
Every hunch
Accusatory
Fists they slam!
"Rice pudding?" Please.
"A blob of jam?"
The time bomb ticks
Suspicions linger
The awful truth
Of pointy finger
A crime of lust?
Inheritance gain?
The washing-up
Will still remain..
At last conclude.
The mortal sin
Has been revealed
The verdict's in
A lover's tiff.
A desperate heart.
But love enhanced
As friends depart
We all agree..
Despite the rain
To murder is fun
Let's do this again
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