Lost Murder Poems

*Murder most foul. Rod Serling, Stephen King or Ellery Queen?


Picturesque place on the edge of nowhere, small town American life.
Suddenly subject to media glare, reports...

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It's time
To bring back 
The days
Weeks
Months 
We spent locked in combat 

It's time 
To wade through  
The bones
Lungs
Hearts
That still yearn for you 

...

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In the visiting room evening's ebony is shellacking everything.
He sits across from me at the sable-shaded table, in shades,
pours black coffee pungent as the Gauloises...

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Delicate fingers gripped the slender neck firmly-
after soft, full lips caressed cold, wet flesh desperately-
whilst deep breaths were taken forcefully;
yet suffocated moans and screams pierced...

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I have been humbled, they had thought.

Exile would be painful, they had wroth.

The forest would swallow me, they had spoke.

To sunshine and sparrows, they had...

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The heavens opened wide that night,
Thunder pounded the skies with might,
Lightening, God’s pyrotechnics were in play,
A great delight for the fox to have his way.

Power...

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Mirror Brave
Give me days
When it gets too much
Just get outside
Soak up some sun
Haunted by dreams of murder
Surrendering to  
The champion  of dreams
Sirens cramp...

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* Content Warning: this poem touches on physical/emotional abuse*

        ~

        “dabble,...

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Who are you
Dan McGrew?
You sound quite mean
If rumours' true

You lodged yourself
Inside his head
Some seventy years
Still, now you're dead

A tale of love
Of bars and booze
The wheel...

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Some say that I have fallen
But I didn't have that far to fall
All I see is blood and brain matter on my wall
I check to...

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"The Depths"

From the depths
silence.

Where 
are the voices
of other 
women?

In that other place,
the monsters violate, 
they take and take
bloody all, what they want

the dreams of women
are...

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     JFK, he was shot dead
     sixty years ago today

       ...

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This is the tale of Sarah Pike
Who lived in a cottage at Hangman’s Dyke,
Twixt Preston and old Burnblack town
She walked the byways up and down.
Travellers...

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JUST ANOTHER MURDER OF CROWS
A poem by Ellen Gwaltney Bales

All day long he hears them screeching
Up in the trees
Their raucous cries
Their “Scree, scree, screes”
He does...

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Child, child, dark and wild,
Human and machine
Did the engine turn the beasts to ice?
And to ash your faith, love’s cruel device? 
See Manson slipping through...

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