As a young boy
when not very old
I did enjoy
being told
grisly bedtime stories
by my Mother
the favourite was
none other
than
altho' I was just a nipper
Whitechapel Fishmonger Murders
perpetrated by
Jack the Kipper
Meandering paths through the forest of voices
We all hunt the Fox, the fox of truth and of choices.
Let loose the hounds that lose the scent.
The foul fishy flash that keeps their nose bent.
Sell your head scratching questions to buy the cheap thrill
From the glossy silver lips of the letters on the hill.
The grand distraction of planned attraction
Gets a bland reaction 'till they force down the pill.
Count on the fact the books make us bored.
“Is it time for the signal from Greenwich?”
This just in...your minds been twined with a flaxen cord.
Keep your eyes on the chest, leave the treasure ignored.
The gluttonous fat man with round swirly eyes
Circles through the channels as he shoves in the fries.
Ignorance is only the fault of the one.
He never opened a page or his mind ‘fore he dies.
The man on the horse knows his time is soon spent.
The dogs and the fish have open resent.
Cunning and silence keeps the fox so majestic.
The pray of the fish is to keep doG domestic.
What is 222 and 333?
Do you smuggle drugs?
Are you underworld don?
Do you use multiple numbers?
Do you have friends in NWFP?
Do you have several accounts?
Who is Supari according to you?
Do you have strong ties with ANF?
What kind of business do you run?
Do you deal in arms & ammunition?
What is the definition of a gangster?
Are you well connected with Politicians?
Are you backed by intelligence officials?
her lying alibi was found dead at sea ~ his sole’s in the right plaice
Fall’s felicitous red herring —
the mystery of leaves morphing.
The autumnal applause fairing.
Verdant heat and daylight dwarfing.
The horologic ticker chimes,
as lines are drawn on pumpkins patched.
Gramps, it’s apple picking time.
The scarecrow’s wise with balding thatch.
Forensic crisp of maple leaves —
children foolishly blinded by
the crimson and yellow dervish
heap...how quickly green does die.
Snowy bonnet soon covers plot —
arthritically profound.
The creaky ice of knees and knots
embellish the grownups’ playground.
Sought are the days of yesteryear —
chirping of birds and childhood friends,
standing aloft swing with no fear,
ascending where sunlight transcends.
9/22/2019
100 words
Any poem you want to write exactly 100 words Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Word count checked by howmanysyllables.com
Fished all day not a red herring on the line but I got a basketful of kipper Hunted all day not a fox one with a red herring on the line a shark ate my sandwich today He got away with the halibut a shark ate him today for the halibut He did not get away
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