Life’s Repetition of rinse and repeat:
Saga, the odyssey
lies
And deceit.
Juliet’s drowning upon daggers blade in
Response to a Romeo’s lethal swallow.
The need be not the chasing down of serpentine sleuthing out the whys they bit you..
But the how so to heal oneself from poisons onset.
Cause the effect.
Effect the cause.
Alterations of souls allegiances.
Whom wages the war upon one’s self
Loses all in either outcome.
Close the gate,
Button down the hatches
Night draws near.
Light the lamps for shadows creep.
Let illumination run deep..
Burn out yesterday’s fabled ways.
Upon pages of white begin anew.
“Lord what fools these mortals be”
This said by Shakespeare and not by me.
Instead mirror thought of phrase as “idiocracy pains the existence of man”.
Overcome..undone
Underwhelmed..overburdened.
Buried in minds sea
Drowning in muddy thoughts.
In realms of cyberspace, I fly
searching out treasures in disguise
skirting advertised merchandise
the ordinary, the overemphasized
to anatomize the marginalized
values overlooked otherwise
on the dusty, neglected, virtual aisles
of small sites not over-commercialized
or google ranked and over-publicized
some unexpected payoffs materialize
glittering swag, patiences prize
“Oh, my God - Look!” I vocalize
My girlfriends can’t believe their eyes
“You can find anything,” they surmise.
“Give me the phone Effie.
I have to make a call.”
She handed it over to me
and walked into the hall.
The inspector had no clues.
He asked for my two cents,
asked me to give him my views.
I didn’t; the call was intense.
The dame had come in
asking for my advice
two days ago and then
was arrested by Vice.
I had seen the smallish
puncture, blood pooling,
and I wanted to abolish
the coroner’s ruling.
The wound was there,
but he missed the needle
lying next to the chair.
He tried to wheedle.
If I couldn’t get the cops
to do their job, I’d need
to pull out all stops
to find a hard lead.
For Gershon...with smiles
Inspired by, but not entered in, Natasha L Scragg’s Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
I was a self-admitted misanthrope
unwilling to lose or drop a case.
I often threw a rope-a-dope
just to win; I never lose face.
I worked the dark streets
for dark, and even darker, clients
while the cops walked their beats,
shadows showing giants.
As far as I was concerned,
they were all a bunch of losers.
They were bad; they’d get burned.
The lot were boozers or bruisers.
I had caught a difficult case
The man was stabbed and shot.
He deserved it; he was debase,
but the perp would be caught.
The lawyer was my client,
he was dirty; the worst he could get.
Damn, he was mighty defiant!
Still, I didn’t think he did it.
He had no motive, but also no alibi.
So why were the cops after him?
He was a jerk, but had no reason to lie.
But for him the outlook was grim.
I might have to pummel every john
on the streets to get to the truth.
It wasn’t unpleasing to use my brawn
and I was a hellava good sleuth.
I’d search every city block.
I’d find the filthy little perp.
I’d find the lowlife and knock
the truth out of the twisted twerp!
26 August 2022
Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
https://www.rhymezone.com
He was alone and lonely.
Sadness swept his eyes
before he jabbed at me
with his cynical sarcasm.
He slowly lit his Camel.
It was a simple act of murder
and he was a scholar of sorts –
a player of chess, a fan of poetry.
I knew I was under his scrutiny.
I agree it looked rather suspicious.
After all, the body was there
and I was found holding the knife.
I squirmed under his hard eye
but leaned back into the chair
in front of his desk knowing
he had a soft spot for women.
A hard drinker, he took a bottle
from his cabinet and offered
a glass to me. I didn’t accept
as I knew I should stay alert.
“It was a man, a squabby man,
with a glimmer of glee in his eye,”
I said. “He looked at me, then
threw down the knife and ran.”
Marlowe said, “I don’t think you did it.
There was no blood on your clothes.
Your shoes would have soaked
in the blood and crusted.”
I relaxed a little and offered a smile.
I knew I was home free.
I was glad I had changed my shoes.
“I’ll take that drink now.”
She took the bait…
Inspired by but not entered in Natasha L Scragg’s Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
It was a mystery
The death of her twin sister
Helen became jittery
On the manner death had kissed her.
These few words sister could only say
“It was the speckled band”
Before her last breath drifted away
The context Helen couldn’t understand.
To solve her sister’s death mystery
And fearing it could now be her turn
She told the scary story
To Sherlock Holmes with great concern.
The sleuth was confused by the word band
Was the criminal the gypsy roaming around
Committing the crime as planned
Or someone else out of bound?
Holmes searched for the physical clue
Saw the ventilator of stepfather Roylott’s room
Sister’s room it opened to
Through which danger could loom.
In sister’s room Holmes heard hissing sound
Coming from Roylott’s room on one night
He then rushed there and found
Swamp adder snake slithering in dim light.
Holmes attacked the snake with dexterity skilled
Onto Roylott’s head it was thrown
The mastermind behind the crime was killed
By the murder weapon of his own.
______________
August 23, 2022
Contest : Start Sleuthing
Sponsored by : Natasha L Scragg
With a fresh cup of coffee, I stepped outside to have a peek.
It was another peaceful morning, in the valley around Soup Creek.
I caught the glint of a Winchester, a model ninety-four.
It was across the lap of Jenna, just outside the saloon door.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jan sneaking to the loo.
I could hear her spurs were jingling as she went to take a poo.
In the saloon I heard some laughter, it was Milt just having fun.
At a table dealing stud, a gamblers game is never done.
At the other end of the street, there stood Tania with watchful eyes.
With a pistol on each hip, she was ready for any surprise.
Down by the livery stable was a Texas ranger by the name of Dave.
He was looking for our mayor, who he thought was digging a grave.
There was a rumor of riders coming, and the Creek might be in a bind.
He searched both high and low, but sir Tom he could not find.
Ten miles south of town, with graves dug all around.
Tom had stopped these riders and saved our hallowed ground.
Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
8/21/22
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
Do you remember the night the Innkeeper’s body
Was found in the pond behind his B & B, Sherlock?
Of course, how could you forget? We were
Meeting him that afternoon for his opening tea!
I recall how we were questioned like common thugs
Because we were on the property, thus suspect,
But I had suspects of my own, though I kept quiet,
The police, however, showed us guests no respect!
You and I had no motive, no weapon, no animosity
After all, we were only the afternoon company,
But we knew his wife knew he was sleeping around
And his chef was so jealous!...and so contrary.
Then, there was the note no one shared with us,
So the Innkeeper could’ve decided to do himself in
After all, I was told he had debt out the ying-yang
At least he didn’t shoot himself after drinking gin.
You know I did not do it, and I know you’re innocent
But I am suspicious of her wearing a bathing suit,
And I’m told she had his wallet, credit cards and all
Now, she has the B & B up for a quick sale, to boot!
EIGHTH PLACE WINNER
Written August 1, 2022
Submitted to "Start Sleuthing" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L. Scragg
Adrian Monk
was in a funk,
Till he got
assistants.
But this particular case
held him in a space,
With which he felt
resistance.
That I can't blame
I feel the same--
Phobia of everything
dental--
Can you, too, admit
while you had to sit,
To a dentist ever being
un-gentle?
Well, anywho,
before this is through,
You'll want to know: here's
what happened--
Anesthesia's effects
blurred the suspects
But despite tooth torture,
Monk tracked 'em!
They took a big model tooth--
Slammed it in front of a sleuth--
But the patient was all in a daze!
(Till big toothmarks seen on the body
Revealed something shoddy,
They thought he was just in a craze!)
But Monk proved Randy saw
dentists breaking the law.
--A murder mystery
planned--
This means, of course,
Lt. Disher's back on the force,
Giving up his rock band.
[Start Sleuthing Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Deadline: Wednesday, August 31, 2022
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg]
i am still at times, in shadows
watching you in the world
stealing glances
when the world has drawn you away
there is a beauty i can clearly see
when the picture is devoid of me
meeting for lunch
i step back from the canvas
pause in the servers' din
shelter behind the flora
drink in your essence
holding that moment
my life with you has been as such
like a glass of fine wine
the aging intensifies the allure
oh i know well why
you never let the magic perish
one of my greatest joys
i never had a clue
so i sit back and watch
as her magic unfolds before me
and for all of my sleuthing amidst shadows
i have been bested by a master
that silly smirk she wears so well
adore fails to grasp the fullness
my eyes behold a path
the bewitchment therein
where dwells the beautiful soul she is
poets know these things
OKC 5/22
The phrases “the eyes are the window to the soul” and “I can see it in your eyes” certainly sound poetic. Many singers, songwriters and writers have capitalized on it. But it turns out that the eyes really might be the windows to the soul.
Google the above and you will discover the Science poets knew millennials ago.
There was a miller named Miller
Who tied his wife to a pillar
He said, "Cheerio"
A clue that would show
He was a cereal killer
Oh, sound of the sewer so soothing,
When beneath a mansion, sleuthing.
Invisible predators are sleuthing through the woods,
gaining on me, hoping I will fear them.
I do not so they disappear.
A mad sorcerer sits in a large black elm tree,
biding her time, waiting to swoop down and
catch me up in her giant net.
I laugh, and she disappears.
Thousands of wild hogs begin racing
to my hiding spot, ready to tear me apart
and spread my meaty pieces all over the meadow.
I take my eraser and snuff them all out,
satisfied with my power today, and my ability
to keep myself alive in spite of dire imaginary circumstances.
If Sherlock was sleuthing today,
the baddies would groan in dismay,
to prison they'd go,
remorseful, they'd know
that (fictional) crime doesn't pay...
for Joseph's Sherlock Holmes limerick contest, written 29th January
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