The splendor of books enthralled me early in life,
being attracted by the weird animations imprinted in them.
The nascent imagination of the five-year old
morphed within me as an exploring book worm.
I grew up with other timely interests in the transit,
many passing passions came and went,
but looking for mystery the childhood book worm grew
as a constant companion creeping secretively in my head.
The lure of books attracted me to the bookstores
like an obsessed honey bee to the posy of flowers.
I enjoyed the flavor of the mystifying nectar,
concealed in the suspense scripted by Doyle or Christie.
In my journey through the corridors of unveiling mystery,
created by Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot,
I took up their roles till I reached the precinct of the last pages
where the ace sleuths solved the enigmatic puzzles.
Although my old myopic eyes degenerated very much,
the strain over the years made the failing vision blurred,
the senile book worm still crawls to find the mystery clues,
letting me feel the power of fiction.
Vociferous but most unkind, this bee's bead has seen the vine, and grapes of wrath shouldn't press, those enemies are gone unrest, so honey bee procure the honey the bee's bead is filled with funnies and molded impish sleuths so steer like ambling with forest deer, and bee's do gather round this bead, to celebrate and eponymously greet.
Heard the news all about strait of Hormuz
Israel derail flail impale Septic tanks muse
Evisceration of entire nation excuse do use
The emancipation of a pariah state the ruse
Eschews queues of pundit crews from pews
Abuse truths confuse proof of sleuths views
Clues bright clear hues who did light the fuse
Whichever side you choose everyone will lose
Fossil fuel rule the soaring price of a barrel
Notoriety of warring society as things unravel
Deploring apparel Dickensian dystopia carol
Impropriety imploring piety noone can travel
Trump myopia even after alarm of Vietnam
Cruise missiles trials denials all about harm
Disarm nuclear piles more lies from the farm
Can’t becalm not napalm just arm AI wiles
No qualm war once more hush defile isles
Crush the rush of plush paedophiles files
Endearing Ms Eilish not willy nilly a silly Billie got her wish despite the stares
Crys of why guys are there any let alone so many glutton button billionaires?
Not adhering to age old sage adage share if you've enough stuff to spare
Uncouth domineering untruths sold smearing sleuths as society tears
Sneering about profiteering mining shining spiting climate crisis scares
Cheering racketeering careering all about that flocks stocks & shares
Leering snares creatives gold left bereft fearing they're not their flair heirs
Persevering with cold jeering at hearing protests that then fold no one cares
Scold civic critics nearing the facts spearing by acts.. pacts & unfair flares
Cost of disappearing rare species now just pieces of faeces in their lost lairs
Searing temperatures rearing still somehow our despairs never even airs
Gearing up for the veering apocalypse peering as the sun stun gun glares
Must be bold steering pioneering derring do clearing these nightmares
Who dares volunteering to stop the interfering engineering by the billionaires?
It’s hard to be mad about (history) — his-stories being erased,
When (mystery) — my story has forever been the story misplaced.
Now the memoirs we see being removed,
Are so the future generation won’t be the new sleuths.
They forgot we are the darkness,
And we control the light—
So the things they mask their faces can’t hide.
The jealousy of “Why them?” and “Why not me?”
Just because of my brown skin elasticity.
Taught to bow our heads,
Taught to close our eyes.
They said, “Let us pray.”
When we opened our eyes,
Our story and land—taken away.
When they said pray,
We became their prey.
© Sheltial Green
Draw me closer to your light
and bring me farther away from this world
of concrete Angels and sleuths
Anoint me with your grace Lord
and make me thine own
I rather live in communion with you,
than any place on earth.
In the land of glitz and glitter.
Visionaires film moving pictures.
Acting out their fantasies.
Through love ,war, or tragedy.
Who got hot between the sheets.
To rhapsody's elusive beat.
As a plot began to steam
Audacity, almost Obscene.
Humors truth, alloyed themes.
Viewers rule, Android dreams.
Rumor sleuths, Tabloid screams.
Future jewels on a silver screen.
Bring out thrill seekers
comics bakers sleuths and
of course the reader
I've passed the long hot summer
by robbing local banks
and though I'm a newcomer,
I've risen through the ranks
But if I must be candid,
the money that I stole,
the acting like a bandit,
was just to reach a goal
Although you now police me
and hold me in your jail,
you will no doubt release me,
once I have told my tale,
and demonstrated sorrow,
and led you to my stash,
gave banks that 'let' me 'borrow'
back ill-begotten cash
The notes I passed were fakes.
My weapons? Plastic toys!
Are real one's what it takes
to meet the Hardy Boys??
Jungle clamour
Banter twisted like vines
Lions with psyche scars
Monkeys as crackpot sleuths
Snakes in a labyrinth guise
Parrots preen an oily beauty
Giraffes creak in rumpled posture
Immersive labelling
My colleagues salivate slippery ambition
Pre-occupied with image
Our digital frontier, computer glitches
Terrain fighting, coffee muted
Hidden fracturing
Beasts that claw parchment cubicles
Self propelled advancement, perpetually out of reach
Few scraps of conscience
Strong scents prevail
All of us are watchers
seeding what cannot be grasped
spirited wishing
to pass beyond our bars
to re-write uncaged narratives
Poem composed: February 23, 2021
IT COULD NEVER BE
It could never be
only me,
as I search,
and research
for a missing connexion,
for end to a puzzle that baffles,
and confounds and confuses
even the best of sleuths,
and when the rummaging around
seems hopelessly lost,
that as a cause
we genealogists all seem stuck
in a bygone age of forebears
and ancestors of previous times,
until to me, realization comes strong
have I yet prayed to the one?
Yes, the one who has all answers,
and have I lifted up my earthly cares,
for there is in,
and amongst all the clues of interest strong,
an elusive link that evades capture,
and it makes me mull over,
that without prayer
I am clueless and without connection,
to what I seek in the past
and amongst many documents in hand,
I can associate
to what I seek for conclusion,
of forebears on family tree,
that until I pray;
there is no way
my family tree is complete.
“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”
Rumi
It was the summer of 1967 and the sun was almost bran new
me and Tony L. skipped to the corner to raid the candy store
sometimes we bought a paper bag full of small penny candies
other times it was a fancy box, full of Cracker Jack popcorn ...
We grew up like sleuths on 2nd Avenue by the rubble of Miron
sludging through dried clay and playing with colorful marbles
As we played with washed up marbles, we grew up in time
laughtering our days until the sober rays of adulthood arrived
No one will ever forget that place on St. Michel dear bro,
it was where the pine tree grew, when life was spanking new
all the prizes that we won, are still laying on the concrete floor
Written by : Mystic Rose
Is it wrong to be curious
Waiving scarlet badges as sleuths
When seeking universal truths
Dangling notions precarious
Willing to eviscerate all
Nimbly tantalize or extoll
Worrisome beliefs fallacious
Distorted enough to inflex
Then twirl in a blurry vortex
Dubious if not oblivious
Seeking truths and taking the plunge
Finding distortions to expunge
Two cents short of being delirious
Bubbling falsehoods bewilder
Bundled lies for the coroner
Is it wrong to be curious
Dangling notions precarious
Worrisome beliefs fallacious
Dubious if not oblivious
Two cents short of being delirious
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Should the darkness come to you
where would the light shine through?
The waters are mere muddied sleuths
with lies stacked higher than any truths.
The Government rule has so much to hide
and the honest citizen is lost in the rampant tide.
Orwells 1984 comes a little late in the game
everything plays out in secrets of another name.
The darkness clutters any release
of what was once the land of democracy.
In shame I blush
as secrets lie in the hush.
Can the darkness be more dark
then Washington's blemished mark?
Leonard Cohen;s
You Want It Darker
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0nmHymgM7Y
Lithesome lines of rapturous rhymes and torrid truths,
Written with piteous pleas and tantalized tease;
Left to others' wits to be interpretive sleuths
Of our loves, lusts, confessional musts and envies.
Rhythm ripping or cadence caressing penned words,
Weeping a caustic choice or singing a heart's rejoice;
Gathered in silken sentiments or stampeding herds
Inkwell of traipsing thoughts etched in poetic voice.
Susan Ashley
October 16, 2017
*'The Love Letter' - Painting by Samuel Luke Fildes*
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