Upon that day and in that park
Two lovers lorn in statued pose
Entwined limbs, tight as tree to bark,
Soft as scented summer meadows,
Orchestrated by the larks
As timeless as a river flows

And passing by, an endless stream
Of strangers came and stragglers went
And all who stared upon the scene
Of statues carved with love's intent
Would oft' recall their sweet serene
Beguiling stares of merriment

And time that brings to man the dark
Of endless nights in sleep's repose,
To leave a stately stony mark
Where flowers wilt beneath the boughs,
Will oft' recall a peaceful park
Where lovers stood in statued pose

Forgive the sins of those we would condemn?
Apologise and send them on their way
And in the aftermath of our dismay
Seek not for retribution on these men?

Cast down our stones, cast off our thoughts of when
They stained the walls in vengeance on a day
Now fast enshrined in minds of those who pray,
Pretend the world is just as it was then

Before these wretched shadows had the ken
To shatter glass and unmold living clay,
Think not of how their evil to repay
But offer them a prayer and say "Amen"?

Dear lord, our strength of will is plainly weak
For we can't simply turn the other cheek.

She walks on duty, through the night
Of coughing calls and sleepless sighs
And in the dim and pallid light
She stalks the ward with drooping eyes;
Thus patients rest within her sight
Which keeps them safe from their demise

One patient more, one break the less,
As frantic hands prepare the space
Which someone left in such a mess
So now she works at twice the pace
Whilst hiding signs of inner stress
With grimaced smile upon her face

And on that bed, and in the throe,
A deathly pale old patient went;
She held his hand and mopped his brow
His weary angel, heaven sent;
His vital signs began to grow
As she collapsed, her goodness spent.

A sheet of paper and a pencil:

    Einstein would amaze the world with mathematics
    
        Picasso would astound the world with art
    
            Dickens would enthrall the world with fiction

                What would you do with yours?

As I pond-
      er the stream
              Of life, I brook
                       Our oceans
             Lost, our rivers
        Unexplored, estuaries
   Untravelled, tributaries
      Unseen; our courses
  Diverged,              our ways
Parted like                  the Red Sea,
    We drifted                on the tides
   Like ships                caught on waves
Carried on                   torrid floods,
     Riding the             cascading torrents
       Over strange      uncharted waters,
       And yet if our     paths ever flow
             To meet in some channel
                   On a distant shore,
                       Expect no tears,
                            No weeping,
                                  I won't cry
                                        You a river

An ode to thee, fine masters of thy craft

    "Oh great, just what we need, another bloomin' sonnet!"

Excuse me friend, why does thou so intrude?

    "Can't you write something contemporary for a change?"

Perchance for you the sonnet's days are past?

    "Hmmm yeah, like a hundred years out of date!"

Perchance I think my friend is somewhat rude!

    "Perhaps YOU should try writing something modern!"

Does thou not like the rhythmic sonnet beat?

    "Too dull for words, try free style for once"

Does thou not like the couplets formed in rhyme?

    "Oooh lets see ... Heart ... Apart ... Love ... Dove...!"

Does thou not like the sweet iambic feet?

    "I'd prefer to chop them off and make you eat them!"

Does thou not think the whole thing sounds divine?

    "If I never hear another one, it will be too soon!"

But friend, your modern style, it has no rules?

    "That's what makes it so utterly brilliant!"

No need for beat, for rhythm, or for rhyme?

    "Yup, you can literally write anything!"

So those of us who choose to rhyme are fools?

    "You said it pal, not me!"

Through all these years we've just wasted our time?

    "Consider it a learning experience!"

So rhyme and meter, these are not allowed?

    "EVERYTHING is allowed, no rules remember!"

Then modern sonnet writers can be proud!

    *"Eh?  What?  No, I didn't mean ... oh ... **** ..."

"Well Mr Holmes, this is a nasty business!
The victim, Ivor Biggun, has been stabbed!
There was of course no one around to witness
Although a few good suspects have been nabbed!

Miss Sally Forth was reading ancient history
Mike Hindle claims he too was all alone
Miss Daisy Chain was reading a new mystery
And Mr. Terry Bull was on the phone!"

"My dear Lestrade, your blindness is your failing!
Must I point out that awful ****** mess?
The victim clearly crawled, his blood was trailing
And then it seems he played a game of chess!

Look closely at the moves, see what I mean?
The strangest game of chess I've ever seen!"

                    H5-D5
                    C8-C2
    ­                E3-E4
                    F8-C1
                 ­   D8-D1   MATE!


*Who killed Ivor Biggun?

☀ ☺

    ☁ ☂ ☔ ☹

        ❄ ☃ ☺

            ☀ ☃ ✞ ☹

                ☕ ☺

She watched the water slip and slop
As flurried flames climbed up to heat
And bubble boil the cooking ***
Emitting steam to rise and sweep

In splendid arcs and cloudy wisps
Of candy cotton colored plumes
That filled the cavern air with sips
Of fragrant tones and sweet perfumes

And withered bony fingers bent
To loosely grip a ladle shaft
And scooping water, swiftly went
To pour a steaming cloudy draught

Into a pretty painted cup
Upon a dais of sorcery
And gulping down a mighty sup
She gasped,
                    *"A lovely cup of tea!"

My love is like the morning sun that rises
To blush the bold horizon with her glow
Her dreams are pillowed clouds in many guises
Of silken sails on heavens lazy flow

Her eyes reflect the warmth and many splendours
Of every spring and summer ever flown
Her hands are cool as autumn that surrenders
To winter's ****** lily bridal gown

Her lips are sweeter than a mermaid calling
Enticing with each promise of a kiss
Her lullaby that summons is enthralling
Beguiling me to sink in her abyss

Her movement is the lulling of the ocean
Her footstep is the echo of the sea
She drowns me in the depths of her devotion
To flounder as her humble devotee

His flabbered jowls were hung aghast
Beneath his slobbered liver lips
His bulbous eyes were overcast
By burly brows of stewardship

An overbearing egotist
He stood apart from infidels
Compassion dealt with belt and fist
Disdainful with no parallels

And there upon his lofty dais
In garments fit to drape a throne
He glared with bulbous eyes ablaze
Upon a ragged danger zone

A misbegotten anarchist
Audacious with his sweet implore
To strike a flaming catalyst
Emboldened by his quest for more

Spoiler alert.  The original poem is followed by the solution.


"Why Mr Holmes! Come quick! The vicar's dead!"
"Dearest Lestrade! Another killer lost?"
"The Reverend Green alas was killed in bed,
The frightened Mrs White mirrors a ghost!

Mrs Peacock is in quite a shock,
The Colonel Mustard is attending her;
Motive remains unclear, although the clock
Was stopped at six, when Mr Black was here

He burned the mail, perhaps it held a clue,
The man then ran, and no weapon was found;
Miss Scarlet who was sleeping, slept right through;
Such a tough case, so care to stake a pound?"

"Lestrade! To take your cash would be a crime!
One wonders why the clock stopped at that time!"

Who murdered poor Reverend Green, why and how?

CLUE: the solution contains 15 words.

CLUE:
    “I say old chap, those kids in Baker Street
    They’re running and a skipping: SHOO AWAY!”
    “Dear Dr. Watson, rest your weary feet!
    Perhaps you’ll learn something from childish play!”



SOLUTION

"Why Mr Holmes! Come quick! THE vicar's dead!"
"Dearest Lestrade! Another KILLER lost?"
"The Reverend Green alas WAS killed in bed,
The frightened MRS White mirrors a ghost!

Mrs PEACOCK is in quite a shock,
THE Colonel Mustard is attending her;
MOTIVE remains unclear, although the clock
WAS stopped at six, when Mr BLACK was here

He burned the MAIL, perhaps it held a clue,
THE man then ran, and no WEAPON was found;
Miss Scarlet who WAS sleeping, slept right through;
Such A tough case, so care to STAKE a pound?"

"Lestrade! To take your cash would be a crime!
One wonders why the clock stopped at that time!"


The solution is a simple skip sequence (hinted in clue 2), every sixth word is taken to obtain the solution.

*THE-KILLER-WAS-MRS-PEACOCK
THE-MOTIVE-WAS-BLACK-MAIL
­THE-WEAPON-WAS-A-STAKE

If I would ask these things of thee
Wouldst thou compose sweet poetry
And carve our hearts in symmetry
Upon a cherry blossom tree

Wouldst thou accept on bended knee
A vow to love but only thee
And sacrifice thy liberty
In service and in sanctity

Wouldst thou endure the changing sea
To chart a course that none foresee
To drift to see what e'er we see
Beyond forgotten shore and lea

If thou wouldst do these things for me
Our hearts would bloom in sympathy
And love, my love, I'd ever be
Thy love who scribes thy poetry

You stand within a wooded glade
The air is still and calm
Your hand rests on a mighty blade
A shield upon your arm

> GO NORTH

You stand beside a castle moat
The water, grim and dark
To cross you'll need to find a boat
Or build yourself an ark

> BUILD ARK

To build an ark would take a year
And lots of willing folk
(We wrote this whilst we drank some beer
That option was a joke)

> FIND BOAT

You really think you'll find a boat?
You're not the brightest spark
You're meant to think, you silly goat
(Or maybe build an ark?)

> GO NORTH

You walk towards the castle keep
And fall into the moat
Lucky for you, it's not too deep
Since armor doesn't float

> GO EAST

You're standing in an ogre camp
Three ogres are asleep
One looks like he's an ogre champ
(Perhaps you'd better creep?)

> **** OGRES

You draw your sword and take a stance
You howl a battle cry
The ogres wake and watch you dance
Then hit you and you die

GAME OVER

(L)oad saved game  (N)ew game  (Q)uit? >_

Spoiler alert.  The original poem is followed by the solution.


"Why, Mr. Holmes! You've got my telegram!"
Lestrade stepped forth and offered out his hand
"My dear Lestrade, I've come from Evesham
I trust your case is anything but bland!"

"It's ****** Mr Holmes, a Chinese urn
Was used to bash Lord Edgeware here tonight
I'm interviewing everyone to learn
Their whereabouts from six o clock till eight!"

"Indeed Lestrade, your methods are replete
With great technique, so I'll bid you good day!"
"But Holmes! The case we have is incomplete
Please won't you stay and help without delay?"

"My dear Lestrade, your killer's still inside
I'm sure you'd know whodunnit if you tried!"

Who killed Lord Edgeware?



SOLUTION


"Why, Mr. Holmes! You've got my Telegram!"
Lestrade stepped forth and offered out his Hand
"My dear Lestrade, I've come from Evesham
I trust your case is anything but Bland!"

"It's ****** Mr Holmes, a Chinese Urn
Was used to bash Lord Edgeware here Tonight
I'm interviewing everyone to Learn
Their whereabouts from six o clock till Eight!"

"Indeed Lestrade, your methods are Replete
With great technique, so I'll bid you good Day!"
"But Holmes! The case we have is Incomplete
Please won't you stay and help without Delay?"

"My dear Lestrade, your killer's still Inside
I'm sure you'd know whodunnit if you Tried!"

The first letter of the last word on each line spells out:

THE-BUTLER-DID-IT

*(Can't believe no one guessed at the butler!)

"Why Mr Holmes! Come quick! The vicar's dead!"
"Dearest Lestrade! Another killer lost?"
"The Reverend Green alas was killed in bed,
The frightened Mrs White mirrors a ghost!

Mrs Peacock is in quite a shock,
The Colonel Mustard is attending her;
Motive remains unclear, although the clock
Was stopped at six, when Mr Black was here

He burned the mail, perhaps it held a clue,
The man then ran, and no weapon was found;
Miss Scarlet who was sleeping, slept right through;
Such a tough case, so care to stake a pound?"

"Lestrade! To take your cash would be a crime!
One wonders why the clock stopped at that time!"

"Why, Mr. Holmes! You've got my telegram!"
Lestrade stepped forth and offered out his hand
"My dear Lestrade, I've come from Evesham
I trust your case is anything but bland!"

"It's ****** Mr Holmes, a Chinese urn
Was used to bash Lord Edgeware here tonight
I'm interviewing everyone to learn
Their whereabouts from six o clock till eight!"

"Indeed Lestrade, your methods are replete
With great technique, so I'll bid you good day!"
"But Holmes! The case we have is incomplete
Please won't you stay and help without delay?"

"My dear Lestrade, your killer's still inside
I'm sure you'd know whodunnit if you tried!"

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

My love it breaks my heart to see you cry
But love the time has come when I must fly
This world holds many wondrous things to do
And so my love I cannot stay with you
I hope you can forgive me in good time
Someday I will return to make you mine
    The future yet unknown will be our past
    And fate alone decides a lover's path

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

a river flowing tears unto the sea
away away to never trouble me
such tiny things, each worthless on its own
how weak one seems when one is all alone
yet in good time the weak will cease to be
alone without true love for company
    the future yet unknown will be our past
    and fate alone decides a lover's path

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

My love it breaks my heart to see you cry

        a river flowing tears unto the sea

But love the time has come when I must fly

        away away to never trouble me

This world holds many wondrous things to do

         such tiny things, each worthless on its own

And so my love I cannot stay with you

         how weak one seems when one is all alone

I hope you can forgive me in good time

         yet in good time the weak will cease to be

Someday I will return to make you mine

         alone without true love for company

    The future yet unknown will be our past
    And fate alone decides a lover's path

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

Beneath the window, shadows paint the hill
And rooftop solar panels feel the chill
Blue eyes are drawn down to the river's flow
The Derwent sweeps majestically below

Across the water, shadows stretch and climb
The twilights of the city start to shine
Above, the mountain cloaked in cloudy stripes
That race along above the ***** pipes

The setting sun now sets the clouds on fire
A fiery orange blazing funeral pyre
It lights the heavens with a mystic glow
As nature plays her perfect picture show

The colors shift and swiftly turn to red
As bloodstained cloudy fingers start to spread
Then in an instant, beauty is undone
As darkness falls above the setting sun

Beyond beyond the battle cries
Beyond the crumbled walls
Beyond the stony battlements
Where banners rise and soldiers fall
Where bloodied men will weep and call
For gods and mothers at their sides
Where men fight brave and brave men die
Beyond beyond the crumbled walls
Where empires rise and fall

Beyond beyond the carrion flies
Beyond the crumbled halls
Beyond the crimson flooded moat
Where swordsmen clash and hammers ring
Where steel on steel will flash and sing
For gods, for country, lords and king
Where brave men fight and brave men fall
Beyond beyond the crumbled halls
Where empires rise and fall

My love desires but ev'ry dream
Love knows and holds love tight,
Desires and carries on our dreams
But holds on through dark night
Ev'ry love our dark yearning takes
Dream tight, dreams night takes flight!

Addressee:
            Department Head of Creativity,
            HP School Of Rhymes and Poetry

Dear Mr Cole,
                              I write an ernest plea
To crave forgiveness for my little Tryst
For as you know the homework set by thee
Is overdue, the deadline has been missed

He’d done the work, the best I’ve ever seen!
You’d be so proud of all his clever puns
But then we had a visit from the Queen
She’d taken ill and suffered with the runs!

We let her in to use the lavatory
But then we heard her banging on the door
She’d run right out of toilet paper, see?
And ordered us to quickly fetch her more

We did the only thing that could be done
I hope you understand Sir

Signed,

My Mom

"Let's dance!"* she cried, her hair swept back
Her golden trailing hair
Her arm moved swift as lightning and
She darted forth a slender hand
To force an unprovoked attack
That forced him from his chair

"What's this?" he said, his eyes were keen
His striking blue-green eyes
He watched her moves unfolding and
He countered with a steady hand
A move that she had never seen
Denying her the prize

Now back and forth, they whirled and twirled
Each pushing for a chance
Her golden hair hung loose and free
His striking eyes shone bright with glee
Their colored banners both unfurled
As each took up the dance

As he bore down upon her front
She left herself exposed
He ****** in deep into the gap
And fell into her subtle trap
Encircling him, she heard him grunt
And saw his eyes were closed

"So soon?" she grinned, her lips upturned
"A shame you couldn't wait!"
He smiled and then he held her tight
And in the flickered candlelight
He looked into her eyes that yearned
And said, *"You win! Checkmate!"

Jiminy Cricket needed a sport
That little Pinocchio could play
He didn't like tennis, the shorts were too short
He didn't like skiing at an Alpine resort
He didn't like squashing in a little squash court
He didn't like pigeons or clay

He dreamt of a game with a bat and a ball
A game that could last all day long
Where all would be welcome, the short and the tall
Where language and creed didn't matter at all
Where it could be played from the spring to the fall
A game for both weak and the strong

He pictured a game that was played on the grass
That all the young kids could enjoy
Where boys stood around, there was no need to pass
Where scoring was easy and points would amass
Where no one would notice or try to harass
A mild mannered small wooden boy

With pencil and paper, he had so much fun
Designing his very own bat
He wrote down the rules so they'd know who had won
With six points for boundaries and one for a run
And proudly admiring the work that he'd done
He decided to call it *"HOWZAT!"

Today I met four horsemen, riding on a trail
One looked hungry, one looked ill, and one looked deathly pale
The last one looked so angry, he had war within his eyes
They reigned their steeds, came to a stop, and took me by surprise

"The end is nigh mere mortal" the pale one rasped at me
"Your Lord has come, the Earth is done, there's nowhere you can flee!"
I pondered for a moment, and then a thought occurred
"It’s student rag week, right?" I said, "You all look quite absurd!"

I went on with my journey, and met another stranger
Dressed in a robe, with sandalled feet, he seemed to pose no danger
He raised his hands with palms outstretched, and I observed old scars
Above his head, the oddest thing, a halo bright as stars

"Prepare yourself for Judgment" proclaimed he in a lofty voice
He opened a book, took a quick look, then said "Oh right, you're nice!
First one today" he muttered, "Most go the other way"
"Of course they do!" I forced a smile, and slowly backed away

I bade farewell politely, and he hurriedly wandered on
"It takes all sorts", I mused, feeling glad that he had gone
I resumed my journey eagerly, looking forward to it's end
And all was good, right up until, I went around a bend

The path was blocked with walking dead, flesh hanging from their bones
The younger ones, despite their state, were using mobile phones!
One told me that his name was Elvis, and he used to be a singer
But he stared at me, so hungrily, that I didn't dare to linger

When finally I made it home, I grabbed a bottle of *****
I sat right down, switched on TV, and flicked onto the news
"Breaking Story! The end is here, The Apocalypse has begun!"
The reporter seemed excited, and was waving round a gun

Shots rang out and sirens wailed, not all of them on TV
I heard commotion, in the street, a bit too close for me
I took a glug of whisky, and it tasted mighty fine
"If the world was going to end", I said, *"I'm sure there'd be a sign ..."

We that are born,
Born unbidden unto turgid seas,
Born of the fruits of flotsam folly, or
Born of the jumps for jetsam joy

We that are young,
Tossed in an ocean of a mother's tears,
Lost in the moment of a mother's loving eyes,
Eyes that forgive all sins

We that are weak,
That fall upon hard times,
That fall prey to sharks,
That fall to pray upon our knees

We that lack wisdom,
To recall our own creation,
To accept our own destruction,
Or accept ourselves for who we are

From our youth we gain wisdom,
From our weakness we gain strength,
And through all of our days on this ocean voyage
We are proud to be what we were born to be

Human

Exquisite lines, a model unsurpassed,
Quite so my friend, quite so, I quite agree!
Such sporty lines, such fine upholstery,
So sleek, so well refined and oh so fast!

Oh no Sir! Don't be fooled! It's all just hype!
New models lack their service history,
Which leaves you in a state of mystery
To know if they are really quite your type!

Why yes! You need your space, well check the trunk!
Your baggage will fit nicely, do you see?
Ah no Sir, I suggest you leave that be,
It's best if you ignore residual junk.

No Sir, you can't just take her for a ride,
But trust me, you'll enjoy her once inside!

As I sit beneath the midday sun,
It too sits in a cloudless
Light blue sky

Behind to the left,
Away from the sun's glare,
The blue sky is richer and deeper,
Unbleached

To the right,
The constant babble
And raucous laughter
From a green and white marquee

And here I sit,
In the middle of it all,
Happy and alone

A football too sits here
On the grass,
Seemingly lost in thoughts,
Watching ducks on the pond

Soon the beer and wine
Will flow freely,
The gaggle of excited ducks
As the babble leaves the tent
To mock the afflicted

They will delight,
Kicking the ball,
Passing it around,
Laughing,
Shouting,
Screaming,
But to what goal?

Is that all I am today?
A football to be played with,
A childs toy for the babble
Who enjoy their endless
Gaggle?

They talk at me,
And all I hear is
QUACK!

Where is it,
The magic button?

You text me,
I get a fix

You call me,
I get a fix

If you smiled from within an
Hermetically sealed room,
I'd get a fix

This high doesn't come from you,
This high isn't yours to give,
It's mine

A chemical reward from
Some prehistoric pathways,
Deciding you were the one

If I can find the magic button,
I can fix myself

Because you left me,
*You left me broken.

A book without a cover,
No pages and no ink,
That I alone discover
Each time I deign to think

Each line a shared adventure,
Each word a tender kiss,
Each chapter I remember
Reminds me how I miss

The things you never said to me,
Our ending incomplete,
So perfect in my memory,
My love, you can't compete.

The blazing eyed old matriarch
Stands vigil o'er her clutch;

Two bodies sway to rhythmic march,
Yet never dare to touch.

Sunken eyes mourned
The death of another,

Parched tongue warmed
By the birth of his brother.

This is the Field Marshall, tall and grand,
Who bellowed at Generals beneath his command,
Who shouted at Brigadiers in fine attire,
Who hollered at Colonels to make them jump higher,
Who screeched at the Majors and caused them to shake,
Who yelled at the Captains to keep them awake,
Who squawked at Lieutenants to keep them in line,
Who wailed at the Sergeants in double quick time,
Who shrieked at the Corporals and made them feel small,
Who screamed at the Privates worth nothing at all,
Who stood in the trenches and will never forget,
When they ran a man through with a fixed bayonet,
And held his hands tightly, as watching him die,
They whispered to no one, *"Oh why, but oh why?"

He sat on the porch, a tired straw hat

Firmly lodged on grey locks, favourite pipe

Nestled between parched lips, watching

The sun go down behind the trees



Ah those trees, a familiar flash flood
Burst it’s banks, his mind awash
With a cascade of memories,
Fond recollections of earlier times

Instinctively, he gripped his aged back,
Rubbing soothingly whilst images of
Furrowed fields with freshly planted
Seedlings drifted lazily through his thoughts

How quickly they grew tall and strong,
Soon sprouting shoots of their own,
Nurturing them to grow and bear fruit
That filled the air with sweet aromas

The visions twisted as the seasons
Ebbed and flowed, and he caught
Glimpses of things long forgotten,
And something stirred within him

How had he forgotten about them?
Distant images of them beneath the trees
Appeared and vanished like lightning,
An agonizing slow moving picture show

He remembered feeling something
Akin to pride, and yet something else
Lurked in the darkness, some sadness
That refused to reveal itself

As the last light of the sun faded
Behind the trees, he stood up and
Muttered “There’s a storm moving in”,
And walking inside, he closed the door.

Beneath the surface of the earth,
Beneath the green and sodden turf,
Wendy wombat, supreme digger
Raced to make her tunnels bigger,
Pulling dirt with mighty claws
And toiling hard without a pause

Ensconced within her little pouch,
So small they had no need to crouch,
Her children slept, all warm and dry,
As mud and dirt went flying by,
Quite unaware how nature planned
To lend them all a helping hand

For wombat pouches don't get full
Of dirt and mud as mommies pull,
For mother nature in her wisdom
Looked upon her magic kingdom,
Saw the wombats under ground
And wisely turned their pouches round!

Rita packed her camping gear
And set off on a trek!
Behind her house a forest grew
With mighty oaks and elm trees too
And there were lots of berries here
That Rita liked to peck!

Soon she found a little stream
And set about her goal.
She pulled her tent out of the bag,
But as she did, she felt it snag
And there along the pretty seam
She saw a gaping hole!

Rita cried, “Oh dear, oh dear!
What ever shall I do?”
She grabbed the tent and stared at it,
She should have brought a darning kit!
She watched the water flowing near
And wished that it was glue!

Rita’s mind span round and round,
And then a thought took shape!
She gathered leaves and gathered mud
And mixed them up right where she stood,
They made a slopping slurping sound
And looked just like a cake!

Rita gathered up some wood
And lit a little fire;
She smeared the mud cake on the seam
Just like a great big pile of cream!
And as the fire warmed up the mud
It got a little drier;

Pretty soon the mud had set
As hard as fresh concrete!
The tent was fixed with her new patch,
She climbed inside and closed the hatch,
And laying down she soundly slept
And stayed there for a week!