Come, silver moon, alight on troubled clouds,
Gift them thy saintly glow lifting the gloom
Levied below, with flowery haloed buds
Springing forth like the lamb from mother's womb,

Light up anew hedgerows and quilted fields
Where cattle sleep in clusters like faint stars,
Constellations huddled upon the wolds,
Breath nebulous as fogging stale cigars;

Ill omens thrive to drift in darkest times
From cloud to stony cloud above the night,
Watching for victims from high lofted climes,
Raining full pent up fury of their might:

Come, silver moon, gift troubled clouds thy lining,
Hope lives in thee as long as thou art shining!

I stalked along an endless maze
Of hallways, grim and green,
Where sterile wards of curtained bays
Masked sickness with a screen.
The coloured lines upon the floor
Served as my silent guide,
And led me to a torture room
Where nightmares preyed inside.

Upon a crisply cornered bed
With sheets up to your chest,
A knot of vein-pumped fluids fed
To keep your heart from rest;
Your eyes were closed and peaceful,
And all pain gone from your brow.
You've never looked more beautiful
Than how you do right now.

I fiddled with the little card
You gifted when we met,
Not knowing then 't would too hard,
Wishing I could forget
A promise made in youthful bliss
When plans were bold and grand,
And giving you one farewell kiss
I let go of your hand.

I never asked to know her name
But if we ever met
I'm sure I'd know her all the same
And still would not regret
The day that life was cruel to us
And tore our world apart,
Yet granted life to her because
You gifted her your heart.

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

He waited patiently -- The moonless night
Seemed restless, winds blew lightly 'cross the clear
Unburdened skies, the stars all glimm'ring bright
And o'er the glassy seas he sensed her fear
She moved with grace and noble elegance
A lady dressed resplendent in attire
Befitting for her maiden dalliance
Onwards she came and driven by desire
He watched and waited, hidden from her view
As she came near, he brushed against her face
And in that moment suddenly she knew
Her fate was sealed within his cold embrace
        She shivered as she felt his icy kiss
        And swooning she was lost to the abyss

There is a symmetry to war, state
against state, brother against brother,
like Siamese twins joined
headlong, thrashing and flailing
with one impassioned heart
for the right to be.

And still the world turns, and still
the hearts of defeated men beat strong
with savage hopes for a lost generation,
and the hearts of victors, once blinded
by angst and ire, observe the failings
of their triumph, see through old lies
that urged them unto death or death,
and old traditions, caked in blood,
are refashioned and reborn like bell-
bottomed denim, and still the world turns.

How was it, in that desperate hour,
for a man born to cotton fields,
born unto the yoke, born beneath the whip,
born unto the mercy of his masters,
how was it to be borne up to see the white
cotton flag raised in supplication, to see
old masters wavering in ploughed furrows,
like cotton billowed by a Northern squall?

Was there, in that desperate hour, a scream
from the past, "Beware, the Templars!"
as old chains were cast off, and melted
to forge chains anew, and the masters
of old were replaced by new masters
of state, and old fashions like slavery
replaced with chains worn by gangs over
bell-bottomed denim?

As long as men are masters of men,
Man will abuse his fellow man;
Profiteers will sup the fruits
of free labor, honest business
will decline, and prisons burgeon
as the poor become poorer, and
the poorest are inducted into
the perfect symmetry of an
imperfect finite state machine,
until the next uprising.

Fair maid, your beauty sleeps on marble stone,
Yet warm spring color drapes upon your breast,
Whose rise and fall like splendoured kingly throne
Would overthrow all doubt you are at rest;
How delicate, how soft each gentle sip
Of morning air delighting of your tongue,
Playfully dancing over your sweet lips,
Flitting away to voice your slumbered song;
How sound you sleep, your tranquil dreams expressed
By chest upheaved in rhythms, gaily dressed.

Far far beyond awaking, do you roam
With kindred spirits through a leafy glade?
Nymphs born of elder days welcome you home
To bathe in springs beneath old forest shade;
They sing of love for when the world was young,
When forests grew unhindered o'er the land,
When each new day was blessed by endless sun,
When fertile earth knew naught of desert sand:
Your voice rejoiced to join their merry cheer,
My ears rejoiced with every song they hear.

Fair maid, I wonder will you e'er return,
Or will the dreaming keep you for its own?
My eyes behold your beauty, yet they yearn
For tho' you are still here, I am alone;
Bid farewell to the forests, to your kin,
Bid farewell to each cool refreshing stream,
Return to wear the beauty of your skin,
Your kin will wait in some forever dream:
But now I pray you'll wake, return to me,
To see the dreams my eyes reflect of thee.

The poet's plight, to write
an ode, replete with sweet
nothings, that might delight
a lover's feet to meet
at night; the promised sight,
so neat and so complete!

A playful beat, complete
with airs so bright, I write
for her; how right! The sight
of her a treat, so sweet
and so much heat! We meet,
dancing tight, such delight!

A kite may know delight
above the street, complete
with string and sheet that meet
the wind; tonight I'd write
a suite of kites! My sweet,
quite lovely is thy sight!

Oh wistful wight, to sight
thy sprite, is sheer delight!
I cannot eat, my sweet,
tongue tied to bleat! Complete
outright the song I write,
the feat of how we meet!

We turn to greet, and meet
in flight, the wondrous sight
of doves! "Alight!" I write,
and they ignite! Delight
fades with their tweet; complete
shock! UNDO! DELETE! Sweet!

How fleet our tale my sweet!
Our low-flung ***** must meet
defeat, our tune complete!
I'll recite oft' thy sight,
and cite oft' thy delight,
in ev'ry height i write!

One more **** fool woman,
One more reason why
One more broken useless man needs
One more glass of rye;

No more **** fool women,
No more reasons why;
No more “Plenty grains of sand”,
No more *“No more **** rye!”

Meet me by moonlight
Where the low shadow falls —
We will dance in the twilight,
Our duet as loves’ thralls

We will dance tight together
For one heartbeat, one kiss,
And one breath of forever
Will preserve our sweet tryst.

I would **** you,


                                 If I but had the time.

Wake me not from solitude
To tell me I am alone;
Place no cup of kindness here
Beneath my silent throne;
Lift your gaze not heavenward,
Look not unto the sky,
For I am one lost to this world,
For I was born to die

Break no stone, nor cut no bough,
And trouble not the soil;
Make no mark to why or how
Suspended was my toil;
Bring no breath, no uttered word,
No sentiment of joy,
For I am one lost to this world,
For I was born to die

Thy mother's bounty bundled in thy swaddling
Took up the cry to capture mine own craft,
And taking arms, thou plundered of my coddling;
Enslaved, I toil to serve upon thy raft.
Thy word is law, thy captaincy commanding,
I sleep not lest I miss my master's call;
Thy will is served, thy drudgery demanding,
Through foul and fair I weather all thy squall.
Thy institution has me fear the looming
Of pirate vessels, renowned for their shrift,
Majestic sails billowed in handsome pluming,
Looting thy spoils and setting me adrift.
Surrendered now unto thy vasty sea,
I dread the day thy heart will mutiny.

I look the last this land I leave behind —
Timeless as water, bountiful as sorrow,
Abode today, a memory tomorrow;
Her contours etched untarnished in my mind —
How sweet our first encounter; how unkind
That time which man is wont to beg and borrow
Brought forth this bitter twilight ere a morrow
When all our self-same sunsets will have shined —
    Henceforth sunrise shall tarry ere it greets me;
    The midday sun shall cast a sterner gaze
    As paths unknown reveal their hidden troves;
    Home is the sacrifice for those who journey
    Without return;  We venture through the groves
    Of doubt and fear to set our lives ablaze.

"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!"

Beneath the covers, secrets can be found,
A lovers' tryst, a war-torn diary;
Days shared between the sheets can't be unwound.

All tragedy begins on common ground,
An 'X' where treasure hunters dig with glee
Beneath the covers; secrets can be found,

And feeling backwards from the fresh dug mound,
Each wrinkled line forgoes the mystery;
Days shared between the sheets can't be unwound.

The scented trail is hunted by the hound
Back to the lair; amidst the shrubbery,
Beneath the covers, secrets can be found.

From tragic end, to start, the tales abound,
Unveiling footnotes set in history;
Days shared between the sheets can't be unwound.

From crater can be plotted course unbound,
To scribe the book of life's trajectory;
Beneath the covers, secrets can be found,
Yet days between the sheets can't be unwound.

FROM WHITE STAR OLYMPIC
TO MARCONI STATION NEW YORK

BREAKING NEWS STOP
TITANIC FLOUNDERED AT SEA
AWAIT FURTHER MESSAGE STOP
DISTRESS SIGNAL SENT C Q D

CARPATHIA FIRST ON SCENE
STOP LIFEBOATS AND WRECKAGE
TITANIC NOWHERE TO BE SEEN
STOP AWAIT FURTHER MESSAGE

TOO FEW LIFEBOATS STOP
TOO FEW SURVIVORS WE SEE
TOO FEW MEN IN LIFEBOATS STOP
THEY FOLLOWED THE RULE OF THE SEA

STOP END OF MESSAGE

END OF TRANSMISSION

"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!"

Seasons come and go —
Spring births Summer; Autumn leaves;
Winter yields her woe

Under over, below above
Upturned a downing silver,
Tossed up to fall to rise to prove
The wayward godly river
Churned this to that to thin to fat
Until the one eye opened,
Where singles dwell in mingled swell
And woe to woo is ripened.

Hair nets and hand-me-downs,
Striped garb with strings
Wise men in scrubbing gowns,
Angels with wings

Pin ****** and pressure cuff,
Disarming chat
Face mask and gassy stuff,
Drugs by the vat

Dull aches like bicycles
Peddling up lanes,
Cold streaks like icicles
Rush through the veins,

Laid back and lazily
Watching the dance,
Head floating hazily
Into a trance

Woozily waking up,
Wobbly and drunk
Water to sip and sup,
Memories sunk

Balance returning when
Loved ones are phoned,
Recovery over, then
Time to go home

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!)

A ewe once wandered freely to the slaughter
And feared no evil in the farmer's glare,
The wolves that pounced upon her noble daughters
Were sated not by chastity laid bare

Her fleece succumbed to ravaged fingers clawing,
Her eyes were drowning in her childrens' fear,
Her heart became a stone, her knees were sprawling
Through blood and mud, her gaze was held austere

She raised herself and looked up to the night sky
And shouted to the gods to hear her name,
With vengeance in her heart she raised herself high
And vowed revenge on those who brought her shame

She led her flock to trample through Colchester,
She led them on to trample London town,
The wolves arrived in battle to ****** her,
They won the day and put her vengeance down

What cultivates the greatness of our homelands?
Tis not the land, the rocks, the earth, the sea,
The treaties writ for nobles by their own hands
Decrying common views as heresy.
Great Britain was still great long e'er the sun rose
Blessing the nets of Europe's wedding veil,
And when her arms extended to her old foes,
She stood alone, defiant, to prevail.
Tis in the heart, the will, the strength of mind
Of each proud lad and lass that calls her home
Wherein the Great of Britain seeks to find
The inspiration of her epitome.
        On her 'twas said the sun would never set,
        Let not her sons and daughters e'er forget.

Some scars never heal —
Like dormant snow-capped pathways,
Secrets to conceal.

Saturday night
in the usual hole, drinking
and looking
looking at familiar faces
dancing and drinking
and I'm thinking this
is the last night
I waste getting wasted
in this joint

and my eyes fall upon a beauty
unlike any I've ever seen
long red hair
bright blue eyes
radiant as a fresh spring rose
just off the dance floor
and with a wistful sigh
-- if only --
I retire to the bar

music slows
and I'm grabbed and dragged
into the arena
a lug of a girl
has me tightly grasped
and behind
just off the dance floor
she's looking
looking and laughing
and I'm shrugging
helplessly pleading
with apologetic eyes

flash forward two weeks
to a Saturday night
in the usual hole, drinking
and looking
looking at familiar faces
but now I'm looking
for a familiar face
among a sea
of wrong faces
and she's not there

music slows
and I'm in the arena
a lone gladiator
amidst sparring partners
when a familiar face
long red hair
bright blue eyes
radiant as a fresh spring rose
is smiling and dancing
and my old world vanished
and I was reborn
in the throes of Sunday
February fourteenth
nineteen ninety three
and that's
how I met
my Valentine
wife

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!

I walked by a small cottage church
As a large wooden box
Was carefully unbundled
From a waiting automobile

I do not know who was inside
But I have thought about that soul
All day long

I hope you lived a life
Worthy of your mourners praise
For they will sing of you today
And tomorrow
They will go on living
And yours will be an epitaph.

I gazed upon a weary field
Where wayward seeds had blown,
And plots were laid and borders sealed
Beneath a golden crown,
And rising from a ghastly host
Of unkempt thorny briar,
On writhing mist a fallen ghost
Lit up a spectral pyre.

Cold shivered flames shot heavenward
Convulsing time to freeze,
The fertile land was drowned in mud
And clouded with disease.
Across the field a battle raged
Beneath an orange flare,
Old roots entwined as limbs engaged
And tussled for the air.

In eager rows defenders fell
Supplanted by their foe,
A mud draped rug of pod and shell
Buried the ground below,
And racing upwards in a spire
To reach Heaven's domain
They sought to steal the sun's bright fire
To use for their own gain.

Fresh saplings withered in the heat
That scorched the living soil,
And ashes rained down like a sheet
To form an acrid pile;
The sweet decay of rotting limbs
Pervaded like a shield,
As evening sang her doleful hymns
Across a barren field.

Inamorata -- daughter of the moon,
So ashen faced, your lips turned violet;
Asleep yet not asleep upon a stone
Of marble, beautiful as when we met
One fated night upon a sandy shore,
With moonlit tides cascading o'er our feet;
The flowing lily white dress that you wore
Now serves to shroud your icy form, my sweet --
Wouldst thou condemn me breathless as thou art,
Or worse, to mourn a lifetime e'er in grief
Till summers end and winters chill my heart
And death unsheathes his scythe to bring relief?
Oh love, my love -- what choice thou givest me --
Behold my love, I come -- I come to thee

He was a brawned and ugly gun-slinger, and he came from the wild west;
He had the names of six dead Texan boys, tattoed on his chest;
His hat was 15 gallons tall, his long-coat midnight black;
He wore his holsters mighty high and he said his name was Jack.

He rode a palamino horse on the day he came to town;
Three deputies were in the street, and he shot those suckers down;
Dismounting by the sheriffs door, he hollered out a cry,
"Get yer no-good chicken *** outside, today yer gonna die."

The sheriff boldly stepped outside, a shotgun in his hand,
"You'd best be coming quiet son, or your life aint worth a ****."
Jack tipped his hat and curled his lip, he turned his head and spat,
"You shot my brother, sheriff, and yer gonna pay for that."

The sheriff paused to ponder, then he slowly shook his head,
"Your Jimmy robbed a stagecoach and he left the driver dead."
Jack grimaced at his brother's name, and his hands twitched by his side,
"You can call it how you like", he said, "But I'm gonna have yer hide."

The sheriff put the shotgun down, and they faced off in the street,
His hands were poised above his guns, he was sweating in the heat;
He waited till he saw Jack flinch, and his hands flew lightning fast,
His trusty colts were smoking as they fired their deadly blast.

For a moment they both stood stock still, then Jack fell to the ground,
His face was full of shocked surprise, but he never made a sound;
The sheriff felt a tinge of pain, and he saw his badge was bust;
As the blood came seeping from his chest, he fell into the dust.

The townsfolk still recall the day, when Jack rode into town,
And every year they say a prayer, on the day they both fell down;
They were buried up on old Boot Hill, their graves were side by side;
The sheriff renowned for killing Jack, with the man who took his hide.

Forgive a scant and doleful rant
Of mindless scoffed derision,
I find of late I’m quite irate
To read of politicians
Who’s rampant views anoint the news
With all their bluff and bluster,
And so I trust you’ll see I must
Unleash the angst I muster!

These are the folk you called a joke
During the last election,
You found them bland, yet watched them stand
Like some half-cocked *******;
You would not think to share a drink
With them whilst watching football,
And if they pushed to gain your trust
You’d prob’ly give them ---- all!

So now I’m mad and rather sad
To see my friends conspiring
With nodding heads and “what he said’s”,
Perhaps you need re-wiring?
The EU vote has got your goat
And sides have to be taken,
But if you choose an MPs shoes
To follow you’re mistaken!

Go get online and spend the time
To do your own fact finding,
The vote you cast is going to last,
The outcome will be binding;
It matters not one single jot
To me, “you’re out”, “you’re in”,
Keep hold your pride and choose a side,
Don’t let the B------- win!

Selene's bright torch cast light through blackest night,
Unmasking gaped ravines in jagged rocks
That plunged down seeping cracks to Hades lair.
Mist-drenched ice-laden claws of winters bite
Tugged, scratched, gnawed bare cut fingers to the bone,
As limp, up mountain *****, the straggler climbed.

His face, a mask contorted by ordeal,
A coney cloak adorned his weathered back
Bent low by weight of many a mortal sin,
And hoof-like feet hid snug in blackened boots.
Half-shuttered eyes attested to the cold,
Whipped without mercy by the frigid wind.

Vile taunting voices mocked him from on high,
Each screeching laugh, an arrow to his spine,
Pointed reminders to his dismal plight,
Urging him up with heart-filled hatred pain
That surged like Zeus's lightning through his veins
And pushed him on to scale fresh heights above.

They spied, with venomed eyes, his trialled ascent,
Shifting from foot to foot to ease the cold,
Waiting till blood-drenched fingers stretched in vain,
Then leaping up on wings of patterned bronze
They took to flight, squawking in wild delight,
To see him slip, then stumble to his knees.

His failing arms flailed madly at the birds,
Hopeless to reach, lest Zeus should grant him wings,
And there upon the jagged mountain peaks
His tested will was hacked, cleaved, scattered wide,
As she who passed before and took his mind
Now lay, in darkened places of the world.

From deep within his cloak he pulled a flute
And shook the reeds, and rattled with a din
To shake the Gods within their hallowed halls
And of his fury, none has ever matched,
And fright took taunting voices from the birds
Who fearing for their feathers, swiftly fled.

Alone atop the world, the flute he raised
To tight pursed lips began a mournful air
That trembled over freshly fallen snow,
Recounting days forbidden love was chaste
And chased in answer to his endless lust,
Unsated by his many mortal sins.

Each fluted note sang long unto the night,
A serenade to all Selene had bade
Into her light, and then upon the wind
A voice as clear, as bright as Cygnus, came
In answer with a song like as his song,
So mournful that it crushed his broken heart.

"I'd like to rent a ****** please!", little Johnny cried,
"A good sized filly, plenty of zest, and a great big *** to ride!
I'll take her up the paddock, and I'll slap her big behind,
Then I'll ride her till she's raw, when another ****** I'll find!"

So many hands
            make light of evil deeds, and silken cloth
            can ne'er hope to dissuade the rising tides
            against the planted seeds of poisoned mind
            and venom-coated blade

The mighty bear
           once blessed with honeyed lips may rue the hive
           unleashing its tirade and fear the swarm
           of many pointed tips that sally forth
           with busy stinging blade

How many winds
            have blown, how many rains have fallen here,
            how oft am I betrayed?  How many hands
            will know the crimson stains that fall upon
            the folly of their blade?

The wisest die
            and some may choose their end, yet wiser still
            is he who knows his friend

Beyond the realm of ev'ry living thing,
If testaments of old have any sway,
Therein resides a man born to be king.

Upon a lowly path, he sought to bring
Goods news to those who seek a better way
Beyond the realm of ev'ry living thing.

His guiding star, an angel on the wing,
Beckoned the wise unto the place he lay:
"Therein resides a man born to be king!"

He healed the weak, he helped the lame to spring!
And led the blind to see the coming day
Beyond the realm of ev'ry living thing.

His life betrayed, he felt the mortal sting
Of death; And of his tomb the wise would say:
"Therein resides a man born to be king."

Arisen by his father, angels sing
To preach the gospel, routing out dismay:
"Beyond the realm of ev'ry living thing,
Therein resides a man born to be king!"

Words Be Thy Will, Free'd
Owing Naught To God Or King --
    May Death Renew Thee.