"deerstalker" poems
Crowds mocked her “beauty”, and peculiar scent.
But the bewildered found gems in those coastal colored eyes,
no matter how distorted the face.
Musk aroma struck fluttering feelings,
butterfly pheromones.
Must have been hoax cologne.
A fool to think since she lacked Venus’ allure,
she would no doubt lack her games.
Lying lips, spit bees, but every kiss seemed cherries.
Falsely comforted in crooked arms.
Humming those songs, that belonged to us,
to discover they could have belonged to strangers.
Eloquent mirage, sculpted for the naive girl’s needs.
Wanted to believe novels of excuses, renowned author of love fiction.
Tattered, tired, thoughts racing for foundation,
blind heroic sense to find the treasured soul,
beauty an illusion.
won’t find devotion searching for ghosts.
Beyond the burnt, stench stained cover,
strong faith the inside was meant to illuminate.
Each ember page turned, more careless and repugnant than the last.
Reading with a Deerstalker hat, compass,
hunting for jewels…suppose.
Found dirt.
Inside wretched grammar smeared with empty torn space.
Simpleton, dreamer?
To think there was anything more…
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 11:30 AM UTC
Annie Chapman, the maiden Smith,
******* daughter of a soldier born,
Parents entered joy of wedlock,
When ******* girl was still a baby.
Got married herself in 1869,
Had three children sweet,
First sweet daughter Emily,
Captured by meningitis bug,
Stole their eldest gal away,
Second child was a lad named John, born tragically disabled,
A third daughter born 1884 who ran away with the circus seeking some fun, when grown.
Marriage crumbled,
Due to sorrow,
Loss of daughter,
Destroyed all tomorrows,
Son was put into institution,
So they could not go on,
Drifted apart on a tide of drink,
Only way not to think,
Separated fell apart in 1884,
Lady 'Annie', with sorrowful heart and hair of brown,
Known as 'Dark Annie'
Maybe because she wore a frown,
She was the victim blessed with civility,
Until the drink contorted her,
Bending her mind,
Early as the daylight rose,
She had found a dark haired fellow,
Wearing deerstalker,
Maybe a friend of Holmes himself,
Although it's sadly doubted,
Probably a client, looking for her wares,
Body slain, lain on the floor,
Not far from her gate,
Throat slashed, viscera scattered around,
Coating her shoulders , with blood spattered dressings,
A neckerchief in situ,
Had he maybe provided a most unpleasant gift,
No financial donation for this poor lady,
Asphyxiation for the lady, she didn't take her daily pills,
Queer perhaps,
Her murderer knew what to do,
Maybe vile ****** man was medical in origin,
Some speculation hinted,
The ****** weapon was an autopsy knife!
This is the story of the second Jack the Ripper victim.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
In his study he sits contemplating
activities of this case at hand
with marvellous mind and fragile heart
talks to Watson as what is planned
His deerstalker hangs wet in the hallway
his cane in the hat stand below
he smokes hard on his pipe
Watson gets his gun, they are ready to go
Adorning their coats
Mrs Hudson appears
wishing them luck
whilst holding back tears
Out of Baker Street
they hail a Hanson
to Charing Cross
to pay Moriarty a visit
How many times Holmes, Watson sighed
have you crossed swords with this villain
My Dear Watson Holmes replyed
evil deeds must stop and I am willing.
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
In his study he sits contemplating
activities of this case at hand
with marvellous mind and fragile heart
talks to Watson as what is planned
His deerstalker hangs wet in the hallway
his cane in the hat stand below
he smokes hard on his pipe
Watson gets his gun, they are ready to go
Adorning their coats
Mrs Hudson appears
wishing them luck
whilst holding back tears
Out of Baker Street
they hail a Hanson
to Charring Cross
to pay Moriarty a visit
How many times Holmes, Watson sighed
have you crossed swords with this villain
My Dear Watson Holmes replied
evil deeds must stop and I am willing.
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
21
MAY
2011
I moved awkwardly
she moved like an angel.
I moved close
she moved even closer.
I moved my lips
she moved her hips.
I moved in with six hundred and twenty-one vinyl records
twenty-seven authentic Japanese swords
two black cats and fourteen deerstalker hats.
she moved me right back out.
I guess life is just a moving game
but all the same
I like it.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 5:29 AM UTC