"forensic" poems
She loved art
And she breathed
And ate
And slept art
And she radiated art
And art was her life
And we
All loved her
One hundred percent
And every
Girl
Was her
Best friend
And the priest
Doing the funeral
Hadn't met her.
But her parents
Paid him like he had.
And they told the priest
"She loved art
And she breathed
And ate
And slept art.
And she radiated art.
And art was her life."
And so that was what he
Told the
Congregation.
But when
A quiet person like her
Dies
No one ever finds out
That she
Hated art
But
In fact
She loved Forensic Science.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
You breathed your last breath from the air
in this room;
that threadbare Persian carpet
holds flakes from your skin;
hairs from your head
corkscrew the dented cushions
scattered and idly waiting on the sofa;
bed linen scented with your sweat
the goose down doona that stole
your last warmth;
sleep spit and tears
human moisture that permeates
the acrylic layers of your pillow;
an eyebrow hair wedged in the tweezers;
a clipped nail that flew off
somewhere out of sight;
that new toothbrush used only once;
your flannel and towel still drying out;
the wet press footprint on the bathroom mat;
the talcum powdered slippers
abandoned under the brass bed.
Each moment of everyday
we shed ourselves
shed dead cells and renew -
a cycle of shedding
until the last
shedding of ourselves.
© M.L. Emmett
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
Maybe I’ll never make a good father,
the world has shown me it’s ugly face.
I see things too logically,
too realistically.
The things I’ve done and seen,
my dark sense of humour,
twisted sources of entertainment
and sexuality.
My sedated emotions
and even my choice of forensics profession
all these things probably makes me
a pretty bad father,
bad husband,
bad boyfriend…
And probably
a bad person.
N.H.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
twas a most disturbing scene
in a kitchen at Aberdeen
the details are too horrific
to disclose
let's say this
and this alone
the forensic team
had to ladle some bone
bits of dermis
were scattered around
the kitchen compound
the wife had done the deed
she'd disposed of her husband
who was a bad seed
he'd been thumping and slapping
her around
knocking her with force
to the ground
she'd contended
with his rough house treatment
for far too long
so she decided
to right his wrong
she's in prison
doing time
but it is her husband
who now tows the line
domestic violence
did him no favors
a woman was pushed
one too many times
in a kitchen at Aberdeen
gruesome was the crime
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 8:14 AM UTC
A retroactive reconstruction of
whats forgotten forms what’s real.
We rob and steal
past transgressions,
but what happens
when the mechanisms making memories
twist elegantly toward
the ego?
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
The candles on my birthday cake
Are a body count.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
ashima abraham
teenage girl
needed love
desperately
she thought the reason for her
despair might been her longing
while her longing was nothing but
normal and the origin of her
despair might been
fear
one day she met an older guy
his name **** black he a
forensic officer
investigators like him look for
traces under dead body's fingernails
stuff like that
until ashima met **** her
love was exclusively reserved to
her pitbull
his name was branko
a fearsome creature
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
your nail marks,
forensic scientists
would remark
as fatal attacks!
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 1:12 PM UTC
Phanerogams are plants which produce seeds.
The wanton harlot may be laid against the wall, with legs splayed, and may also have given birth to unbridled rage.
However, even though such stages of development can be entitled as “son of a ***** it is worth noting that all behaviour has meaning, my darkened companion of presumed sophistication.
The scholastic scribes will etch their wisdom upon the hardness of our vile vanity.
I hold in my hand a gothic stone, where those who stand before the courts accused of heresy and witchcraft can plead innocence before chanting crowds of bloodlust.
The reaper will gather the harvest at Lughnasadh, whilst the olfactory nerve propagates her funeral games amidst the cutting of ancient cornfields.
As we perch upon the gallows end, let us join hands and chant the mantras of old.
Photosynthesis is a forensic entrancement where there is no rest for the sinner.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
Who are who look
Through gazed window
Attention glazed whom
None knew who steal
Care sought answer
Who mute at window move
Slight shadow
Droplet tears
Lost city ghost
Who forensic wonder
Who cutaway found
Uncertain broken ground
Cloud circling shark
Shards of thought
Diamond scratch the glass
Weekend wilted grass view
Litter blown listless below
The weighted cloth
The china clog
The fireplace tiles
Cold as dead stars.
dec 2009
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 7:53 AM UTC
ME: gmorn i'm sore but will try walking today
FRIEND: What u sore from?
ME: my whole body aches from every day of the last few weeks
FRIEND: I see. Yes, start slow and do what u can.
ME: Was his death quick and painless or slow and agonizing? Do I want really want to know? Will a forensic pathologist supplying me with his cause of death provide me with that elusive state known as 'closure'??...I wake up but the nightmare never goes away....
FRIEND: :-( , that is very very saddening I don't want to give the wrong idea when I say that I've felt like I could relate to Colton when I hear you talk about him, because I was a pretty messed up kid and was in a lot of trouble, but very high spirited, and when trouble came I wasn't scared, but gave all I had. That's how I think, and I've thought about that.
ME: maybe he died "ok"?? its been 5 yrs but i'm just now feeling it....
FRIEND: Because u always kept hope that he may come home.
ME: ok as in he was brave and knew he was loved...
FRIEND: That is correct. I don't see fear from him. Maybe anger, but I don't fear. If anything he was worried about you, and if you'd be ok. Knowing u wouldnt is what scared him. Now u know, he is home He's been with u 'all this time. I've lived though a couple of those moments, and that's what I thought about, the ones who brought me in this world and my family cause I knew they loved me.
ME: if i had known that night the truth i would have no doubt about it, knowing my state of mind at that time, committed suicide ...it was graciousness that allowed me 5 yrs of slow torture.
FRIEND: <3
ME: you're good ppl
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 9:20 AM UTC
Her eyes danced with the tiny flames that held a secret
each growing brighter when they urged to yank
the oxygen from her heart and let the sparks console
the deep holes bursting with pleasure
She dabbles in the waves of fire and brimstone
The honey dipped arms monopolize the dry neck
Squeezing harder, and harder
The metallic taste of rust shoves in front her teeth
Her eyes beg to fall out to stop witnessing the desecration
She tries not to let the secret out
but her decomposed body bows down to the forensic earth
Lying in her death bed she knows
She tasted the burnt coals
And forgot to tell Adam
She won't see him in heaven.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
The snipers rifle hung from the parapet
still warm, cordite drifted from
the business end.
It resembled a cigarette,
dangling in the groove of an
ashtray which was given to you
as a souvenir from a place
you had no desire to go.
And you had no desire to go there
as you had read stories of donkey
cruelty and the militias’ refusal to
accept Greenwich as the
centre of time.
Their struggle against the meridian
has been well documented in film and
prose.
Stories and rumours filtered in
from the hinterland, carried home in
economy flights from different time zones
arriving at the terminal, milling around the
carousel.
****** victim 4 lay in a forensic
scene, white tapped surrounded by
duty free bags, and the secret dossiers
exposing the militias plans drifted, blood
stained in the breeze.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 5:21 AM UTC
(AP) another tragic report today of snow mermaids resurfacing a phenomena of drastic blizzard conditions young men lost in blinding blowing winds that sends a person forging foreword then back a step are sightings of real or imagined snow nymphs naked gorgeous young women giggling frolicking through 8’ snow drifts arching limbs grinding hips twiddling fingers toes swaying long hair spreading thighs exposing privates pinching ******* pursing lips gesturing to be seduced beckoning into freezing snow entrapment eventually freezing victims into lifeless blue corpses only additional forensic evidence left behind are definite female snow angel signature tracks in surrounding snowfall areas since onslaught of February 1st storm strike 18 male bodies missing 13 bodies recovered all found grasping clutching clinging desirously to unknown source 5 men still missing if you suspect the whereabouts of any of these individuals please contact 911 authorities warn men of a certain age wear appropriate winter gear scarves raised hats lowered eyes squinting look away without delay if you think you are witness to one or more of these deadly snow mermaids GPS immediately to Police postscript in the several thousand years since these occurrences have been recorded not a single snow mermaid has ever been caught
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC
The man was smart. The animals,
watching, knew it. The shattering
glass of the universe felt the opposition,
and the understanding was the result
of a fiendish ambition. There was a
recording. It time, there was a healing
record; it reached for the few left unwell.
They were floundering until it was
discovered to be the shape of things
drawn with ink. The deception of empty
hands, which refused to let them drink
the clean water also offered to slay
the daughter. This forced them all to
worry about forensic relics and lumps of
shattered trust. Love was hidden away
for the sake of uninterrupted safety.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Forensic psychology is not an exact science, despite the lofty assertions of those who are deemed to have expertise in the face of non-empathic presumption.
Please, do not dismiss the wisdom of those who are seasoned in the metaphorical school of life. It is far too expensive, even though there is an apparent and mutual understanding between those on each side of the great divide.
Dazzling suits and coherent reports do not adequately represent intricate diversities in the docks of criminality where the laughter of the prosecution echoes throughout the beams of formality.
Therefore, sociopathy and psychopathy remain to be inadequately defined.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
Shall we drown together in deep lagoons of forensic cognitions, my seductress of medieval echelons?
As your mouth is already full, I strongly recommend that you masticate that which you initially intended to ingest.
We could become spellbound by the moon. What do you think my Vedic chant of austere arrhythmias?
I suggest that we simply need to interact without reserve amidst this toxicity of inhibition. The sound of the violin is hauntingly beautiful as it conveys literary intensity.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
the slam poets demise before
a foot-state forensic statue of in-
vest-in-grey-tongues cutes me in
to 5 different animal high-rises
(like he meant it)
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
So oblivious as you sleep,
I'm getting Wash a treat,
I saw those messages,
The ones you tried'a hide,
Ones you tried'a delete,
With forensics on my side,
It's clear you cheat and lie.
Very simple actually,
With a scan of the phone,
An analysis to read
And I'm better off alone.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:31 AM UTC
Arrival final destination,
Welcome to Huntsville you see,
Enter by the back door,
Then you go to eat,
Traditional fare, if you like,
Burger wrapped in blood,
The blood red of ketchup, matches the blood on your hands,
You are young, dressed in virtual innocence,
Do the crime, you do the time,
Is it worthy of eternity,
Since break of day you wait,
Waiting for impending death,
6 P.M
It is the evening of your darkest day,
For vile sin, with life you pay,
What thoughts traverse through your young head,
As tears trickle and pleas long gone,
For clemency calls rolled onto deaf ears,
You were the big man so they said,
A victim of cruel circumstance,
Collared by forensic drift,
Evidence grabbed,
Poor boy,
At a cost of $86.08,
more than you made on that fateful day,
Led to the gurney in shackles and chain,
Chains weighed heavier than conscience,
Conscience ****** your frightened brain,
Are you moved for your final confession,
Ideal for the papers for in a press release,
The last words he did say,
'Thank God for giving me life, see you soon,
Sir, For it's my final day,
Of course, I forgot you know that anyway',
I'm Sorry, so sorry, Father forgive me,
Waited almost a lifetime for this his final day,
The row of death so welcoming,
The great escape maybe,
Visage of executioner,
Looks deep into your soul,
While you stare vacantly into his eyes,
The ultimate sensation of pain as the needle quickly enters your vein,
As nerve endings and your body die,
Reflection of immaturity,
Bad life, sad life, consequence of situation,
No life had, no love lost!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 8:49 AM UTC
Science holds keys, doors,
Black holes and symmetry.
Science is the gatekeeper
When it comes to facts and logic.
There is no place for science in the
Universe of imagination, science
Don’t own a paintbrush and could
Never be a Picasso or Van Gogh
No matter how many starry nights they glaze at.
Apr 1, 2022
Apr 1, 2022 at 4:08 PM UTC
she'd been placed
on a missing persons register
she was last seen
walking to the shopping precinct
her whereabouts didn't get solved
for some time
police had no positive leads
from the public
a full scale search was conducted
but nothing new
came to light
she'd just disappeared
like a wisp of air
some twelve months later
a jogger happened upon her
upper torso in amongst
the Taylor lagoon's
reeds and muddy sludge
this discovery was something concrete
for the police to go on
a forensic unit scoured the area
in the hope of finding further body parts
and other evidence
a state by state missing persons
search began
to try and identify the victim
who'd met with a ghastly end
in the autopsy report
it stated that she'd been
sawn into pieces
with a chainsaw
as the marks on her thoracic cavity
and neck
indicated this...
the detective sergeant
complied the information
he had on the lady
for a brief in court
as luck would have it
she had breast implants
and on them was found
a code number
by tracing this number
and the hospital who performed
the surgery
pay dirt was hit
she was a resident of Kentucky
who'd gone missing
in July of two thousand and fifteen
a chainsaw murderer
did the deed
as six female victims
were found
across three other states
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC
Apparently,
Love is patient,
And it's kind,
But i don’t believe in any of it because I
know that your love will never truly
Be mine.
I’ve heard that
Love is blind,
Exhilarating,
But no one ever talks about the hot, white aching.
The pain that comes with these feelings.
No one talks about how one-sided love crushes your heart,
Your soul.
Alas,
All these feelings are Greek to me.
I would never know how it really feels,
to be swept off your feet,
And looked at like you’re the most beautiful thing
To ever be contrived.
And cherished like I’m their only lifeline.
And protected like a damsel in distress.
All I feel is pain,
Right here in my Chest.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
There are certain gradations of evil within our tragic yet beautiful cosmological vacancy.
As there are particular typologies, we must not allow ourselves to be infatuated with ex-partners nor allow ourselves to succumb to the temptations of delusional sadism.
Do you exhibit dangerous characteristics within this antisocial and eclectic blend of euphoric ambivalence?
Let us make arrangements for a special room in this forensic hotel of diversity where criminality can slice across the vistas of humanitarian presumption, like a psychological autopsy.
Everything is not as it may appear to be.
That, my friend, is the finesse of humanitarian deception.
Welcome to the brotherhood.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC