"whodunnit" poems
once upon a time
there happened to be
a desert oasis with a population of three-
Mr A, Mr B and Mr C
no one really knows why
but they were all enemies
and then one day Mr A and Mr B
decided-quite separately
that Mr C should die -
he shouldn’t be allowed to stay alive
and so they executed their plans dastardly
Mr A poisoned C’s water with evil glee
knowing that when C drank eagerly
he would drop dead quite suddenly
but unknown to him Mr B
poked little holes in C’s canteen
knowing that without water to drink
C would soon be on life’s brink
so all the poison dripped away
with all the water , one would say
that with the double treachery
Mr C would be a dead man anyday
and so it did happen
that with no water in his canteen
and none to refill
Mr C did drop dead of thirst
But that did beg the question-
who did him in?
A and B play the blame game
A says C never drank any of the poison
So how is he to blame?
but as B points out that his puncturing the canteen is irrelevant
for C would have drunk the water
and still met the same end
so it really is a contest of means versus the end
the end is the same and the question remains-
whodunnit?
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
05.10.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
I can’t help thinking
that almost every girl I meet
could possibly, potentially be,
yes, a screamer in the sack,
or better, a soul mate in the sack,
or even a confidant in a coffee shop, or anywhere.
And then they could jointly rule my kingdom
imperiously, like the Queen of Babylon,
or maybe Bathsheba, who was having a bath
when David espied her and then jumped her in his boudoir.
I suppose an exhibitionist needs a ******
Gee. But it wasn't kosher for David, the King of Judea,
to then have murdered Bathsheba's husband, Uriah,
so he could afterwards marry her.
What? Yeah, this is all in that whodunnit,
the first tabloid, the Old Testament.
But look, I'm getting away from the path here.
What I'm talking about is girls that I innocently meet
without trying to get them in closer.
I don't spy on girls in the bath or the shower
and I don't have anyone murdered for *** or for power.
Or for anything! I'm a writer, see?
I simply imagine, inside my head,
that we all fall fabulously in love,
and blow our minds instead.
Mike T Minehan
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
The finger pointing at the moon,the steeple reaching to the skies;
Logic ,love and wisdom tries to pierce the gloom, to open eyes.
'Look up!' They say, 'Look over there!'
No! Look within now if you dare
To find the truth that's lying there.
The dons, the poets, the dance and the myths clear some of the way, but sadly miss
The heart of the thing
- just get the gist..........
First the moon, then the man full of awe, then the priest and the sage and the artist to draw
Out the meaning and help us to know what a small speck we are
In this infinite show.
Sing to the moon and dance through the night
Then look to yourself to see if you're right.
The myths are the map, the Dons hold the light, but the moon's ever there , perpetual and bright.
Unpick the poems, dissect the finger, deconstruct the song and analyse the singer,
Love the garden and crown the ***** praise the soil for the flowers he's made.
It's a great 'Whodunnit' a wonderful game, with the usual suspects guessing the name
Of the power behind it; the fame or the blame.
Sing to the moon and dance through the night.
Look to the heavens to see if you're right.
The myths are the maps, the dons hold the light
But the moon will be there
Perpetual and bright.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
i have just had the most wonderful
most thrilling idea
for a new book
a new tale
to resonate across the ages,
a vast rambling epic of a novel
w/a new metaphysics calculated to change
the way we
see
think and
feel
it’s gonna shake up this
crazy little world of ours
(once it’s written)
it’s a Chandleresque echo
of great noir thrillers
w/ just enough Eco
for my intellectual friends
pumped pulp prose
interwoven
interspersed
w/ musings philosophical
about the nature of being
(once it’s written)
i will call it *Black Cats
In Darken’d Rooms*
a reference to a joke i once knew
and w/in my whodunnit frame
my ****** mystery narrative
i shall lead
the exploration
the excavation
of all the big questions still unanswered
in this crazy world
(once it’s written)
it will be a book to change lives
(most importantly, mine)
and lead us
blinking
into a dawn of new Reason
we will enter a new age
a world w/out confusion
blessed by the Truth the book shall hold
(once it’s written)
all the other stories i have started
those tales half-told, those unended dreams,
i will put away
- for now
this is the one story
must be written
must be finished
those old ones just aren’t as important
somehow.
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 2:48 AM UTC
*"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!"*
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
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!)
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
A nest without a bird
A swing that isn’t swung
An empty auditorium
A song that’s never sung
A garden without flowers
A house that’s not a home
A glove without its other half
A pond without a gnome!
A smile without the twinkle
A tonic without the gin
A gear that’s missing all its teeth
A shark without its fin
A book that lost the final page
A car without a tyre
A single sock without its pair
A spark without the fire
A party no one came to
A whodunnit without a clue
A hip without a hooray
A me without my you
May 7, 2019
May 7, 2019 at 9:15 AM UTC
The greatest assassination in history but
whodunnit?
who killed all the dreams
remains a mystery.
In the boarded up closed down council cemetery where the bones lay of all of my ancestry,
there's a place kept and it's still there awaiting me, but
who killed the dreams is a mystery.
I have blank screens where once there were hot dreams and the nightmares have rode off, no more night screams, it's one hell of a god **** calamity, but who killed all the dreams stays a mystery.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
I changed the reaction time,
how a neutral makert, how a window breaks when nobody cares
how a flower market stays in business for ten to fifteen years
how'd why and whodunnit
here’s your rose
and the evening blends with the morning,
did you take that purity from me, bird who sings when I sing? coincidence?
or did you take it from me, as I sang it…as you would steal my string cheese I had for breakfast
I paint the town with my poison, with my jacket, with my eyes, invisible
snap chat vanishment taken from the lyric of a turnover rap song,
I flip the krabby patty and it does…sizzle
so did you find your dignity?
Changed the reaction time, neo was struggling to work with trinity,
and of course, he was defenseless when it came to good noodles
the agents, well, they couldn’t stand the smell of gasoline and cigarettes
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC