The Poetry Marathon

The Yellow Canoe- Mystery Poem #5 by Ingrid Prompt #5

I saw it first.

The bow of the canoe jutted out of the heavy fog creeping toward me in a predatorial fashion.  Vaccumed silence surrounded me broken slightly by the distant cry of the mournful loon. My hands began to tremble becoming even more clammy as my breath caught and constricted in my chest. Time stopped. And, in my mind I imagined hearing haunting organ music that seemed to blend and belong to this eerie part of the lake. Early morning mist still marched  across the lake like battle weary warriors as the canoe drew closer. Once it slid alongside my weather worn dock, I timidly leaned forward  to get a better look at the inside of the canoe. My body began to shake as I recognized the faint sight of blood and multiple finger prints.I leaned in closer and suddenly felt my whole body being lifted and thrown over the canoe. Multiple witnesses would later be recorded as saying that they saw a shadowy hand rise out  of the water and pull me down into its depths. And, on the tails of the wind, they heard this wailing chant:

Return to the lake my dearest one

Remember the lake sirens as we have sung.

Return to our lake and let it be done.

Introducing…2023

Hi this is Santosha in Seattle and this is one of the best holidays all year…world wide🌎 This may be my 6th go round the sun🌅

The readings of the metal file (hour 5)

the welder’s tool was all we found:

this file could read a lot about the dead.

her lips looked like the taste of black oxide coating

could that be the reason why it was found,

in the mouth of Regina where she bled?

 

the welder’s tool was all we found:

the doctor guessed her teeth were sold

but I think her resistance suited better teeth.

Isn’t that why in her mouth the teeth of the metal was found,

in place of the biting tales Regina body holds?

Hour five

Turning Cartwheels (For MF)

You are
Turning cartwheels on the seafront,
Where time and tide wait for no girl.

You are
Sprouting tall and strong,
Blooming before our very eyes.

You are
Kindness and compassion,
Imagination and fun,
The world in your hands
As the tide tracks your feet,
Your cartwheels spinning like clock hands.

You are
Ten,
Years gone by in a flash,
Eager for the next adventure,
Twirling cartwheel after cartwheel
Step by step into your
Bright, blue future.

Crime Scene

Victims wash up against the shore

from upturned boats

making summer passage

on quieter tides.

The dead are blamed,

perpetrators of their own demise,

whilst the reasons for their leaving

lie unquestioned, uninvestigated.

Who would leave their home and family?

No-one’s asking.

 

 

Author: Jane Eckford

2nd September 2023

Hour Five

A gray morning tangled in an unfathomable mist

with a speculative breeze filled with

hummingbirds slicing the fog

leaving wild streaks of color.

An ever so faint hint of perfume,

vanilla.

My heart has been stolen

but never my soul.

Hints of perfume

a clue

vanilla.

 

A Crime of Passion (or Not) – Hour Five

A Crime of Passion (or Not)

Shards of glass, strewn everywhere, scattered beneath the moonlit sky
Brown footprints appear to dot the windowsill – a clear sign of forced entry perhaps
Inside, chaos ensues
Tossed memories, loose leaf dreams, lots of questions
The glass appears to have been broken from the inside… and out…
That’s odd
The papers strewn everywhere seem like there was a struggle of some sort, but it could have been internal
It could have been self made
And yet, no one is home, just a frightened cat, maybe the source of the paw prints
Where’s the homeowner?
A canvass of the area shows footprints leading into the woods
Inside, more clues… crumpled up paper in the trash, the pages filled with illegible writing and scribbles
Maybe harm, maybe harmless – scene and source unknown
A walk into the woods follows the footprints to a clearing in the trees where there is a road to nowhere
Could the suspect have fetched a ride and better yet, again, where is the homeowner
A walk into the woods follows the footprints to a clearing in the trees where there is a road to nowhere important
Could the suspect have hitched a ride and better yet, the homeowner. Location unknown
A jogger passing by confirms she saw one lone mad man jump into a Taurus and head East, yelling something about a coffee shop
We head East for answers
The coffee shop is filled with early Saturday, pre-dawn, revelers, busy for the hour at hand
We must interview them all
When we finish our discussions, we have but one customer left. A balding man in his 40s, leaving a restroom and looking flustered
Upon questioning, we learn he’s a writer and on a deadline. Suffering a days long writers’ block, the commotion ensued at home
And there we have it, no break-in, just no sense of break through
The cat…. he was the source of the footprints on the sill. He spilled coffee on the only idea the man had had in days.

Case closed.

Doesn’t Matter Whodunnit

He was bent over her body
I couldn’t quite see from
my vantage point
looking out the window

He held – I’m not sure what –
in his hand
stooping down I saw
him reach toward her head

she bristled
pulled back
then slumped forward
he stood watching over her

I knew I could make the call
and I know this sounds bad
but there’s only so many times
I want to get involved

still, he looked so concerned
I sighed, slowly stood
made the call
then went to go find a box

[Prompt Five: Write a mystery poem. The crime could be real or imagined. The poem could be clue based or narrative.]

A Life Sentence

The door opens on its own, she strides out, and turns her head to see him.

I think we got everything, she reports. Perfect, he thinks.

He loads the groceries into the trunk while she gets into the car.

On the way home, she imagines him in the kitchen giving her a kiss as they unpack.

He imagines plopping the bags on the counter, getting a beer,and watching football.

 

Listen to the Neighbors/Hour 5

The neighbors complained
Complained about the smells
the malodorous odor of rotting flesh
The neighbors tried to help
The neighbors called the police
their warnings falling on deaf ears
No one listened, Excuses were made,
“Well she’s a drug addict, she can be anywhere” or
“He is an army vet, harmless and polite” or
“He is a politician, he would do no such thing” or
“he is a good-looking white man, why would he lie?”
No one listened and the smells
the smells permeated through plastered walls,
emitted from beneath living room floorboards and backyard soil
men missing, teenaged boys missing, black females missing
No one listened

Yellow crime scene tape surrounds
An apartment building and two houses
Forensic folks in their Tyvek Michelin man suits
loading boxes into awaiting vans and pick-up trucks
removing a deep freezer, 55 gallon barrels,
remains being collected and placed in black body bags
33 teenaged boys, 17 men of color, 11 black women
Cleveland, Chicago and Milwaukee
three men, 60 victims

The neighbors complained
Complained about the smells
the malodorous odor of rotting flesh
The neighbors tried to help
The neighbors called the police
No one listened, no one
Listen to the neighbors
Listen