Murder Mystery

A scream of lightning sets our stage,
An isolated home of high class,
Draped in fog and black,
Like a classic noir,
Worthy of its own Poirot,

A form lays splayed on the ground,
Waiting for its portrait in white chalk,
Still lukewarm to the touch,
And nobody knows who put it there,
Save for one of course,

Was it the old mistress in the library?
Spite drawn from kisses missed,
Perhaps the butler in the bedroom?
The old classic,
Could it have been the Colonel in the hedge maze?
Arrived with grudges to spare,
Or the heir in the ballroom?
The silver-haired child with most to gain,

Whether by bullet or blade or bludgeon,
The guilt remains the same,
And crime doesn’t pay forever,
So will the culprit by caught?
Or will it remain a murder mystery?

Streetwise

No matter the hemisphere,
Day or twilight,
The street speaks if you listen,
Soft murmers between your footfalls,
Rumours written upon the cobbles,

The word on the street,
You may see it on your treks,
Errands between A and B,
Hooded prophets in alleys,
Couriers living in cardboard boxes,

There are whispers in the smog,
Warnings or news on the tramline,
Hymns amongst these estates,
An information network unlike any other,
One that transcends states or laws,

It’s the language of cities,
Audible most to those at the bottom.

Gacy

In humble Illionois,
A beaten boy becomes a fiend,
A gift from a sire,
I wish I could yearn for the best,
But alas it did not end well,
Thirty three innocent souls,
Taken too soon,
By a portly smiling man,
Bespite the theatrics and face paint,
Garottes are not magic tricks,
A crawlspace is no place for a party,
And quicklime isn’t punch,
Please my friends,
Behind even a clowns grin,
A demon can hide.

Henchman

You think of me as diabolical,
But you’re mistaken slugger,
I’m only a henchman,
I’m not evil,
I only follow orders,
Do the grunt work,

I serve the Boss,
A dictator in a lab coat,
With buzzsaws and moonbases and sharks,
Cutting secret agents in half with lasers,
They call him a doctor,
But I’ve yet to see him cure a soul,

We get shot at for him,
Mop up blood for him,
We get vaporised by him,
But we don’t complain,
It’s just the life,
The way of the minion.

Siege

When they came,
Those sharks in uniform,
I climbed atop my household raft,
Fearing for my life,
They came bearing gifts,
Tokens of handcuffs and stingray barbs,

I see their blue skins and bluer lights,
Circling me,
Stalking me,
Smelling blood in the water,
The curtains are my shield,
With no oar I can only wield a house key,

They want me to give up,
To stop treading water,
They keep using big words like “surrender”,
Screaming “murderer” and “monster”,
But I see their barracuda teeth,
Truncheons and mace,

The front door caves in,
A flash,
The thrashing of water and 9mm rounds.

Aqua Tofana

Oh women of Italia and beyond,
Do you suffer in your daily lives?
Bruised by the fists of an abusive spouse?
Is even your home an unsafe arena?
Rush ye to Lady Tofana,
She may hold your salvation,
Though it shall cost you your virtue,

She shall offer you a deadly solution,
The poisoners bounty,
Lead and arsenic and belladonna,
All wrapped up in cosmetic mask,
With St. Nicholas presiding,
A tasteless and crystal clear death sentence,
For that special man in your life,

An unsavoury state of affairs perhaps,
But when a woman is pushed too far,
There may be no other recourse,
Than to call on Lady Tofana,
And her Manna di San Nicola.

Gentlehitman

Take care around that man my lady,
That tall and enticing gentleman,
That Prince Charming,
With the armoury of edge and elegance,
An ebony suit sharp as a blade,
And I daresay a tongue even sharper,
A cold-blooded killer with concealed carry,

Don’t listen to those heart flutters,
Behind his shades lie reptilian eyes,
A tiger prowling these crowds like tall grass,
With all the same dignity and grim decorum,
Dare not embrace him my lady,
Even Lucifer was an angel once after all,
You won’t hear the round coming.

Bundy

Evil can rest behind a smiling face,
An amicable face,
Even a handsome face,
Charisma is the tool of a monster,
Just as a blade or garotte,
Yet more savage,
More cutting,
That was Ted,

Too many souls taken in by a friendly smirk,
A mask hiding thoughts of violation and murder,
Sugared words upon a serpents tongue,
Caught too late,
Highlighting the fell reality,
That fiends hide in plain sight,
Psychopathy cloaked in friendship,
That was Ted.

Ramirez

What turns a man into a demon?
What is it that breeds evil?
Is it a grim childhood?
The fists of the father,
Is it the occult?
A macabre interest too young,
Is it the narcotics?
That fun white powder,
An amalgamation of all these facets?

Whatsoever the cause,
This foul creature was unleashed,
A stalker in the night,
Dreaming of Disneyland,
Mutilating and violating all the way,
Thirteen souls claimed in red and screams,
By a devil wearing a human costume,
This horned beast was finally caught,
Brought low by his own arrogance.

The Zealot

Have you seen that man?
Stood plentifully bestrewn in crimson petals,
Within a garden of fresh corpses,
A crusader amongst broken innocents,
He’s a killer like any other,
But sanctioned by those lofty spires,
A good holy soldier,

In place of prayer,
He commits to flagellation,
Pain weaving betwixt discipline,
He hears voices in the dark,
They come from dusty books,
A tome that claims divinity,
A higher morality touted in its pages,

What began as a good and humble life,
Was dismantled piecemeal by fear and hate,
Xenophobia and bigotry written as commandments,
Seeing jihads in all directions,
Knives at the windows,
The sermons were twisted to command,
And so he strikes.