Mystery Poems
#mystery
Mystery poems, strange tales and mysterious poems about things which are impossible to explain. Mystery poems includes poetry with elements of suspense, enigma, paradox and unusual goings on.
Lozzamus
Poem Published
6th Oct 2021 8:54pm
6th Oct 2021 8:54pm
Underground
Got to get out of here!
Can't stand the dark and the damp and the dust.
Claustrophobia; the imagination offering countless possibilities. The ceiling caving in, burying me. If the floor gave way as well, I would fall into blackness, panting and suffocating, knowing that I'd never escape. Certain death.
Buried alive. Like in the famous Rachmaninoff Prelude. Pounding chords as the man attempts to fight his way out of a grave.
Help!
Can't stand the dark and the damp and the dust.
Claustrophobia; the imagination offering countless possibilities. The ceiling caving in, burying me. If the floor gave way as well, I would fall into blackness, panting and suffocating, knowing that I'd never escape. Certain death.
Buried alive. Like in the famous Rachmaninoff Prelude. Pounding chords as the man attempts to fight his way out of a grave.
Help!
#mystery
#FeelingTrapped
#risk
478 reads
12 Comments
LilDragonFly
Poem Published
28th Sep 2021 11:47pm
28th Sep 2021 11:47pm
[What Lies Behind Here]
What lies behind here
this cloaked veil ever so shear
hides yet still reveals
this cloaked veil ever so shear
hides yet still reveals
#secrets
#confessional
#WritingPoetry
#senryu
#mystery
18 reads
3 Comments
Lozzamus
Poem Published
26th Sep 2021 6:44pm
26th Sep 2021 6:44pm
Tormented And Restless
All nights are bad, though some worse than others.
I can’t sleep.
The seconds and minutes pass in silence.
I long for winter.
For the damp and cold and rain and wind.
Snow and sleet and frost.
The summer heat is suffocating, reminding me of that other summer twenty years ago.
Tonight, I see them;
not only Dawn, but her sister as well, both fair skinned like their mother, hair the colour of hay.
The girls hurry along the lane above the coast, sandals scraping on tarmac in the July heat.
Ahead of them lies the sea, the tide out, water...
I can’t sleep.
The seconds and minutes pass in silence.
I long for winter.
For the damp and cold and rain and wind.
Snow and sleet and frost.
The summer heat is suffocating, reminding me of that other summer twenty years ago.
Tonight, I see them;
not only Dawn, but her sister as well, both fair skinned like their mother, hair the colour of hay.
The girls hurry along the lane above the coast, sandals scraping on tarmac in the July heat.
Ahead of them lies the sea, the tide out, water...
#grief
#memories
#mystery
428 reads
6 Comments
AverageJoe
Poem Published
26th Sep 2021 4:58pm
26th Sep 2021 4:58pm
A Telling
Shorn of pride
To see was Samson made blind
And daily the rut of a circle tread
A circle's without beginning
A circle's without end
A circle's eternal
And so is the spirit
And from his rounds
Beaten
And mocked in woe
Brought to stand between columns
Two pillars or poles
Two poles with Samson centered made three
The triptych
The gateway ...
To see was Samson made blind
And daily the rut of a circle tread
A circle's without beginning
A circle's without end
A circle's eternal
And so is the spirit
And from his rounds
Beaten
And mocked in woe
Brought to stand between columns
Two pillars or poles
Two poles with Samson centered made three
The triptych
The gateway ...
#earth
#spiritual
#humankind #mystery
#humankind #mystery
592 reads
4 Comments
Lozzamus
Poem Published
19th Sep 2021 3:09pm
19th Sep 2021 3:09pm
A Very Dangerous Man
Alone in a house a man lay bound in ropes, hidden by the night. Not even the moon shone into the cellar, for the small window was boarded up. The man never saw the sun or the stars. He heard no voices, no laughter.
In the cellar a light bulb hung from the ceiling. I stood over the man, observing him gurgle, watching the blood dribble from his nose and stain his gag. The man's name was Damien.
They think I don't see, but I do. I see everything. I see them snivelling and running. I see them laughing. They are laughing at me, their voices piercing and hideous. I...
In the cellar a light bulb hung from the ceiling. I stood over the man, observing him gurgle, watching the blood dribble from his nose and stain his gag. The man's name was Damien.
They think I don't see, but I do. I see everything. I see them snivelling and running. I see them laughing. They are laughing at me, their voices piercing and hideous. I...
#scary
#mystery
#risk
446 reads
9 Comments
LilDragonFly
Poem Published
16th Sep 2021 6:44am
16th Sep 2021 6:44am
When She Pens...
Who is she truly
this poet behind the page
part frisky, part sage
living the life poetique
A blend of tres chic
this melange of truth
sprinkled with rhyme
but always taking her time
While knowing the score
understanding much more
than she leads on
than she ever reveals
Savors what she conceals
behind the stanzas
within the lines
as each word refines
With a jit and a jot
shows what she has got
although it always depends
when she pens...
this poet behind the page
part frisky, part sage
living the life poetique
A blend of tres chic
this melange of truth
sprinkled with rhyme
but always taking her time
While knowing the score
understanding much more
than she leads on
than she ever reveals
Savors what she conceals
behind the stanzas
within the lines
as each word refines
With a jit and a jot
shows what she has got
although it always depends
when she pens...
#rhyming
#confessional
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
#mystery
30 reads
8 Comments
LilDragonFly
Poem Published
12th Sep 2021 10:23am
12th Sep 2021 10:23am
Face Myself
I longer trust the mirror
that untrue reflection
the resurrection
of all of these demons
Wishing I could just
paint it all way
poet what I have to say
in some indelible ink
Step away from the brink
away from the cusp
of this jagged introspection
with all of its sharp rocks
Smooth the globs of paint
remove any taint
of feeling fearful
of what might lie underneath
All that I bequeath
to those who come behind
discover all that they will find
this...
that untrue reflection
the resurrection
of all of these demons
Wishing I could just
paint it all way
poet what I have to say
in some indelible ink
Step away from the brink
away from the cusp
of this jagged introspection
with all of its sharp rocks
Smooth the globs of paint
remove any taint
of feeling fearful
of what might lie underneath
All that I bequeath
to those who come behind
discover all that they will find
this...
#identity
#mirror
#confessional
#SelfReflection
#mystery
16 reads
2 Comments
archie23
Poem Published
9th Sep 2021 11:55am
9th Sep 2021 11:55am
That's what I got
This is a fictional situation about an individual
who is on the brink of suicide.
He holds his (HER) gun to the head,
waiting to point their middle finger
at the world as they pull the trigger.
They are alone.
They are in this alone.
They do not pull the trigger.
They keep the middle finger down.
---still alive---next scene---archie23
Read poems by archie23
who is on the brink of suicide.
He holds his (HER) gun to the head,
waiting to point their middle finger
at the world as they pull the trigger.
They are alone.
They are in this alone.
They do not pull the trigger.
They keep the middle finger down.
---still alive---next scene---archie23
Read poems by archie23
#fiction
#scary
#LifeAsAWriter
#mystery
#historical
259 reads
0 Comments
Lozzamus
Poem Published
8th Sep 2021 10:21pm
8th Sep 2021 10:21pm
A Picture Of Pathos
At around this time I learnt Beethoven's piano sonata, The Pathetique.
The dramatic opening reminded me of the opening in my novel Secrets.
The protagonist making his way up Whaley Hill in Lancashire in the November chill and fog in search of the man he'd helped put behind bars sixteen years earlier.
The angry, almost violent, chords that answer the pathos of the melody in the Pathetique.
The build up of rain, the promise of a storm on Whaley Hill.
The continuing intensity of emotion in the Pathetique as lyrical despair alternates with irate harmonies and...
The dramatic opening reminded me of the opening in my novel Secrets.
The protagonist making his way up Whaley Hill in Lancashire in the November chill and fog in search of the man he'd helped put behind bars sixteen years earlier.
The angry, almost violent, chords that answer the pathos of the melody in the Pathetique.
The build up of rain, the promise of a storm on Whaley Hill.
The continuing intensity of emotion in the Pathetique as lyrical despair alternates with irate harmonies and...
#memories
#mystery
#risk
477 reads
6 Comments
Lozzamus
Poem Published
2nd Sep 2021 9:01pm
2nd Sep 2021 9:01pm
Escaping The Factory
How will we manage in Spain if you get sick? '
'I won't get sick. It's her persecuting me. Her. And you.'
Shush, he's wearing a dark gown. He has a kitchen knife in his hands. He wants to kill you.
He laughed, unable to stop. She believed him. Believed they were going to Spain in two week's time. Believed they were going to live in a villa belonging to his late aunt. Silly. Gullible. The aunt had never existed.
'Don't do that,' Cassie said. 'You're frightening me.'
'Shut up. Shut UP!'
Cassie was sick. Indeed, all of...
'I won't get sick. It's her persecuting me. Her. And you.'
Shush, he's wearing a dark gown. He has a kitchen knife in his hands. He wants to kill you.
He laughed, unable to stop. She believed him. Believed they were going to Spain in two week's time. Believed they were going to live in a villa belonging to his late aunt. Silly. Gullible. The aunt had never existed.
'Don't do that,' Cassie said. 'You're frightening me.'
'Shut up. Shut UP!'
Cassie was sick. Indeed, all of...
#mystery
#risk
351 reads
10 Comments
The_Silly_Sibyl
Jack Thomas
Jack Thomas
Poem Published
1st Sep 2021 3:31am
1st Sep 2021 3:31am
The Case of the Match-Point Poisoner
for dartford, who was kind enough to say that he enjoyed my first Homer Featherstonhaugh adventure, The Case of the Calamitous Currency
a detective story
‘It was certainly the case that made my name’ said Homer Featherstonhaugh (pronounced Fan-shaw), modestly, in response to his friend’s effusive praise of his work on the case of The Match-Point Poisoner. He puffed his cigar before a roaring fire in a drawing room at Vikram’s, a gentleman’s club. It was six years after the Great War. Dr Theodore Devlin refilled his pipe. He didn’t care for cigars, but took a moment...
a detective story
‘It was certainly the case that made my name’ said Homer Featherstonhaugh (pronounced Fan-shaw), modestly, in response to his friend’s effusive praise of his work on the case of The Match-Point Poisoner. He puffed his cigar before a roaring fire in a drawing room at Vikram’s, a gentleman’s club. It was six years after the Great War. Dr Theodore Devlin refilled his pipe. He didn’t care for cigars, but took a moment...
#murder
#ShortStory
#mystery #historical
#mystery #historical
297 reads
0 Comments
Baldwin
Poem Published
30th Aug 2021 10:07pm
30th Aug 2021 10:07pm
Derbyed Men
For derbyed men
it seems a kind of Pentecost again ---
instead of tongues of fire.
moon slices have
descended on the heads
One wonders
in what shadowed languages
they’re aimed to speak,
one sideways, one direct,
and one oblique,
unto their hedged horizon and its trees
the blue above,
the greying empty plane,
they stand upon.
it seems a kind of Pentecost again ---
instead of tongues of fire.
moon slices have
descended on the heads
One wonders
in what shadowed languages
they’re aimed to speak,
one sideways, one direct,
and one oblique,
unto their hedged horizon and its trees
the blue above,
the greying empty plane,
they stand upon.
#mystery
356 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Mystery Poems
