11 – Grandmaster Marple

Poem number 11
Grandmaster Marple
Do your stuff Miss Marple
Find the killer, root them out!
Elucidate on motive
And eliminate all doubt,
Gather folk together
With the killer in their midst
Serve up some red herrings
And then cross them off the list
Before finally, The Great Reveal!
The murderer is named!
Confession, then they’re hauled away
Miss Marple wins the game!


15 – Midsomer Madness

Poem number 15
Midsomer Madness
I’m off on holiday today
I’m off to get some peace
In an English country idyl
With the pigs and ducks and geese
I’ll put my past behind me
Spend a weekend on the farm
In Midsomer, what a lovely place
No chance I’ll come to harm.

67 – Egghead

Poem number 67
It doesn’t take an Egghead
To construct this simple thought:
If you think you killed a mugger
But you never did get caught
Then for Christ sake keep your mouth shut
When you’re decades down the track –
Don’t write a signed confession
With your picture on the back.
If you must autobiographise
Then don’t include the killing
Or the police will write a warrant
And your name will have top billing,
It’s not genius, or rocket flight
It’s simple common sense –
You may well be an Egghead
But you must be bloody dense!

84 – Contractual Obligations

Poem number 84
Contractual Obligations
I kill, therefore I am perhaps
Caedes ergo sum
Murder thus personified
A bogeyman, to some.
I kill, but it’s not personal
A job and nothing more
My sleep is deep and dreamless
There’s no lock upon my door
I kill, therefore I’m coming
To your house this very day
There’s little point in running
Or in trying to get away
I kill, have killed and will kill
And you’re next upon my list
I kill, and I am coming
By tonight, you won’t exist.

92 – Punishment Park Prison

Poem number 92
Punishment Park Prison
The criminals came in two by two, huzzah! Huzzah!
The robbers and rapists and burglars too, huzzah! Huzzah!
The murderous killers, assassins and thugs
The fences and fraudsters, the men who sold drugs
And they all came into the Park
They never saw freedom again.
The Warden told them “There’s no escape,” huzzah! Huzzah!
“We’ll teach you not to kill and rape,” huzzah! Huzzah!
“We’ll black your eyes and break your thumbs
Put pens up your nostrils and sticks up your bums
And you’ll all stay here in the Park
And never see freedom again.”
Outside of the walls the world was saved, huzzah! Huzzah!
The criminals gone as the public craved, huzzah! Huzzah!
But inside the prison the Warden was dead
They’d burgled his office and cut off his head
And the Kingpins ruled their own realm
And didn’t want freedom again.
The government sent in the National Guard, huzzah! Huzzah!
The fighting was tough and the fighting was hard, huzzah! Huzzah!
The criminals lost, they were slain to a man
Their bodies removed in an old transit van
And some cleaners scrubbed out the Park
Ready for using again.
The criminals came in two by two, huzzah! Huzzah!
The poets and beatniks and thinkers too, huzzah! Huzzah!
When crime is defeated it leaves a big void
The public need scapegoats when they get annoyed
So they’ll always fill up the Park
To save their own freedom again.

99 – Jaguar Envy

Poem number 99
Jaguar Envy
Jaguar, oh Jaguar with sleek and sensual lines
I’d be afraid to park you by the shops if you were mine
Some git would scratch you with a key
Or set your roof on fire
Or even take a massive wee
Upon your lovely tyres
Then your beauty would be ruined
And I’d feel all blue and sad
So I’ll never buy a Jaguar
The world is just too bad.

158 – No Thank You Mrs Christie

Poem number 158
No Thank You Mrs Christie
I once met Agatha Christie
She bought me a bottle of rum
She tipped me a wink
And said “What do you think?”
Do you fancy a feel of my bum?”
I said “Ma’am you’re a wonderful author
Miss Marple’s a sleuth without par
Your stories are gold
But you’re wrinkled and old
And your bum is a mystery too far!”

178 – The Bastard

Poem number 178
The Bastard
The Bastard comes at noontime, in a knackered transit van
Eyes alert for white-goods or a dog
Freezer on a doorstep? Well he’ll have it if he can
He’ll take anything at all that he can flog
The van has no insurance, it’s not registered or taxed
He’s no licence ’cause he never took a test
He never pays for petrol ’cause the garage staff are lax
He’s a landlocked petrol pirate in string vest
Today he’s in West London and next week he’ll be in Bath
Via Reading, Swindon, Malmesbury and Stroud
Searching, stealing, flogging all the way along his path
He’s a bastard. He’s a scumbag. And he’s proud.

272 – The Killing

Poem number 272
The Killing
The muted crunch of carapace
The skin that splits unheard
The silent ooze of leaking flesh:
A murder has occurred.
The booted foot of malice
Is the weaponry du jour
A stamp. A grind. A pivot
‘Til the victim is no more
There’ll be no trial or punishment
No twenty years in jail
No justice for the gastropod
I’m glad I’m not a snail.