Man or Machine?
A man,
Or is it?
In a chair,
The wheels of his brain,
Twisting and turning,
Like cogs in a machine.
His analytical mind,
Sorting things like a computer.
He seems devoid of feeling,
A cold precise mind,
Inside a human shell.
Astounding to others,
So simple to himself,
Is he a man?
Or is he a machine?
An Ode to Watson
Watson, a good friend is he.
He wrote Sherlock's biography.
Watson was a true blue friend,
He stuck with Sherlock until the end.
He may not have been a successful physician,
But as Holmes's sidekick he held that position.
Watson, our dear friend and author,
We salute you, let us be a king, prince, or pauper.
The Irony of Conflict
Like a lizard and cobra
At each other's throats.
Twisting and fighting,
Writhing and hissing.
A strike from one,
The other dances back.
A moment of hesitation,
A rush,
A hiss of pain from the lizard,
The snake's eyes gleam.
It turns away.
The lizard recovers.
It sees its opportunity,
The lizard strikes,
Crimson now on both their mouths.
They face off again,
Equal in power,
Equal in intelligence.
And then,
Comes the mongoose,
Snapping them both up
It seems to smirk
It walks away,
No one can tell the fight took place,
Where did the mongoose come from?
No one knows,
No one cares,
All they know,
Is,
The mongoose prevailed.
The Victim
Contorted,
Disfigured,
Gruesome,
All of these,
The Victim.
An empty room,
In the middle,
Lays The Victim.
No mark is found,
But there is blood.
The Victim lies still,
Everything around him,
Unmoved and untouched.
The Victim calls for justice
On the wall,
RACHE
Is scrawled,
The German word,
For revenge.
Who was The Victim?
Why was he killed?
Only The Detective can find out.
The Flower of Utah
Her sandy golden hair,
Her tepid pool of water eyes,
Her rosy cheeks,
And free spirit,
Made her,
The Flower of Utah.
A young woman,
In the world,
A world of religious injustice,
Mormons claimed her as theirs,
A free man of the west claimed her as his,
She was stripped of those she really loved,
Her father shot and killed,
Her cowboy gone,
She couldn't refuse,
The Flower,
Tortured into loving one she did not,
Withered and died under the Mormons
She would have bloomed in the West.
The Flower of Utah,
So young,
So beautiful,
So neglected.
The Cowboy
His name's not important,
Oh, you say it is?
Jefferson Hope,
The Cowboy.
He rode the plains of Utah,
Taking care of his cattle,
One day fate pushed him towards a girl,
His heart a flutter,
He rushed in and saved the day,
She thanked him and rode home on her horse.
The picture of her,
Lived in his mind.
Plagued him night and day.
He had to see her again,
And he did.
In love was this cowboy,
She had lassoed his heart
Two worlds were going to be one.
Two people merged,
Lives forever changed.
Until…
The day she was snatched away.
His friend and her father,
Shot and killed.
His love,
Taken from him by two men.
He swore revenge,
A mad fire swept him up.
He would win in the end,
He vowed it.
The cowboy,
Forever alone,
To fulfill his quest.
This Cowboy,
Is out for,
Revenge!
The Violin
Careless scratching
Beautiful melodies,
Very different,
Yet,
The same.
They are used
To clear the mind
To free you
Of conscious thoughts.
His brain's wheels,
Turning and twisting,
Sometimes as abstract
As the notes he produces
Sometimes as grim
As Bach's fugues
The Violin
A treat
A torture
A gift
A curse
That is the Violin
Remembrance
Never to be lost
Or forgotten
That is the famous pair
Their identities carved in history
The most famous friends
The Great Detective and his Boswell
Forty years of partnership
Sustained through tough and dull times
Devoted and enthralled readers
Tears flowed
Like the waterfalls in the Swiss Alps
When Holmes met his fate
But,
He outwitted death
And returned once again!
The remembrance of the detective
And his friend
Will continue through the ages
Inspiring young people to thwart crime
Intriguing and provoking people
As they pick up the famed accounts.