Admin Post: The Poetry Page: On The Bummel with Mrs. Hudson

[scfrankles]

It was a somewhat… involved… journey back from Switzerland, so I thought this month we would have a simple evening at Baker Street of tea, various fancies and an improving lecture.

To this end, I have invited Miss Nicole Rudolph to come and share her findings on the mysterious world of men’s pockets! Miss Rudolph is one of our American cousins, but I believe there is plenty of overlap between the gentlemen of our isles and gentlemen from across the Pond. (Though Mr. Holmes may be a one-off…)

Miss Rudolph, if you’d like to take it away, dear…?


When Men Had Too Many Pockets


Fascinating stuff, dear! Most entertaining and informative. If you’d like to partake now of the refreshments, and perhaps we can all mingle and informally discuss the subject further before moving onto our composing of poetr— Oh! Mrs. Frankles! You’re here at last! (I did think things seemed quieter than usual.)

Ahem. Where have you been, dear? What are—? No— No, Mrs. Frank— Mrs. Frankles! I don’t consider having a £5 note and a pocket watch waved in my face to be an answer! Could we have a try at complete sentences?

What? But… Mrs. Frankles, didn’t you get my note? After actually meeting with Mr. “Fingers” Chudleigh, I decided against the pickpocket masterclass. I felt we were getting into somewhat morally awkward territory. Yes, definitely cancelled, dear. No, Mr. “Fingers” definitely wouldn’t have been waiting at the decided rendezvous for us to practise upon. Well, I really don’t know who you pickpocketed, dea— Miss Rudolph! Oh, nothing to worry about here, honestly. Do please have another cup of tea. What a charming scarf!

(Oh dear God.)

Er, everyone? I just have to go and have a quick word with Mr. Holmes and possibly Inspector Lestrade. No, nothing to concern yourselves about!


Before I leave, here is a quotation from Dr. Watson’s work, “Silver Blaze”:

“I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in his pockets at the time of his death, Inspector…?” We all filed into the front room and sat round the central table while the Inspector unlocked a square tin box and laid a small heap of things before us. There was a box of vestas, two inches of tallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold, an aluminium pencil-case, a few papers, and an ivory-handled knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss & Co., London.



And here is the list of poetry forms:

221B verselet, abecedarian poetry, acrostic poetry, alexandrine, ballad, barzelletta, beeswing, blackout poetry, blitz poem, blues stanza, bref double, Burns stanza, call and response, chastushka, cherita, cinquain, circular poetry, clerihew, clogyrnach, colour poems, compound word verse, concrete poetry, Cornish verse, curtal sonnet, débat, décima, descort, diamante, doggerel, double dactyl, echo verse, ekphrasis, elegiac couplet, elegiac stanza, elfje, englyn, enuig, epigram, epistle, epitaph, epulaeryu, Etheree, fable, Fib, florette, found poetry, free verse, ghazal, haiku, hay(na)ku, In Memoriam stanza, Italian sonnet, jueju, kennings poem, lanturne, lies, limerick, line messaging, list poem, lyric poetry, mathnawī, micropoetry, mini-monoverse, musette, nonsense verse, palindrome poetry, pantoum, Parallelismus Membrorum, poem cycle, puente, quatern, quintilla, renga, rhyming alliterisen, riddle, rimas dissolutas, rime couée, rispetto, Schüttelreim, sedoka, septet, sestina, shadorma, sonnet, stream of consciousness, tanka, tercet, terza rima, tongue twister poetry, triangular triplet, tricube, trine, triolet, Tyburn, villanelle, xenolith

Right, I will be back soon! (Mrs. Frankles, if you could just go and “lie low” in the cellar, that would be wonderful.)

Comments

[smallhobbit]

The first thing which came from Holmes' pocket
Was a rather obliterated package docket
In other words a label
Which we placed on the table
And he continued to search in his pocket

The second thing which came from Holmes' pocket
Was a severely mangled metal sprocket
It had been dropped on the floor
When the suspect ran through the door
So he continued to search in his pocket

The third thing which came from Holmes' pocket
Was a golden chain attached to a locket
The picture inside
Was of the man who had died
And he continued to search in his pocket

The fourth thing which came from Holmes' pocket
Emerged with the force of a rocket
It burst into flames
I called Holmes various names
And he no longer possessed a coat pocket

[stonepicnicking_okapi]

I watched the video. It's hilarious and bizarre. I shall have to brood on the possibilities. Maybe Holmes (or Watson) has a special pocket made into his suits. I liked the assortment of things people put in them, and of course, all the things that can go wrong with tail coat pockets.

a sleuth's lament

[stonepicnicking_okapi]

My name is Sherlock Holmes.
I know what others do not.
Yet in my many pockets
are items which I have forgot.

A penknife is essential
for any sleuth at work,
but with too delicate a release
it’ll bring one up with a jerk

imagine prying a window,
one a murderer has shut,
then hunting about in one’s waistcoat,
and finding oneself all cut up!

for measuring the length of clues
nothing beats a rule
but store it in your tailcoat
and you’ll look a bloody fool

imagine attending an opera
uncomfortably attired
you recall quick that measuring stick
when your seat’s hard-wired

a vest Webster’s is handy
when one wants the last word
but rooting about one’s chest
is comedy absurd

imagine facing a cypher
on which hangs peril or health
only to find that one’s word-book
has escaped one’s silk lining by stealth

I had my tailor do a ‘special’
to hold my favorite pipe,
but the matches that go with it,
well, they’re another stripe

imagine hunting a cricketer
a sticky-wicket brute
only to get hit with a ball
and all’s up in flames—the case and the suit!

though the sleuth’s body is a machine
it, on occasion, obliges a snack
and of the number of pies lost to distraction
I’m afraid I cannot keep track

imagine confronting a killer
a fiend of bullet and bruise
reaching for one’s pocket pistol
and pulling out custard-y ooze

My name is Sherlock Holmes.
I know what others do not.
Yet in my many pockets
are items which I have (regrettably) forgot.