stonepicnicking_okapi

3weeks4dreamwidth is celebrating Dreamwidth's anniversary!
Come join in for fun, memes, activities, and more ♥

The comm of the day is...

holmes_minor!

This comm is the nearest to my heart because it is a Victorian Sherlock Holmes comm and it grew from a LiveJournal comm I participated in for several years where we read all of Holmes canon in a year. A lot of lovely friendships were forged in that period, people I can't imagine my life without not.

Micro-fiction (less than 500 words) and poetry. There is a monthly prompt and a monthly poetry prompt.

The poetry page is especially nice because the mod finds all kind of wonderful videos about Victorian topics. Last months was about Victorian menswear and the plethora of pockets. And so I wrote this poem.

a sleuth's lament by 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.