The Sunday Whirl’s wordle #27,, contained the words: rusted-out, nods, beginning, glaze, stretched, ragged, straighten, rolling, bridges, clouds, blade, and drag. Because it’s so close to Halloween, I let my imagination run wild.

by Mike Patrick

How did it begin?
It didn’t begin—not with me,
but I’ll tell you how it is
’cause you blokes got it all crooked.
It started seven years ago this Halloween,
but you coppers bloody well know that.
You the ones caught the cases.

From me home
in that rusted-out tool shed on Murkle Drive,
I heard this bloke,
tippin’ down the sidewalk, he was.
He had a bottle in his hand and he was singing.
Singing on Murkle!

Murkle ain’t no place for singing,
and it bloody well ain’t no place for the gentry.
Every boarded up, firebombed building
holds a thug, and an addict nods in every stairway.
Murkle is a place where possessing a shilling
will buy a blade slicing through your throat.

That’s the way it was supposed to go with this bloke.
I snuck close, pulled me knife
and waited, hid in a bush.
‘Fore he got to me,
he upended like;
lit on his back with a thump.
He thrashed about for a sec,
then I saw . . . something dragging him.
A gray something, flickering in an’ out
of the moonlight, moving fast.
Me blood ran cold, I’m tellin’ you.
It leaned over him for a second
then vanished into the dark.

The bloke lay on the sidewalk.
There was a gurgle,
he twitched,
and he rolled into the gutter.

I waited, oh I waited
until I was sure that gray thing was gone.
Then I snuck up and looked.
He lay there with his throat ripped out.

It was funny-like,
them eyes was looking up at the ragged clouds
crossin’ the face of the moon,
but they was glazed over,
they wasn’t seein’ nothin’.

I glommed his watch, money and bottle,
no use lettin’ em go to waste,
and dumped his body between the twin bridges.

Now you coppers got me
with blood on my hands tonight,
but I never carved that girl,
nor any them others
stretched over seven Halloweens.
I just kept hidin’ in that same bush
and let that thing do the work.

I got that girl’s bracelet tonight,
and I’ll do me time,
but I’m tellin’ you,
I’ll sleep better in the clink,
than on Murkle Drive.
I know that thing is still out there.

This entry was posted in A Wording Whirl of Sundays, Crime, Death, Fear, Free Verse, Horror, Narrative Poem, Poetry, Un-rhyming and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

21 Responses to SINGING ON MURKLE

  1. earlybird says:

    Oh my goodness! That sent a shudder down my spine! (Particularly as I’d just come from ‘Another Porch’ – much more gentle!)

  2. vivinfrance says:

    The voice you have used for this story is incredibly clear – I can ‘see’ the speaker. The place, too, comes fully formed. This is one that I should like to hear you read.

    PS, I love that word “snuck”.

  3. Susannah says:

    Love the ‘voice’ you have used to tell this tale.

    A very seasonal use of the wordle words. I enjoyed reading. 🙂

  4. Creepy! Great imagination Mike. I enjoyed the read 🙂

  5. Mike says:

    A great story Mike.
    It flowed so well I didn’t even notice the use of the wordle words.
    Sounds to me this guy is in the safest place – Murkle Drive is definitely somewhere to be avoided.
    Thanks for a great read.

  6. Janet says:

    Mike, this is brilliant, it would be great without the ‘voice’ but its ‘the voice’ that makes it ‘stellar-creepy’ and real. I can hear it. I agree, wanna record it?;) ! I like it.

  7. Traci B says:

    Fantastic Halloween piece, Mike. The sense of place and voice were well done, and the wordle words blended seamlessly.

  8. laurie kolp says:

    Mike- Intriguing and suspenseful… love your voice in this, too.

  9. Marianne says:

    What a great tale … and told so well using all those tricky wordle words!

  10. Nanka says:

    I enjoyed the read, fantastic, though my heart beats were beating a funny fast rhythm and went something like BRrrrrrrrrrr..!! Scary much horror and gruesome too, but I loved the tone in which it is written and the tiny flecks of hidden humor which cannot ever leave you Mike!! Found it hidden in your words and not in that bush 🙂
    Excellent horror poem I’ve read so far in a long time!!

  11. Oh yuck yuck yuck and then some more yuck… remind me not to go anywhere near a place called Murkle drive… What a fabulous gory story << Poet and didn't even try LOL

  12. islandcat2u says:

    And JUST in time for Halloween, my favorite holiday! Great story line and use of the words. I’m glad Murkle Drive isn’t anywhere near here…

  13. gerimomg says:

    Wow, this poem jumped right out of the page…I could hear his voice as I read it…
    and very seasonally sinister….

  14. Irene says:

    What *is* the grey thing?! Great storytelling. You put me in the mood for Halloween.

  15. Hallows eve perfect, Mike. I love the language incorporated in this piece. Nicely done.

    p.s. Where is Murkle Drive?

    • Mike Patrick says:

      I have no idea where that street name came from. I started this as a freewrite and that is the name that showed up.

  16. a haunting story, with a perfect voice of your own, masterful job.


  17. brenda w says:

    The voice, the story, the killing, oh my! I’d love to hear you read it. Seek publication. Seriously brilliant writing.

  18. Pingback: Wordle 28 « The Sunday Whirl

  19. Pingback: Caught | undercaws

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