Reflections

What does the mirror show you,

Is it close to what I see?

Apparently not, 

Based on your smile,

The truth is clearly

Not set free.

Because mirrors can only detail your skin,

They can't reveal what lies within,

And really,

Who knows!

This could be a good thing.

As long as you have to be you, 

I mean;

Perhaps some things should remain unseen.

Are you sure?

He might not always wear the face you first saw,
In that sea of faces,
When you thought he was...other.
He might not even be wearing the mind he wore
Whe he told you that he loved you,
That time....
Before.
He might not even be the same man.
You thought,
I'm caught.
He's a wolf in sheeps clothing,
Always after,
And before.

George Cudmore

I cam upon this story when I was googling for poetry the other day.

I followed the first link that I found which took me to the Daily Mail website. Hmmm.

Not somewhere you want to be if you want actual facts.

So I investigated a bit more and found another link to the This is Plymouth website.

I seriously recommend that you read the Daily Mail article first, then go and read the one on the This is Plymouth website.

Then just have a little game of 'spot the difference' with yourself.

Moral of this story, the truth is out there, just not on the Daily Mail website!!

Brought to Book

He had a wife and loved her, maybe for a year or so,

Until Sarah came a calling, now poor Grace, she had to go.

Well it's a risky business murder, not as easy as you think,

But for Sarah's touch he'll risk it, for her skin that's soft and pink.

Why she wants him he can't fathom, not a handsome man is he,

But she loves him with her body, so by God he will be free!

Oh rat catcher George, he knows the score, with poisons he's the best,

But getting Grace to swallow some will surely be a test.

So he dribbled arsenic in her tea, it only made her ill,

When she cried in pain, to his damn shame, he fed her poisoned pills.

With a burning throat and a raging thirst still his dying wife fought on,

'til with growing fear and panic George did call on Sarah Dunn.

Came she shakily to her lovers aid, hiding deep her shame and guilt

To administer more poison hid in roasted fruit and milk.

Grace succumbed at last, but it was clear who'd done this dreadful thing,

And soon the pair were locked up tight, George a-feared they both would swing.

What a yellow toad, what an evil snake, Sarah's guilt he did proclaim,

Saying she alone did the curse'd deeds, he was innocent of blame.

But the truth did out and the judge decreed, she should live, and he would die,

And 'for a thousand cheering people bad old George was hung on high.

But now twists the tale in an eerie way, after many years passed by

Bits of George's skin, tanned and tidied up, caught a keen librarian's eye.

How this came to pass we might never know, but I'd recommend a look

At the killer who was caught and bound, and was truly brought to book.