The Widow of Martin Black

Always a bit of a mystery,

She lived in a seaside shack,

Would go to town when the sun was down

The widow of Martin Black.

She always went in her mourning dress

And a veil that covered her face,

‘Do you think she’d date,’ I had asked a mate,

‘You wouldn’t be in the race!’

 

‘There’s a list of suitors, long as your arm

Just waiting to take her out,

They knew her back on her Daddy’s farm

When Martin wasn’t about,

But he trumped them all with his shiny Porsche

With his black cravat and coat,

And in the bay not a mile away

With his V6 Jet-ski boat.’

 

‘You tell me she was a good time girl

In love with material things?’

‘She certainly liked the odd gemstone

And her hands were covered with rings.

But that was him, with his taste for gold

That he liked to shower on her,

And parade her down in the glitz of town

With bling, and covered in fur.’

 

‘And yet, I’ve not seen a single chain

Or a necklace, brooch or ring,

She’s so austere when I’ve noticed her

I’ve not seen anything,

She wears a drape of the blackest crepe

And a veil that hides her eyes,

But pauses there when I stop and stare

As if caught in some surprise.’

 

‘That isn’t much of a mystery

If you knew the couple, Jack,

You might as well be a twin of him

The fabled Martin Black.

She’d think that his ghost had risen up

If she saw you in the street,

You might just give her a heart attack

If your dress is not discreet.’

 

I went back home to the mirror, donned

A coat and a black cravat,

And topped it off with a load of bling

And an old black stove-pipe hat,

The type they said that he used to wear

When they roamed abroad at night,

Taking in all the music halls

To dance till the early light.

 

She saw me there in the street, and screamed

Then rushed at me and attacked,

And cried, ‘you’re not going to spoil my dreams,

You’ll not be coming back!’

Her fists had pounded my solid form

Til she stopped, collapsed and cried,

And babbled out a confession that

For long, she’d kept inside.

 

The last I heard she was with the police

Who had questioned her all night,

Extracted all of the details of some

Long and drawn out fight,

They took her down to the waterfront

Where the Jet-ski boat was kept,

And then began to rip up the floor

As the widow wailed and wept.

 

And he was there with a livid scar

Where she’d slashed him in the throat,

Stuffed him under the planks and boards

By his pride and joy, the boat,

I didn’t know he had disappeared

When I’d thought to bring him back,

But all I’d caused was a host of tears

For the Widow of Martin Black.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[KeithFowler]

There have been other Poet's that have attempted to write true Narrative Poetry, and only a few, very few have been able to produce that spine chilling affect that Mr. David Lewis Paget does every single time he writes. Once before when Edgar Allan Poe lived there was a Poet of Mr. Paget's stature and since Poe's death we have awaited his return, and we now have him in the form of Mr. Paget. I suggest you find someone to sit with you be it day or night when you read his works, if you don't then make reservations at the nearest hospital because you will be scared to death. Words can and do affect the human spirit, and only a select number entice readers to follow into the darkness where horror and fear reside, Mr. Paget in this poem, leads you by the hand to where Poe once did as well.

[A Soap Mess Stories]

An eerie but brilliantly written tale.

[MomzillaNC]

Brilliant… just plain brilliant.

[R Smith]

excellent David, the stories just keep getting better all the time, this one gives us the murderess surely believing she'e seeing the man she killed and giving away the crime as yet uncovered, a masterful write my friend :)

[Helen Crutchett]

OMG David you just keep getting better and better.....

Absolutely adored this story from you. I know that when I get to read you I am going to have a jolly good time and a BLAST.

I can't tell you how much your poems mean to me and of course all how read them. They are a breath of fresh air, entertaining and so damn good!!

Write on amazing David Lewis Paget


Helena Blue Rose

[Valentine]

Wow, she thought she had it all but for some reason gold, rings, and valuables were all he had to give her. She was sneaky, but just not crafty enough. She should of took up with the new dude. Valentine

[Marie]

If the widow killed Martin Black for his money, she certianly didn't get much out of it.She must hae felt guilty all the time.

[Ricky Campbell]

Very lengthy! also a great write!!

[Barbz]

Alas and alack, the widow was all in black. Eyes were hidden behind her mourning veil. A stranger brought her back to the image of Martin Black, who she slew, and ended up in jail. This poem caused a grin, for things did not fit in.....a Porsche and a modern Jet Ski boat? You keep us on our toes, for no one ever knows where you're going with your knowing, brilliant gloat! Your variety is outstanding...Barbz

[Einstein Noodle]

always best to be ones self eh!? ... for a moment during reading i thought the story might be going vampire ;) .. i suppose in a way it is .. she did drain his blood! ;)
E.