103 Mystery Poems That Will Spark Your Imagination

“Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth.”

Samuel Johnson’s words echo the essence of this exploration into the enigmatic world of mystery poems.

Just as a well-crafted mystery novel captivates with its twists and turns, mystery poems hold the power to spark your imagination and stir the depths of curiosity.

This article introduces you to a curated selection of poems about mystery, ranging from the best and famous to the funny and short.

Our journey through this mystery poetry is poised to ignite your imagination and keep you craving for more.

Best Mystery Poems

Delve into a world of enigma with the best poems about mystery. These verses expertly weave intrigue, inviting you to embrace the allure of the unknown, sparking your curiosity with every line.

1. Enigmas

       by William Stanley Braithwaite

The joy of the world is in a man’s strength,
The sorrow of the world in a woman’s tears;
Beauty lives and dies in a second’s length,
And Time rolls on the years.
The battles of the world are in a man’s dream,
The altars of the world in a woman’s eyes;
Out of Eden follows one long far gleam
Till the last slow sunset dies.

2. O Little Road

       by Annette Wynne

O little road, where do you go?
I saw you start a while below,
And then you climbed the woody hill;
It almost seemed you’d reach the sky,
While down below so patient,
I Am standing, waiting for you still.
Will you sometime turn round and then
Hurry back to home again?
Or will you always want to stray
To richer lands far, far away—
And never once look back to see
This little house and waiting me?

3. Invisible

       by Emily Dickinson

From us she wandered now a year,
Her tarrying unknown;
If wilderness prevent her feet,
Or that ethereal zone
No eye hath seen and lived,
We ignorant must be.
We only know what time of year
We took the mystery.

4. The Mystery

       by Anonymous

One mystery there is, and one alone,
Baffles the human spirit with despair,
Filches the very sunlight from the air.
And wrenches every breath into a groan.
Oh, it is when our loved, our very own,
The good,—so good! the fair,—so dearly fair!
Are doomed some awful agony to bear.
And all their sweet, pure life becomes a moan.
Send us, O God! amid our aching tears
The memory of Thine accepted fate,—
Thy Son, Thy best beloved, torn with spears
Of all our mortal woes disconsolate;
So that our mystery of pain appears
A mystery of love and not of hate.

5. Mystery

       by Dudley Hughes Davis

A little brook, with beauties grand,
Comes rippling from a mountain spring,
And winds its way o’er stone and sand
Through woods where birds melodious sing.
Through time unknown to days of man,
This murmuring stream has found its way,
And cut a ravine through the land,
A link in nature’s grand display.
And interwoven timber bends
In wreathy arches o’er the walls,
Through which this little brook descends,
To make its leap down o’er the falls.
It rushes down its winding stair,
A bold and sparkling silvery sheet;
It sends its mist into the air,
And forms a rainbow at its feet.
By little streams the chasm cliff
Is worn to grains of drifting sand,
And angry waters foam and drift
Through wonderous wall not made by hand.
And man looks back through time unknown
To date the wonderous streamlet hand,
Which sculptured chasm wall of stone,
And wore its chips to grains of sand.
But could the work a life had done
Be seen by eves of mortal man,
The sands that crumble one by one
Could equal not the busy hand.
Though life is short man, leaves the stage,
As though his wonderous work was done,
Another man, another age,
Proves that his work has just begun.
So like the mystic cataract stream
Which flows a myriad years through sand,
The world’s adrift by light and stream,
The work of ages, brain and hand.

6. The Cabin of Mystery

       by James W. Whilt

No trail leads to this cabin,
Not even a blaze on a tree,
Hidden beneath the tall dark firs
Is this cabin of mystery?
No one knew its builder
Or when this cabin was made,
Not one of the oldest trappers
Can explain or give any aid.
The stove still stands in the corner,
The table all neat and clean
And the cupboard still holds its grubstake
As fine as ever was seen.
But there are no traps or stretchers
So no trapper was he,
No prospector’s pick or shovel, —
All adds to the mystery.
No name upon the door-jamb,
No initials cut in the wall,
No calendar hangs by the window,
Just silence and mystery—that’s all.
But the hills hold many a secret,
That the trails and streams never tell,
We can only guess at the answer
And perhaps it’s just as well.
Now as I gaze at this cabin,—
Brush almost obscuring the door,—
Many moons have you guarded the secret,
Keep guard for as many more.
But perhaps when we cross the border
And step aboard death’s train,
The secrets of hills and mountains,
To us will then be plain.

7. To the Northern Lights

       by Isaac Gray Blanchard

Ye gorgeous visions of the northern sky,
Mysterious and sublime!
Who lit your brilliant lights on high?
Stream ye alone in idle revelry
Above our cloudy clime,
Without an aim, or nature, more
Than mortal vision can explore?
Or have ye some high, unknown ministry?
Whence sprang ye into birth?
In distant realms unseen?
Or claim ye sisterhood with earth?
And will your strange, ethereal sheen
Fade with her fading green?
Man’s wisdom has not told—
Ye are a mystery,
Which time perhaps shall ne’er unfold;
Philosophy, whose eagle pinion bold
Has conquered space, and brought the planets near
To her inspecting eye,
Has sought in vain to fathom you,
Or tell the office that ye do.
Ye are of latter date—
Say—are ye for a sign,
Lit by the hand divine,
Whence earth should read her coming fate?
Signs shall be set in heaven,
And wonders meet the eye,
And naming prodigies be given
Within the upper sky.
Ye may be such—yet man would be
Most backward thus to interpret ye,
Who glides in blind security
Down Time s exhausting tide;
Puts far away the evil day,
Or dreams that he shall dwell for aye
In all his lust and pride.
Whate’er ye are, ye have an aim,
For He has lit your wondrous flame,
Who fashions not a flower in vain,
And howe’er fruitlessly we pry
Into your inward mystery,
One feature still is plain—
Like as in all His works, sublime or fair,
We trace the glories of the Godhead there!

8. The Listeners

       by Walter de la Mare

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

9. Virginia Dare

       by Virginia F. Townsend

Amid the hum of summer bees,
And wind’s soft laughter in the trees,
And distant murmur of the seas,
Oh, English child, thy blue eyes woke
In that lone Isle of Roanoke,
Round which white blooms of surges broke.
And birds sang through the golden air,
Green vines hung out their banners fair,
To welcome thee, Virginia Dare.
Oh, sweet babe on thy mother’s knees,
While round thee flashed the birds and bees,
Why looked her sad eyes to the seas?
Ah, never on that far blue line,
Her hungry gaze would catch the sign—
Would see the sails like white mists shine.
But when she marked the glimmering spray,
Its fringes round the green coast lay,
She thought of hawthorn blooms in May.
And round that coast the birds’ song flowed,
The oriflammes of sunset glowed,
Yet there no fleet at anchor rode.
It came at last—the English tongue
Through Roanoke’s green arches rung,
And birds and bees for answer sung.
No human passion, love or prayer,
Have ever laid thy secret bare;
God only knows Virginia Dare!

10. A Mysterious Neighbour

       by Sandra Martyres

Sprightly and very much alive
For someone seventy-five
Wearing her trade mark sunglasses
To hide any trace of wrinkles
Are these accessories
Armour to preserve
Her ever youthful image?
Every gesture
Is carefully choreographed
To leave behind an aura of mystery

No one knows her history
Some think she may have been
A fashion designer or a
Classical dancer of yesteryear
Which she neither confirms nor denies
All this conjecture perhaps
Stems from her own wild imaginings
She drops little hints while talking
Leaving people to conclude
That after an illustrious past

She has settled down
In the vicinity to a more
Peaceful and relaxed existence
Yet no one dares question her
Fearing her sarcasm
With haiku-like concision
While fielding difficult questions
From curious neighbours
So she will continue to be an enigma
Until someone uncovers
Her true story –if there is one

11. A Mysterious Voice

       by Valsa George

From here and there
I hear him speak
His voice, falling in mild whispers
But he always plays hide n’ seek

At times he speaks loud n’ clear
Sometimes so harsh and stern
How he denies my wild longings
With a stubborn ‘Yes’ or ‘No’

What magic and mystery in him stored
I am at a loss to gauge
Amid the shards of my broken sleep
I often struggle to decipher his mysterious codes

I sought after him ever and ever
Down the nights and through the days
Taking him to be one from the dead
I searched him through avenues dark

Along aisles of the dead lain in rows
And in the hallways of fame
But he eluded me like a mysterious sprite
Prancing around and hiding about

When I give up my search after him
He shouts and whistles amid the din
And I see faint truths suddenly uncoiling
With a clearer perspective of life coming into view

At the end of my incessant search
I chanced to meet him within my own self
Peering into my depths, I saw him, his face veiled
And a balance held obliquely in his hands

Lifting the veil from his countenance
I saw him clear, clear as in a mirror
Someone with such commanding air
And stern with an impassive demeanour

In the still pool of the engulfing silence
I heard him introduce himself
His sound ringing so distinct and clear
Leaving echoes in the hall of stillness

“I am CON- SCI-ENCE, your alter ego
Listen to me, you shall not stray’’!

12. Mysterious Perception

        by Sandra Feldman

It may be that,
Poets have a third eye
Hidden, way down
In their prodigious
And prolific
Minds,
That often
Can explain things,
Giving answers
To ‘Why’

And to the mysteries,
That otherwise escape,
The naked eye.

13. The Mysterious Cat

       by Vachel Lindsay

I saw a proud, mysterious cat,
I saw a proud, mysterious cat
Too proud to catch a mouse or rat—
Mew, mew, mew.

But catnip she would eat, and purr,
But catnip she would eat, and purr.

And goldfish she did much prefer—
Mew, mew, mew.

I saw a cat—’twas but a dream,
I saw a cat—’twas but a dream
Who scorned the slave that brought her cream—
Mew, mew, mew.

Unless the slave were dressed in style,
Unless the slave were dressed in style

And knelt before her all the while—
Mew, mew, mew.

Did you ever hear of a thing like that?
Did you ever hear of a thing like that?
Did you ever hear of a thing like that?
Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.
Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.
Oh, what a proud mysterious cat.
Mew . . . mew . . . mew.

14. This Life Mysterious

       by William Jackson

This life fragile all too easily shatters.
Three tragedies I will never understand,
Crushing beauty, flowering hate, loss of innocence.

This life sorrowful breaks my heart.
Three states of being I will never comprehend,
Young cruelty, misogyny, willing victims.

This life confounding I cannot easily grasp.
Three failings I will never accept,

Love of ignorance, basking in stupidity, giving up.

And yet,

This Life lovely lives in me immortal.
Three realities I understand. We only seem to die,
Seeds grow, and God is our source.

This Life alive sings to me.
Three things I accept but cannot fully fathom.

God’s patience, God’s goodness, the divine image of man.

This Life resilient feels deeply.
Three truths I hope to manifest.
(Mercy, kindness, gentleness),
The human heart divine.

15. The Mysterious Visitor

       by Oliver W. Holmes

THERE was a sound of hurrying feet,
A tramp on echoing stairs,
There was a rush along the aisles,–
It was the hour of prayers.

And on, like Ocean’s midnight wave,
The current rolled along,
When, suddenly, a stranger form
Was seen amidst the throng.

He was a dark and swarthy man,
That uninvited guest;
A faded coat of bottle-green
Was buttoned round his breast.

There was not one among them all
Could say from whence he came;
Nor beardless boy, nor ancient man,
Could tell that stranger’s name.

All silent as the sheeted dead,
In spite of sneer and frown,
Fast by a gray-haired senior’s side
He sat him boldly down.

There was a look of horror flashed
From out the tutor’s eyes;
When all around him rose to pray,
The stranger did not rise!

A murmur broke along the crowd,
The prayer was at an end;
With ringing heels and measured tread,
A hundred forms descend.

Through sounding aisle, o’er grating stair,
The long procession poured,
Till all were gathered on the seats
Around the Commons board.

That fearful stranger! down he sat,
Unasked, yet undismayed;
And on his lip a rising smile
Of scorn or pleasure played.

He took his hat and hung it up,
With slow but earnest air;
He stripped his coat from off his back,
And placed it on a chair.

Then from his nearest neighbor’s side
A knife and plate he drew;
And, reaching out his hand again,
He took his teacup too.

How fled the sugar from the bowl
How sunk the azure cream!
They vanished like the shapes that float
Upon a summer’s dream.

A long, long draught,–an outstretched hand,–
And crackers, toast, and tea,
They faded from the stranger’s touch,
Like dew upon the sea.

Then clouds were dark on many a brow,
Fear sat upon their souls,
And, in a bitter agony,
They clasped their buttered rolls.

A whisper trembled through the crowd,
Who could the stranger be?
And some were silent, for they thought
A cannibal was he.

What if the creature should arise,–
For he was stout and tall,–
And swallow down a sophomore,
Coat, crow’s-foot, cap, and all!

All sullenly the stranger rose;
They sat in mute despair;
He took his hat from off the peg,
His coat from off the chair.

Four freshmen fainted on the seat,
Six swooned upon the floor;
Yet on the fearful being passed,
And shut the chapel door.

There is full many a starving man,
That walks in bottle green,
But never more that hungry one
In Commons hall was seen.

Yet often at the sunset hour,
When tolls the evening bell,
The freshman lingers on the steps,
That frightful tale to tell.

16. Mysterious World

       by David Harris

We live in a mysterious world
with many things yet to be seen.
Everyday new things are discovered,
some from the dawning of time.
Most lay undisturbed in backwaters
where no humans go
and some are thought to be
something else entirely.
As we venture forward,
new things are discovered

about this mysterious world,
this world we call our home.

17. The Mysterious Visitor

       by Vasily A. Zhukovsky

Spirit, lovely guest, who are you?
Whence have you flown down to us?
Taciturn and without a sound
Why have you abandoned us?
Where are you? Where is your dwelling?
What are you, where did you go?
Why did you appear,
Heavenly, upon the Earth?

Mayhap you are youthful Hope,

Who arrives from time to time
Cloaked in magic
From a land unknown?
Merciless as Hope,
Sweetest joy you show us
For a moment, then
Take it back and fly away.

Was it Love that you enacted
For us all in mystery?

Days of love, when one beloved
Rendered this world beautiful
Ah! then, sighted through the veil
Earth did seem unearthly…
Now the veil has lifted; Love is gone;
Life is empty, joy – a dream.

Was it Thought, enchanting
You embodied for us here?
Far removed from every worry,
With a dreamy finger pointing
To her lips, she sallies forth
Just like you, from time to time,
Ushers us without a sound
Back to bygone days.

Or within you dwells the sacred spirit
Of Dame Poetry?
Just like you, she came from Heaven
Veiling us twofold:
Using azure for the skies,
And clear white for earth;
What lies near is lovely through her;
All that’s distant – known.

Or perhaps ’twas premonition
That descended in your guise
And to us with clarity described
All that’s sacred and divine?
Thus it often happens in this life:
Something brilliant flies to meet us,
Raises up the veil
And then beckons us beyond.

18. Mysterious Ache

       by Nosheen Irfan

What is this ache?
Feeding on you
Emptying you
It’s not headache
It’s not heartache
It’s not felt in body
But it’s there
Like a microscopic pest
Gnawing away at your
Will to live.

19. Mysterious

       by M. Asim Nehal

As I went past the mountain, hill,
A voice echoed and said something;
Won’t you follow your dreams?
I stopped for a while to check
Deep valley whispering the song of life
While the hawk hovering above.

20. Love’s Mysterious Attraction

       by Sandra Feldman

love mysterious poem
How curious is Love!
That irrepressible,
Attraction
To a perfect stranger,
Of whom, so often
We really, know
Nothing about
Yet becomes,
More important
Than life itself,

And without whom,
It’s impossible,
To be happy
Or even enjoy
Life,
Ever again!

Famous Mystery Poems

Enter the world of famous poems about mystery, where literary legends have penned verses that unravel the profound mysteries of life and human nature, leaving an indelible mark on literary history.

1. Nocturne from Night’s Nethermost Hollows

       By Leila

Come, midnight’s murkiest musings, this melancholy muse summons me near;
Come, call joy from its grave, bid mysteries mask more mysteries nevermore;

Gloom, come weave your ebony all, till sorrows strains this spirit enthrall
Till mysteries, mourning and melodies their mystic maneuvers end…

Woods weep in willows’ waves, elegy’s toll in wind’s susurrant song;
Bare branches bear no boons, ling’ring leaf-scents shroud hopes in airy shrouds

Shadows shiver o’er griefs veiled in voices’ chthonic choirs, green graces fade
Senses stand stripped in starkness, sadness sealing all with seals of woe

Nature echoes Solomonic sighs, all creation joined in Job’s lament;
And Echoes of ecstasies past pall to plaintive pipings of pain most pure;

Come gloom, ghostly ghoulish wraith, wield your ebony arts this wretch to entrance
Come, summon spirits from slumber, let joy, gloom, mirth my midnight masque play,

Mournful melodies pervade, e’en Lethe’s lonely shores resound their plaintive hymn.
From limbs leaf-cloaked, mournful mysteries hang sheer as shrouds strewn on boughs shorn;

Fall fades to melancholy in dim songs fading upon branches laid bare
Shaped by shadows shrouding in shaded specters now veiled, veiling love’s last lights

Green gloams drowned in final gasps, this groan a requiem for choruses entwining

Come clutch me close in clutches of coal-black clammy care,
Come claim me wholly for your spectral realm of ruin dire.

If forests fold wails to weaving, no wonder my keening cuts through evening’s veil—
Lorn, want’s woven wounds are writ upon twilight’s tear-stained tablets revealed

Lorn lyres lament ‘neath light’ning-cleft towers, cassandras call thro’ croaking ravens hoarse…
Trailed after Theseus thread, th’essenceless maze holds fast this fearful fane.

Come dreaded dark, thy dominion don—sorrow’s seat most suits this sub-lunary swain

Summon, dreaded Dark, cloak this wretch in wings of widowed woe;
Beckon, drape me in robes of ravening regret, despair’s deathfolds don.

Call, Song of Sorrow, wellspring of sighs, let waters wet this wight;
Beg, bard of woe, ease endless ache through songs sad.

Entreat, Orpheus, with music entertain my mournful mind;
Implore, Dante, divine doleful ditties which depict desolation.

Claim, dominion dawn you in deepest dyes dread,
Hail, crown me captive king of your cold courts most grim

Urge, pall your pall upon this piteous pain,
Convoke, harbor here my heavy heart in hymns of heartache.

…Invoke, spirits from slumber, let shades sway at my midnight masque,
Till mysteries, mourning and melodies their mystic endings know….

2. Night’s Chalice

       by Allanrockart  

Hear in the long sound of night’s
Translucent colorings the wind,
Feel the presence of an open door
The pale evening backing away
The mind a chalice to be filled by night

Asleep under a butane sky
My son and I let time unchaperoned
Do as it will, resistance gentle
The branches moving in the wind

The wind may shape the evening
Or the stream sass up, a present sound
Birds call in the soul of trees
In the stealthy waiting dark
Where we embrace the fall to sleep

The mind fashions
All of these,
All that they are in these imaginings.
Yet it can never
Know the truth
Nearer the souls of these things themselves.
Rise up in the moment of pure being
Saying the moon is a stone of night

With a receding ripple of thought
The water flowing in the dark, the other side,
In moonlight the billowing silver surface
Always flowing away.

You can’t know time
But you may feel it taking place
When least expecting
The dawn
Says it has passed.

We awaken in light
We recede into darkness
And then awaken again.

3. It’s Cold Watching the Stars

       by Allanrockart

Buffalo Bill
Went drifting by
In the dark deep water
Beneath the sky

Calamity Jane
With skirts a billowing
Found the experience
Rather chilling

The miner searches
With his head face down
He doesn’t know
That he has drown

At the surface the stars bounce away
Down here in a merry go round of the dead
We hold our places on display
In this silent dance we go where the currents flow
 
You called out names like Buffalo Bill
But you don’t really know us.
We’re just dead people floating by
At six hundred feet under the sky

In icy darkness, we’re much as we were
When we stopped being
Part of the air and became
Part of the water.

4. The Unseelies

       by Anonymous

The Unseelies –
Could they also have their
‘Holy See’?
What would their role be then?

If no one sees them,
Apart from dreams
And desolation,
How will their solitude
Turn into consolation?

The Unseelies – solely for the solemn events
People of Ireland rewire them
Into modern legends,
However their whispers might haunt someone,
Their lightness in the air
Cannot be undone.

A flair of mystery –
A story for the youthful ones,
The unseelies disappear
Under a sithering sun.

5. Once Again

       by Anonymous

Wind  is  hissing in  the  forest tonight
I  can  hear  the  sound
trees  don”t  shake  or  leaves take  flight
stiff as  a cadaver  they  stand  still
as i  walk  the  path  between them
a  graveyard of  tall  phantoms
with eyes  i  cannot  see
hands  holding  glistening daggers to  cut  me

pushing  on  my clean suit hitting my  head
rough  as  a school yard  bully
screaming with  the voices  of  those  long  dead
demanding currency from  my  empty  pockets
and i watch my  house  in  the  distance
chimney smoke rising  lights  flickering
yellow  wings  of  fire in  the  black  horizon
float  like a bad dream repeating
the  front door  is  open  but  i  can  never
go  in
I  weep at  the foot of  my  headstone
and  enter into  the  ground and  my coffin
once  again

6. Horses on the Hill

       by Allanrockart

Day to day the images on the hillside
change their dispositions to the sun,
moving against the horizon
defined by a line from the mind
through the eye
from a chosen vantage point

A shadow, a shade of wind
wayward over the quiet water.
We see the shadows of things
that themselves show us no form.

Do they have no final articulation
without the observer
casting a spell
with the cells of his being?

All the beauties in the mind
are only the ones seen when they are seen.

Today a sadness lingered and shifted
creating an inner twilight,
the cold chill of darkness hovering,
passing perturbations shifting the viewing angle.

The horses spun on the hills
shadows turning to the other side,
silhouettes against the dawn, frozen beauty,
forms of beauty on the awakening day.

At night cast in the same poses,
their beauty is no less for being dark.
The mind can see the beauty
when the eye can’t.

7. The Cave

       by Allanrockart

In the cave
You stand in old silence
Pocket of unremembered time,
Did the universe form around it?

Damp moonlight,
Wet walls, reluctant light
There is a sound that can’t be heard.

This silence means something.
You stand in a dream that’s gone,
Clothes fall like ashes,
Dark silk falls away,
A wind is nowhere.

Hold the black walls.
Face on the wet walls.
My cheek is cold
As something very old moves
Just out of reach.

8. Raven Tell Me: Emotions Suspended in the Air

       by S.V. Mastison  

Flying over my head, what do you see?
You are blessed or cursed, that is how it must be.
You travel through the veil of magic and mystery.

Locked within your ebony eyes the stars hide.
The suspense and intrigue of the night only you provide.
All the secrets you hold inside.

Magic suspends you in the air each night.
Cloaked in the unknown bathed in starlight.
The moon’s emotions are your only companions tonight.

9. Panamint

       by Anonymous

Out on the vale
In the quiet time
I sit on the alluvial fan
Falling away

Emptiness has a quiet depth
Distance beyond sight
Where nothing is trying
To be anything
It is here, that’s all
And all it really is
Or needs to be.

Desert is a feeling in the mind
Of openness beyond protection
Where the soft sibilant wind
Brings deep feeling
With no meaning
Here the stars fall like rain
And become grains of sand

The desert has been here a long time
But is not waiting for anything
It is not lonely, it is not empty
It is a warm wind touching you
Without asking for more

10. Ghost Whispers: Born in the Shadows

       by S.V. Mastison  

Branches scratch against my window from the skeletal trees.
In a soundless room you listen as the wind breaths.

You strike a match and ignite a candle, the shadows retreat.
Just beyond my bed no longer covering my feet.

The curtains begin to dance in a windless room.
My sainted candle begins to dance to the same tune.

Weaving through the shadows to my window staring at my garden below.
All but the rosebushes are covered in a silvery blanket of snow.

The moon is shrouded in an icy mist as she ascends her throne.
Like the magic of the tide the stars arrive, so she won’t be alone.

For an instant she calls to me.
Like a ghost she sets my spirit free.

Funny Mystery Poems

Laughter meets intrigue in these funny poems about mystery. Explore the lighter side of mystery as humor and mystery intersect to create verses that entertain and provoke thought.

1. The Case of the Missing Cookie

       by Ogden Nash

A cookie was on the plate,
And then it wasn’t there.
I looked all around,
But it was nowhere.

I searched the high and low,
But the cookie was gone.
I couldn’t find it anywhere,
Not even under the lawn.

Then I saw a grin on my cat’s face,
And I knew who the culprit was.
She had eaten the cookie,
And now she was giving me sass.

2. The Case of the Disappearing Socks

       by Shel Silverstein

Where do the missing socks go?
It’s a mystery to all.
One day they’re here, the next they’re gone,
Like magic in the hall.

Some say they’re eaten by monsters,
That live beneath the bed.
Others say they’re stolen by fairies,
Who use them for a sled.

But the truth is, no one knows
Where the missing socks go.
It’s a mystery that will forever remain,
One of life’s many unsolved woes.

3. The Case of the Mysterious Whoopie Cushion

       by Jack Prelutsky

There once was a whoopie cushion,
That was quite the mystery.
It would go off at random times,
And leave everyone in glee.

No one knew who had put it there,
Or how it had gotten in.
But it always seemed to be there,
When you least expected a grin.

One day, the whoopie cushion went off,
During a very important meeting.
Everyone started laughing,
And the meeting was over in a seating.

The whoopie cushion had struck again,
And left everyone in awe.
It was the most mysterious whoopie cushion,
That anyone ever saw.

4. The Case of the Singing Toothbrush

       by Kenn Nesbitt

I woke up one morning,
To a rather strange sight.
My toothbrush was singing,
With all its might.

I brushed my teeth as usual,
But I couldn’t quite believe,
That my toothbrush was singing,
A song that I could receive.

I asked it what it was singing about,
But it wouldn’t tell me.
It just kept singing,
And singing merrily.

I’m not sure what to make of it,
But it’s quite a delight.
To have a singing toothbrush,
To brighten up my night.

5. The Case of the Talking Toilet

       by J. Patrick Lewis

My toilet talks to me,
But I don’t know why.
It whispers secrets,
As I go by.

It tells me about the weather,
And the latest news.
It even gives me advice,
On how to tie my shoes.

I’m not sure what to make of it,
But it’s quite amusing.
To have a talking toilet,
That’s always so enthusing.

6. The Case of the Missing Peanut Butter

       by Sandra Boynton

I opened the fridge this morning,
And what did I see?
The peanut butter jar was empty,
As if by magic, you see.

I looked all around the kitchen,
But it was nowhere to be found.
I couldn’t figure out what had happened,
Or where it had gone underground.

Then I saw a trail of peanut butter,
Leading out the back door.
I followed the trail,
And what did I discover?

My dog sitting in the backyard,
With a big grin on his face.
He had licked up all the peanut butter,
And now he was in disgrace.

7. The Case of the Missing Remote

       by Brian Pilling

I was sitting on the couch,
Watching my favorite show,
When the remote suddenly vanished,
Like magic, don’t you know.

I looked all over the living room,
But it was nowhere to be found.
I searched under the couch,
And behind the cushions all around.

I even checked the fridge,
And the bathroom too,
But the remote was nowhere to be seen,
It was like it had vanished into thin air, adieu.

I’m still not sure what happened,
But it’s quite a mystery.
Where did the remote go?
It’s a puzzle for me.

Short Mystery Poems

Discover the power of brevity in short poems about mystery. These concise verses distill the essence of mystery into a few lines, captivating your imagination with their concise mystique.

1. Dreams

       by Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

2. Nothing Gold Can Stay

       By Robert Frost

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

3. Passing Time

       by Maya AngelouRead

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk

One paints the beginning
of a certain end.

The other, the end of a
sure beginning.

4. A Conceit

       by Maya Angelou

Give me your hand

Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.

5. “Faith” Is A Fine Invention

       by Emily Dickinson185

“Faith” is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.

6. Insomniac

       by Maya Angelou

There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.

7. We Real Cool

       by Gwendolyn Brooks

The Pool Players.
Seven at the Golden Shovel.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

8. Suicide’s Note

       by Langston Hughes

The calm,
Cool face of the river
Asked me for a kiss.

9. A Question

       by Robert Frost

A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.

10. Hot and Cold

       by Roald Dahl

A woman who my mother knows
Came in and took off all her clothes.

Said I, not being very old,
‘By golly gosh, you must be cold! ‘

‘No, no! ‘ she cried. ‘Indeed I’m not!
I’m feeling devilishly hot!

11. And the Moon and the Stars and the World

       by Charles Bukowski

Long walks at night–
that’s what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
their beer-maddened husbands.

12. All You Who Sleep Tonight

       by Vikram Seth

All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above –

Know that you aren’t alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.

13. A Silly Poem

       by Spike Milligan

Said Hamlet to Ophelia,
I’ll draw a sketch of thee,
What kind of pencil shall I use?
2B or not 2B?

14. A Book

       by Emily Dickinson

There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

Long Mystery Poems

Embark on a journey through the depths of mystery with long poems about mystery. These verses unfold intricate tales, immersing you in a world of curiosity, where answers are found in every stanza.

1. The Mystery of the Sleeping Forest

       by Edgar Allan Poe

In the heart of the forest, there’s a mystery deep,
A secret that’s guarded by the trees that keep.
The forest is silent, the air is still,
As if something’s waiting, but won’t reveal.

The trees stand tall and dark, their branches reach,
Like arms outstretched to entangle and teach.
The leaves whisper secrets, the wind moans low,
As the forest’s mystery begins to grow.

Who are the creatures that lurk in the night?
What secrets do they hold, what strange sights?
Is there a castle hidden deep within,
Where a sleeping princess dreams of a prince?

Or is it a haunted place, where ghosts reside?
Where spirits wander, lost and terrified?
The mystery of the sleeping forest deep,
A secret that the trees forever keep.

2. The Mystery of the Vanishing Ship

       by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

It was a misty morning, the sea was calm,
When the ship set sail, without a qualm.
The crew was experienced, the ship was sound,
But it never reached its destination, never to be found.

The ship vanished without a trace,
Leaving behind a mystery in its place.
Was it swallowed by a whirlpool, or taken by a storm?
Or was it something more sinister, something to be mourned?

Some say the ship was cursed,
Doomed to sail the seas forever, cursed.
Others say it was attacked by a kraken,
A giant sea monster, a terrifying kraken.

But the truth of the matter, no one knows,
The mystery of the vanishing ship forever grows.

3. The Mystery of the Haunted House

       by Charles Dickens

On a hilltop dark, where the wind does blow,
Stands a haunted house, where secrets grow.
Its windows are boarded, its doors are locked,
But the stories of its ghosts continue to be talked.

They say that the house is cursed,
By the spirits of those who were wronged in the past.
That their restless souls haunt the halls,
Seeking peace, but never to be found at all.

There are tales of a ghostly lady,
Who walks the corridors, her face pale and shady.
Of a child who cries in the attic,
And a man who laughs in the basement, maniac.

But whether these stories are true or not,
The mystery of the haunted house remains a lot.
For those who dare to venture inside,
May never be seen or heard from again, we confide.

4. The Mystery of the Lost City

       by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Deep in the jungle, where the trees grow tall,
Lies a lost city, hidden from all.
Its temples are crumbling, its streets are overgrown,
But its secrets remain, forever unknown.

Who built this city, and why was it lost?
What treasures does it hold, what stories does it cost?
Is it a place of magic, or a place of fear?
The mystery of the lost city remains unclear.

Some say the city was cursed,
By an angry god, who wanted it dispersed.
Others say it was abandoned by its people,
Who fled in terror, for reasons they would not reveal.

But the truth of the matter, no one knows,
The mystery of the lost city forever grows.
For those who dare to venture into the jungle deep,
May find the city, but its secrets they may never keep.

5. The Mystery of the Universe

       by Carl Sagan

In the vastness of space, where the stars reside,
Lies a mystery that’s yet to be defined.
The mystery of the universe, so vast and deep,
Where secrets are hidden, and wonders sleep.

How did the universe begin?
What are its laws, and what lies within?
Are we alone, or are there others out there?
The mystery of the universe, we all bear.

Some say the universe was created by a god,
A being of infinite power, to be adored.
Others say it arose from chaos,
A self-organizing system, with its own laws.

But the truth of the matter, no one knows,
The mystery of the universe forever grows.
For all our knowledge, we are but small,
In the vastness of the universe, we stand tall.

6. Childhood Dreams Part 1

       by Sarah Bryant

When I was a child
Everything was magical
Full of mystery and the unknown
I read hundreds of books
The library my haven
My home
Hours upon hours
Night and day
I read and got lost in text
They supplied me with adventures
Secret journeys
Fun and fairy tales
I absorbed the words like a sponge
The books were my food
I devoured chapters of verse
Engrossed in paper previously trees
Entered my own little world

In my childhood dreams
Fairies were my friends
We played hop scotch on stumps of old trees
Jumped gaily across ponds
Using lily pads as our stepping stones
We stopped to talk to frogs and toads
Who sung in chorus
As we made our way along
We threw leaves in the air with glee
I danced in the rain
With pixies and elves
Gnomes and leprechauns gently teased
No hate or malice is allowed here
Just happiness and lots of cheer

Together we played hide and seek
The invisible creatures cheated of course!
“That’s not fair!” we all cry
“It’s only a game!” They reply
We forgive them
It’s all part of their charm
We chased each other through dense woodlands and trees
The bright round moon giving us some light
It was dark and spooky
But exciting at the same time
We were happy
Having fun
I wanted to dream day and night

The pixies were a bit naughty
Used to hide the keys to doors
But we were all magical in my dreams
We walked straight through them
Keys were just objects
We became like shadows we
Shimmering through walls
Like ghosts
And ghouls
The pixies played tricks on us
They lay in wait behind trees
Jumping out on springy green legs
They frighten us with a start
The fairies reprimand them
But pixies do not care
The tiny creatures laugh their pointed shoes off
And they run along
To another dark place
To startle us once again

The gnomes are round bodied and happy
All dressed the same
In floppy hats and wide belts
Stand in your garden perfectly still
They guard it from all things bad with pride
But they hide a secret as well
They run around your garden
Moving objects from their place
They play leapfrog on toadstools
Knock on your door and run away
You will never hear them
Or see them indeed
They are invisible to most at play

The gnomes chase the bees away
They want the honey for themselves
To eat on toast
Or give Winnie the Pooh
They guard the flowers
Like neighbourhood watch
Miniature security guards
Less than a foot tall
They stop deathly still
Looking like statues
As soon as they know you are there

The garden is a haven
For birds and animals alike
And the tiny magical creatures
Keep everything so bright
The fairies give it colour
The pixies provide aroma
Witches make the potions
To fertilise the earth
The sun shines down to bless it
Making it all look nice
Everyone helps in their own little way
And at night it comes alive

Fairies would take me to their home
Deep within dense bushes they live
At the bottom of an old tree
A tiny door is hidden in the stump
I shrink so I will fit in the door
Oh my days it’s so pretty inside
A never ending cave full of twinkling lights
Jewels gleam and shine within the walls
The floor is glittering with grains of gold
The sky is the ceiling
Bright shining stars challenge the blackness of the night
The paths are lined with flowers
The colours of the rainbow in full bloom
The fairies and I skip along
Arm in arm
To a kingdom far beyond
We slide up rainbows here
To get from place to place
And back down the other side
A rollercoaster of dreams you could say
The little leprechauns help us
They are our guide

In my childhood dreams fairy tales came true
I met Cinderella at the ball
Looking beautiful in her gown
A pale shade of baby blue
It sparkled as she danced
Trailing behind her along the ground
Swirling as her Prince Charming swung her around
In tune to the music
Birdsong
Sung by her friends who had helped her in the past
When her life was hard
She scrubbed floors till she was sore
While her sisters laughed on full of scorn

I met her fairy godmother too
Floating in on a cloud to attend
A lace dress of pure white
With diamonds that glistened
It sparkled like a million lights
She was elegant
Spoke softly and slowly
She was calming and had grace
Her hair was as white as snow
Her eyes as blue as ice
Her magic wand twinkled as she cast her spells of love
Conjuring all things nice

Snow White was there
With seven dwarves of course
Grumpy attended
He didn’t look happy
To go I suspect he was forced
Bashful met a beautiful girl
He was too shy to ask her out
He had met Cinderella before
He loved her but from afar
But he was happy she was happy
With her new groom the prince
They looked beautiful together
And shined like stars

Aladdin wasn’t invited
Because of the forty thieves
The tortoise got there early
Just plodded along with no rush
The hare raced past him but wore himself out
Plenty of time he could afford
He had a quick sleep
The tortoise strolled past
And arrived at the castle before
The hare was late
Had a very red face
Always in a hurry
He never ever learns
And always underestimates

Jack climbed up his beanstalk instead of the stairs
Because the castle was so tall
At the top of the beanstalk were where giants lived
The biggest ones of all
He arrived with a present
More beans wrapped in gold
They looked like sweets
With wrappers shiny and bright
Cinderella was impressed and she smiled
She asked Jack if she could use his beanstalk
He said “Of course be my guest!”
She walked over to her ugly sisters
Told them stories of great riches and the rest
Of jewels and princes too
Of kingdoms they could own
Their greed will be the end of them
Their fate they could not know
We all laughed silently
As the ugly sisters climbed the dense
Their screams heard by kingdoms beyond
As Cinderella took her revenge
Using the Woodmans axe as her aid
She chopped the beanstalk down by half
Her sisters fell
The giants landing on top of them
Squashing them
Her revenge made

Goldilocks was there
With the three bears
Daddy, mummy and baby too
They didn’t like the party food
And there was no porridge in any bowl
Baby bear started crying
Until the fairy godmother came along
She waved her twinkly magic wand again
Three bowls of porridge appear in an instant
The bears tucked in happily
But Goldilocks had to decline
She told me she’s sick of porridge
I told her I feel the same way inclined
We all danced the night away happily
Took turns to fly with Peter Pan
It was way too late for the kids to be up
But Wendy sneaked out anyway
She flew there with Peter in the dark
Her hair was messed up
The wind blew it wild
But she was happy to be there
Cinderella was her friend
She wouldn’t have missed it for the world

8. An Adverse World Uncurled

       by J.W. Earnings

“I am NOT like my father!!!
You say that again, I’m going to kill you!”

I shrivel up in shame
For, I am not to blame
For the shenanigans you put me through so many times
Sometimes, I wish I was no more, but the clock still chimes
 
Yeah, I’m more than kinda high…higher than a contact eye
That, I can’t deny — this high is flyer than a stoned fly
For all of me really need a mighty major fix  —
And yet…
Making changes in life is like ting bricks
In regret…

The memories reverberate through my wearisome brain
Much like a million pot buds that accumulate through my clustered mindset
Driven insane by an adverse world, uncurled in the drain
Such and such has been going through my dreadful headspace that make me upset
So much like your weed pieces in the bottom of your bong glass
My thoughts sprout and about as I look in the past mirror
Much like the price of your expensive, quality grass…you’re such an ass
I am looking outside, looking in — I see many an error

I have to courageously handle assholes
That act like fools and are far from angels
They are fallen angels from their own hideous hells
Depressed as hell because I’m under a thousand spells
Of vulnerability and bemusing bewilderment
Of crazed corruptivity and blazing resentment

I have dealt with manipulative, mean-spirited people for years,
Reducing me to tears deep inside, but it appears that I faced my fears
Throughout this world of destruction and decadence,
Hardly promising an adverse world of pure radiance

Thoughts of anger and frustration filter through my mind,
Leaving me behind like the smoke from your cigar, remaining left behind
Nostalgic night makes me think of the bittersweet time
When I held your neck against the wall and punched you out — it was crime!

Your foolishness has faded over the damn years
As I sink inside with a thousand, fearful tears
As I think of the times when this adverse world
Was not reversed, then unfurled…then uncurled

I do recall my mother and her motherly embrace
To protect me from facing the deep darkness
To prevent me from running life’s tribulant race
But I had to run that race of disgrace nonetheless
To unfurl the grace in front of your face…I showed you my inner designs
To twirl away the vanity from these lines…also, to show you His signs
Still, I’m laced with lonely lament and profound passion
It shows clever and crazy compassion…far from satisfaction

I smoke this pot because I’m escaping these nightmares, awakening its death stares shamefully…
Crawling and barreling inside my insanely bewildered brain…slowly, but truly escaping the negativity
The death of my beloved brother goes through my cranium
I weep and weep and weep in the deep with painful tears to shed — I’ve become numb as a starving, frightened bum

I want to cheer up my family…echoing cheerfully in my mind’s strange stride
Because I don’t really want them, ending up like me in somewhat broken pride
I’m stronger than I realize now
That I’ve recognized my past as a mere stumbling block, but I see it as learning true life lessons somehow

I remember the reminiscences of your cruel absence, never letting me be
Its sting and the tragedy thereof makes sense to me somewhat, you see?
I won’t understand it all the way, for I think about it every single day
But God only knows it entirely and He has never, ever led me astray
Actually, I pretend to understand it all the way…my worries have no end and that’s not all of it
However, deep down, it remains a mystery as He sees fit; I admit, I’m nothing without His awesome wit

Go ahead and imagine…an adverse world uncurled…
It’s truly an infinity times infinity utopia unfurled
Of endearing adoration and sheer perfection — a Kingdom beyond our own
I have recollected these fond, yet remorseful memories in mind, all alone
God is my one and only backbone,
For my back aches for Him alone
For my heart aches for Him alone
For my mind longs for Him in the depths of the unknown

I also want to bring along with me my beloved family
In this Earth of so little mirth, giving birth to vain insanity
I would more than love to show you an adverse world in my eyes
It illuminates my flourishingly flawed mindset and eliminates negativity from my head, running wild and dry, no lies

I feel regretless of yesterday in the sunny month of May at bay,
Looking forward to tomorrow’s happiness beyond the dismay
I have made it this far with my winsome wife by my side
With my beautiful, delightful daughter, joy and gladness in her stride of inner childlike pride

In this adverse world, uncurling in imaginary, invigorating light,
We will produce another family of plenty, together freer than free
We are like a wolf in his pack and an owl of midnight flight
I am better off, embracing the adverse world before your eyes of elegant empathy, my desert flowery plain of ecstasy

I am not like my father once again…
But I will please my Father who’s in heaven
I am not like my father once more
But I will ease my mind with wings of tranquility that soar

I love you, my wondrous, desirable wife
All my life, I’ve always wanted to zip out the strife
And girl, I want to live this adverse world
With you, me and my daughter of brazen beauty unfurled
You all are unlike any other
And, oh with my super strength-worthy stepfather and my marvelous mother

Let’s forget about this world of chaos and woe
And replace it with an adverse one…although
My real father goes through my mind time and time again
By then, I will be better off than him more than a million men

Remarkably dark and distressing memories flood through my brain
As your weed pieces sink in your alcoholic drink like bathtub water in the drain
I’ve witnessed so much death experiences in my life
That it shatters my sad soul and cuts me like a knife
I cradled you close before you ended up dead in my arms…you took your last breath
I was your deathbed…also, my friend got harmed horrendously by getting stabbed to death

Took him to the emergency to save his young life
But, it was too late — what won was the wretched knife
All I want to do is cry, but I must stand tall and remain strong; all along, I wasn’t in the wrong
As I truly wish I’d belong with my family’s bond and with my hand gripped against my bong
Or my hand gripped against the microphone as I sing my song, mighty as King Kong

It is getting harder and harder to obey as I escape death’s snare
When my life seems to go astray day by day, while no one’s aware
Like a fast-lane, roaming vehicle in GTA —
My life is a highway of opportunities not just my way,
But our adverse way

9. The Hotel Caretaker

       by B. Joseph Fitzsimons

How unparticular the day had particularly been,
On March the third of two-thousand and eighteen,
For the caretaker at an historic Adirondack Inn,
Had lacked company, and therefore, dopamine.

‘Twas Sunday when all the guests had fled,
From either boredom or towards it in vocation,
For two-day vacations left this specific town dead,
Sequestered by its icy and secluded location.

The caretaker, Ben, took care to shut off the lights,
And prepare for yet another week alone,
In a five-story hotel without a soul in sight,
Besides those that his television has shone.

Until the weekend he should not socialize,
For patrons choose not to stay through the week,
Such solitude and silence are his solemn prize,
Broken only by muttered squeaks of sudden self-speak.

Ben no longer cared to believe in ghosts,
For if so he could not bare that which might lurk,
In each crack of a floorboard or knot in a bedpost,
That would scare him away from his work.

As he sauntered up the stairway towards his bunk in the employee barracks,

To yet another repeated night of bingeing beer and Bates Motel,
He heard a knock both frantic and oddly hysteric,
From the cellar-door of the vacant Hotel.

The knocks clicked in wicked groups of threes,
The gaps between their contractions shrunk,
Until they sounded to be in such desperate unease,
That they morphed together into a louder clunk.

“Hold on! Ben yelled from atop the stairs,
Of the cellar as he searched for a switch,
And the knocks were replaced by commands in pairs:
“Let me in! Let me in!” In a piercing pitch.

Finally Ben had found the light and door,
Then sunk beneath the kitchen into the concrete hollow,
And stumbled upon unused clutter across the floor,
To open the door with a heavy swallow.

An old woman poured in with a greeting hidden in a wheeze,
And like smoke, she puffed her way across the floor,
As if a bellow blew her in with a squeeze,
To replace the air she sucked right out the door.

“This used to be the entrance,” she grimaced,
With a frown so old it may have always been,
And as she glared at the confines of the premise,
She halted on the eyesight of Ben.

Beneath her cloak a crooked hand had curled into a secret fist,
Gripping with an arthritic shake: a locket wrapped around her wrist.

“Don’t just stare you simple twit,”
She snarled between her hissing dentures,
“Is there anyone here with half a wit,
Indentured to maneuver this business venture?

Or is it just you,” she gagged in sheer disgust,
That Ben was the only employee there,
For in her eyes Ben spied a lack of trust,
In him to offer hospitable customer care.

Ignoring the insults from this mysterious hag,
Ben ushered her up the staircase,
Carrying her single travel bag,
After she shoved it in his face.

He lead her towards the hotel desk,
And asked her for her name,
She paused and muttered “Grace Burlesque,”
As if he should have known it for its fame.

Ben saw there weren’t any bookings this week,
Nor was her ridiculous name found on the computer screen,
But, then, before he could begin to speak,
She announced “My usual room is 303.”

“I believe my key is in an envelope,
As it usually hangs on the door,
Forget the towels, shampoo and soap,
I’ve brought my own and need no more.”

“I can assure you there is no key up there,
I cleaned all the rooms this afternoon,
You must be thinking of a hotel elsewhere,”
He said to the slowly souring prune.

“I can assure you there is a key up there,
In each third month on its third day,
I visit this very hotel in room 303 where,
I enjoy my yearly Adirondack stay.”

Ben beamed at her in disbelief,
Surely there was no key of which she spoke,
So he lead her towards 303 with grief,
As he pondered that he was part of a joke.

When they arrived at the tall locked oaken door,
Ben’s stomach jumped into his throat,
For there was that which was not there before,
With a key and a handwritten note.

It read: “Dearest Grace, I hope this finds you well,
For our new Caretaker has yet been acquainted,
With what the walls of this Hotel tell,
Behind the wood that time has painted.”

Ben of course had not read the note,
For he was frozen in a froth of confusion,
Wondering who had left and wrote,
This note that he once considered delusion.

“Well, that settles it, now you can leave me be,”
Croaked Grace in triumphant glee,
“I hope now you can come to agree with me,
That I have properly reserved room 303.”

“My apologies,” the befuddled Ben conceded,
“If you need anything let me know,”
With that he walked away and proceeded,
To wonder how any of this was so.

The next day Ben went to room 303 at noon,
To bring a cart full of complimentary cuisine,
And from the door he heard a nostalgic tune,
That he used to listen to when he was a teen.

“Housekeeping,” Ben announced as he knocked on the door,
But heard nothing inside but the song,
So he repeated until he knew she was not on the floor,
And went inside when he saw what was wrong.

The room was silent, empty and unused;
There was no music to be heard at all,
And as Ben stood staring blank and confused,
He saw a locket hanging upon the wall.

He grabbed the locket from the hook,
And left to search for the missing tenant,
Though it did not matter where he would look,
For all that remained of Grace was her silver pendant.

Grace had not returned that afternoon or night,
Nor the next few days during the week,
So Ben quit all efforts to reunite,
The locket with the living antique.

Curiosity crept upon his meddlesome mind,
During the boredom of his lonesome time,
So he decided to take a look behind,
The locket, for a peak was hardly a crime.

It opened effortlessly for the spy’s two prying eyes,
Which widened when then they found the inside,
For a photograph of himself fit neatly to size,
By the vignette of a flash and silver iodide.

The man in the picture was certainly Ben,
Dressed in early twentieth-century attire,
And on the other flap there was written in pen,
“My beloved, Ben, who I’ll always admire.”

Each hair on his arm erected a goose-bump welt,
As his spine stiffened into a frozen post,
And liquefied as he felt each memory melt,
Into a puddle, reminded that it was a ghost.

10. Fully Employed Now

       by Lindsay Laurie

Humanity keeps looking forward, toward the coming of a birth,
and we’re all deemed as equals on our first day on this earth,
but as the years go quickly by our lives become our own;
we’re seen as individuals that Mother Nature cannot clone.

And so it is through schooling years our lives begin to vary,
our genes are coming to the fore and change is often scary,
gaps amid the scholar and the dunce begin to broaden to extent,
and so dreaming for professional life is where some will lament.

This country needs the educated for decisions that are made,
and also need the craftsmen once apprenticed with a trade.
We also need the labourer, who bends his back; prepared to sweat,
but we’ve also got a small percent that most of us forget.

They’re not lawyers, teachers, managers – they’re not in this class,
but they’re not dole bludgers either; they will not sit on their a***.
Alas there’s no co-ordination; their thoughts can’t be relied upon.
Everything they touch turns sour – and then further back – comes Don.

Now men like Don with all their ilk will always try to do their best.
They’ll do a multitude of courses but by now you should have guessed,
from the thousand hours spent at TAFE in rooms where Don meandered,
sadly handed Don his test results classed as not up to standard.

Now there’s days of sheer frustration with the message loud and clear,
psychology’s deleted off his board, and Psychiatry must disappear.
Therapists who fail are off the list so human helpfulness escapes,
but the computer giving out results suggested Don go picking grapes.

The mention from this latest glitch is like a red rag to a bull,
there’s no way he’s picking grapes and he won’t go classing wool,
Don made his point that he’s too old for scratching through the dirt,
so TAFE will have Don once again; so TAFE’S on high alert.

But just by chance a study crew stopped here to spend the night.
They are based at Melbourne Uni and they heard about Don’s plight.
They put to Don a proposition; no learned man would dare refuse,
leaving Don without an option and without a need to choose.

They are heading to North New South Wales and maybe further west,
in search of endangered mammals which are numbered few at best.
Don was their new employee who would make their cups of tea,
while they made these odd discoveries that human’s rarely see.

So amongst the naturalist’s, ecologists, and scientists in the field,
Don was to make his mark when finding something quite concealed,
here in this land of pastel colour with its harshest dry terrain,
Don swore he saw two Green-lipped Taipans and was deemed to be insane.

For the green-lipped Taipan Don has claimed, he noticed in a gully bed,
was scorned on by a Uni scientist who derided Don and said,
“Yes, the Green-lipped Taipan did exist; we have a skeleton on show,
but what you claim as what you saw, died out five hundred years ago.”

But from his thousand hours held in TAFE and being told his standards poor,
Don learnt to fight these lecturers who forced his back against the door,
and so around the campfire late at night a strong debate did tend to thrive,
based on Don’s assumption – the Green-lipped Taipans still survive.

And the only way one scientist said, was to seek out local knowledge,
where the only local people here had never been to any college,
for elders hold the keys of history, through generations they are linked,
so they’re the ones who will declare if this Taipan is extinct.  

The message it was frightening from the people who should know,
as they retold a dreamtime message from a thousand years ago
on how the vicious Green lipped Taipan; a snake too evil to describe,
would slide into the camps at night and wipe out tribe after tribe.

They know the Green lipped Taipan for some reason disappeared,
but no one knows why the decline for something fierce and feared,
but the elders have assured us that the species does survive,
and that somewhere in the gorge – there are two that’s still alive.

And so the talk around the campfire turned to hopefulness and glee,
for this expedition now will give these scientists a degree.
With this discovery so paramount toward a specie thought was gone.
But while they slapped each other’s back – no one had mentioned Don.

The celebrating through the night became the first of their mistakes,
with the first of problems not fulfilled; they had yet to find the snakes.
And deeply brooding in the background was a man whose glory bound;
he knows where the snakes are hiding, so he knows where they’ll be found.

With a shoebox and a fork stick Don ensued to start the chase,
so to all those academics out there there’s one more they’ll soon embrace,
for the species ‘Oxyuranus’ which is the Taipans Latin name,
will be followed now with ‘Donnus’ – which Don is ready to proclaim.

But alas the Green lipped Taipan; well hidden deep in mystery,
should have been a learn-ed lesson from the dreamtime history.
Those green lips dashed across the sandstone like an arrow on its path,
with Don sprinting like an athlete for he feared the aftermath.

Don was screaming out a warning and these snakes he did condemn,
but the scientists thought that they were listening to the station HOT FM,
until they saw the cruelest moments for the snakes had reached their prey;
Don was tackled by the Green lipped Taipans and was losing in the fray.

It was the twist of coiling bodies taking toll on poor Don’s heart.
Ferociously he’s struck with angled fangs before the snakes depart.
The aftermath was filled with shock and Don was traumatized with pain,
as both the snakes recoil their heads; prepared to strike again.

Don’s arm that’s pierced and flowing blood displayed his anguish now.
His face was like an Arctic suntan; sweat was flowing off his brow.
The scientists observing this event for a moment were dumbstruck, 
but turned from Don who’s quite distressed and cursed their rotten luck.

So instead of giving Don first aid and calling Doctors on the phone,
they blasphemed Don with angry words and left him on his own.
Where venom coursed throughout the body that no human had defied …
yet Don was making his recovery – but both the snakes had died.

Now for all the schooling that he’s done, not up to standard at the TAFE,
Don’s finally found employment with a job that’s really safe …
whenever snakes are causing problems and there’s need to ‘euthanize,’
Don’s arm is sought across this country – and the snake it surely dies.

11. WOMEN …

       by Gregory Richard Barden

Truly amaze me … they possess the super-human
strength to birth a child – one of the most painful
and demanding physical and emotional feats of end-
urance known to our species – yet they have the
self-confidence to be meek and tender, with the
gentle and sweet fortitude needed for motherhood …

They have the extraordinary insight to look into your
eyes and know what you’re feeling … they can be
completely confident in who they are, and yet totally
vulnerable in who they want to be … they can have
the strength of ten men in bearing young, and the
sexuality to bring a hundred men to their knees …

They are at one moment the most simple creatures
in their need for love and attention, and at the next
so complicated that they are unfathomable … they
can be the most loving and accepting people you’ve
ever known, or the most frighteningly fierce and fiery
and formidable foes that is humanly imaginable …

They can lay bare their soul before you and give it
up with passion, or build walls so strong that nothing
but time can bring them down … they can let you
believe, in their confidence, that you are the strong-
est being alive, in their adoration, or remind you that
the very fires of Hell are at their beck-and-call …

They are EACH and ALL an amazing creation of utter
imperfect perfection and grace, and like brittle snow-
flakes, uniquely wondrous and different in every way,
at one moment a mystery beyond comprehension,
and at the next, the most delightfully familiar soul
you’ve ever encountered, in dream or lucid waking …

Their tears flow as freely as their laughter, and they
are as spiritual as they are sensible … they measure
their own elegance by how they feel INSIDE, about
themselves. They are all at once outspoken and yet
demure … they may need to be held and told that
everything will be alright in the world’s good time …

They may need to take the lead and be honored …
they may want to hear about your wildest dreams,
or need you to really LISTEN to how they feel …
they may want YOU to take control and show them
your deepest desires, or they may need to have
their every wish fulfilled, from their perspective …

They may want you to be endlessly mysterious, then
lay bare your broken spirit on the altar of their passion.
A woman may want to look perfect, with every hair
and detail in place, or she may run wild through the
rain … she may share the fires of her deepest lust
and desires, or make you feel the cold of her wrath …

She may want you to be firm and forward, and then
desire only tenderness and care … she may cry at your
funniest joke, or laugh at your saddest story, and ex-
pect you to understand. She may howl at the moon in
madness, yet require you to keep her sane. She may
endear you with ferocity, or scare you with kindness.

She may love you more in her anger than she ever
could in her joy, or adore you for your carelessness,
yet despise you for your attention. A woman is the
perfect vessel and the ultimate contradiction, on the
pedestal one moment, and at your feet the next …
their bodies are warm and cold, yet salty and sweet …

Rough and smooth, with hidden wonders and re-
sponses all their own, first trembling at your lightest
touch, then needing the firm press of flesh, every
soft inch a sublime adventure, every subtle curve
a joy … but their minds are as keen as any sword,
and as honed and sharp-dged as any razor …

They can cut you with their words and their stare and
leave you bleeding … they are elation and anger, vigor
and vulnerability, coyness and carnality … in a moment
they can drag you through hell, or carry you sublimely
to heaven … they can be an angel or demon, mother
or daughter, maiden or mistress, temptress or torturer …

They can make you the king of their heart, or remind
you of your absolute insignificance … they are told
from birth that they are inferior to men – weaker and
softer, more fragile – yet despite that they are more
determined, more durable, more wise, more diligent,
more deft, more caring and tenacious, more intuitive …

They are hard-working, they are as insightful and as
sensible as most three men put together … they can
be great moms or be great boxers … they can be
successful professionals or stay-at-home wives, they
can do most jobs as well as any man, and do a hundred
other things that many men are never even taught …

They can teach, fight, love, paint, play drums, be
weightlifters, ballerinas, truck drivers, nurses, army
sergeants, cooks, seamstresses, basketball players or
coaches, florists or pharmacists, doctors or lawyers …
women can wear dresses or work pants, they can wear
toe shoes or hockey skates, ponytails or hard hats …

They can wear steel-toed boots or stilettos, they can
wear overalls or miniskirts, (and make them ALL look
better than a man EVER did) …

I personally believe that one of the primary reasons
that they have been marginalized for so many centuries,
is that men knew that if women ever DID start doing
the things that men have always done, everyone would
find out that women are BETTER at 99% of those things,
and would start demanding equal pay and equal rights!

That exact thing is starting to come to pass, and I think
it scares many men … women are told their whole lives
what they CAN’T do, yet they spend their whole lives
doing things that many men are incapable of, things that
most men don’t care or want or have to do … men are
into making a living, yet women are what we live FOR …

Women have forever lived in the shadow of men, but
men would HAVE no shadow without the sunlight that
women shine on our lives … if Woman really WAS made
after man, (as some religions teach), it’s because the
Creator didn’t get human beings right the first time,
and perfected the species with the female version …

And most of all, no matter how much you learn about
them, or how much you may know of all these things
I’ve touched on here, or how much you listen and absorb
what they tell you about themselves, you’ll never, ever,
EVER, understand them … yet there is absolutely NO-
THING in Heaven or on earth, that is as wonderful …

Nothing as sexy and sublime, as entertaining or enticing,
as intently intense, or as imperfectly perfect, as …

WOMEN.

Mystery Poems That Rhyme

Experience the enchanting beauty of poems about mystery with rhyme. These verses, rich in rhythmic charm, captivate and intrigue, making you feel like a detective solving a poetic puzzle.

1. The Bells

       by Edgar Allan Poe

Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

2. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

       by T.S. Eliot

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

3. Annabel Lee

       by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

4. The Tyger

       by William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

5. The Lady of Shalott

       by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

6. The Windhover

       by Gerard Manley Hopkins

I caught this morning morning’s minion, kingdom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

7. The Hound of Heaven

       by Francis Thompson

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.

8. The Haunted Palace

       by Edgar Allan Poe

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace —
Radiant palace — reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion —
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.

9. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

       by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
‘By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?

Mystery Poems for Middle School

Tailored for young minds, these poems about mystery for middle school foster a love for mystery. They engage curious minds and provide a delightful introduction to the world of mystery poetry.

1. The Moon

       by Robert Louis Stevenson

She shines on thieves on the garden wall,
On streets and fields and harbour quays,
And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.

The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,
The howling dog by the door of the house,
The bat that lies in bed at noon,
But all of the things that belong to the day
Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;
And flowers and children close their eyes
Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.

2. The Arrow and the Song

       by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

3. The Eagle

       by Alfred Lord Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt, he falls.

4. The Road not Taken

       by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves, no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

5. The Land of Nod

       by Robert Louis Stevenson

From breakfast on through all the day
At home among my friends I stay,
But every night I go abroad
Afar into the Land of Nod.
All by myself, I have to go,
With none to tell me what to do—
All alone beside the streams
And up the mountainsides of dreams.

6. The Mystery of the Night Wind

       by Mary Howitt

When the night wind blows,
And the branches creak,
And the shadows dance,
What do they seek?

Is it to whisper secrets,
Or tell tales of old,
Or to carry messages
From some distant soul?

The mystery of the night wind,
Will forever remain.
But that’s part of its charm,
And its beauty to gain.

7. The Invisible Guest

       by Julia Ward Howe

Who sits at my table,
And eats without hands?
Who reads from my book,
But understands?

Who comes to my pillow,
And whispers my name?
Who calls me away,
But never the same?

Oh, the invisible guest,
Is the mystery of thought.
It’s the whisper of conscience,
The spirit unsought.

8. The Secret of the Old House

       by Edgar Allan Poe

In the old, dark house,
With its creaky floor,
There’s a secret hidden,
That no one knows.

Is it the ghost of a child,
That cries in the night?
Or the spirit of a lover,
Who seeks their lost light?

The secret of the old house,
Is a mystery to all.
But it’s the mystery that makes it,
So enchanting and tall.

9. The Vanishing Stranger

       by Emily Dickinson

I met a stranger on the road,
Whose face I could not see.
They asked me for directions,
And then vanished from me.

Who was this stranger,
And where did they go?
Was it a figment of my mind,
Or a spirit I did know?

The vanishing stranger,
Is a mystery to this day.
But their presence left me wondering,
About the world in a new way.

10. The Whispering Woods

       by Christina Rossetti

The woods whisper secrets,
As the wind blows through.
They’re stories of old,
And secrets anew.

Do they whisper of fairies,
And magical beasts?
Or do they whisper of things,
That are hidden the deepest?

The whispering woods,
Are a mystery to behold.
But their secrets are safe,
In their stories untold.

11. The Mystery of the Missing Sock

       by Anonymous

Where does the missing sock go?
It’s a mystery to all.
One day it’s here,
And the next it’s gone,
Like magic in the hall.

Some say it’s eaten by monsters,
That live beneath the bed.
Others say it’s stolen by fairies,
Who use it for a sled.

But the truth is,
No one knows where the missing sock goes.
It’s a mystery that will forever remain,
One of life’s many unsolved woes.

12. The Mystery of the Talking Dog

       by Robert Louis Stevenson

My dog can talk,
But no one believes me.
They say I’m imagining things,
But I know what I see.

He talks to me in whispers,
When we’re all alone.
He tells me secrets,
That no one else knows.

I love my talking dog,
Even though no one believes me.
He’s my best friend,
And the mystery of his voice keeps me.

13. The Mystery of the Magic Mirror

       by William Shakespeare

In the magic mirror,
I see a different me.
Someone taller,
Someone bolder,
Someone I can’t quite be.

Is this my true reflection,
Or a reflection of my dreams?
Is it the person I could be,
Or the person I always seem?

The magic mirror,
Is a mystery to me.
But I keep looking back,
Hoping to find the key.

14. The Mystery of the Lost Treasure

       by Robert Frost

There’s a treasure buried somewhere,
On this very land.
It’s been hidden for centuries,
By an unknown hand.

Some say it’s gold,
And some say it’s jewels.
But no one knows for sure,
What the treasure conceals.

I’ve searched for the treasure,
For many a year.
But it still eludes me,
Despite all my cheer.

The mystery of the lost treasure,
Is one that I adore.
It’s a challenge that keeps me going,
And makes me want more.

Mystery Poems about Life

Unearth the mysteries of existence through poetry. Mystery poems about life delve into the profound questions that linger in our hearts, offering poetic insights into the mysterious nature of our journey.

1. Because I Could not Stop for Death – (479)

       by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –

2. A Dream Within a Dream

       by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

3. The House on the Hill

       by Edwin Arlington Robinson

They are all gone away,
The House is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.

Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill:
They are all gone away.

Nor is there one to-day
To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.

Why is it then we stray
Around the sunken sill?
They are all gone away,

And our poor fancy-play
For them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.

There is ruin and decay
In the House on the Hill:
They are all gone away,
There is nothing more to say.

4. Do not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

       by Anonymous

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

5. Ode to a Nightingale

       by John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

6. The Hollow Men

       by T.S. Eliot

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

7. To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

       by Robert Herrick

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.

8. I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

       by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

9. The Road of Life

       by Edgar Albert Guest

This is the road of life, it seems;
We travel many days,
And then we leave it not with joy
But often in a daze.
But if we’ve tried to do our best
In all things great and small,
We’ll find that road so very fair,
For God’s the end of all.

10. Mystery

       by Emily Dickinson

Behind me dips Eternity,
Before me Immortality,
And in the middle, Life.

I step a foot upon this shore,
And scarce I touch the sand,
Before me stretches an untrodden sea.

11. Life

       by Edgar Allan Poe

Life is but a dream within a dream.
‘Tis but a vapour o’er the marshy stream.
‘Tis but a bubble on the ocean’s breast.
‘Tis but a shadow on the mountain’s crest.
‘Tis but a flower that blooms and fades away.
‘Tis but a meteor that shoots across the sky.
‘Tis but a moment in the tide of time.
‘Tis but a whisper in the ear of God.

12. The Riddle of Life

       by Christina Rossetti

Oh, the riddle of life,
How it puzzles the brain,
And makes us all strive
To solve it in vain!

What is it? Whence came it?
Whither doth tend?
And when it is over,
What doth it end?

13. The Mystery of Life

       by Mary Carolyn Davies

There is a mystery in life,
A secret that none can tell.
It is the mystery of life,
That we all know so well.

We know that we are born,
And we know that we must die.
But what happens in between,
Is a mystery to the eye.

We know that we love,
And we know that we hate.
But why we do these things,
Is a mystery to the gate.

We know that we hope,
And we know that we despair.
But why we feel these things,
Is a mystery in the air.

14. The Mystery of Life

       by William Arthur Ward

Life is a mystery,
A puzzle to be solved.
It is a journey to be taken,
A story to be told.

Life is a gift,
A blessing to be cherished.
It is a miracle to be celebrated.

Life is a challenge,
A test of our courage.
It is an opportunity to learn and grow.

Life is a treasure,
A gift to be shared.
It is a love to be treasured.

15. The Mystery of Life

       by Henry Van Dyke

Life is a mystery,
A dream within a dream.
It is a tapestry,
Woven with threads unseen.

It is a symphony,
Played on instruments unknown.
It is a journey,
To a destination unknown.

But life is also a gift,
A precious gift to be cherished.
It is a chance to love,
To learn, and to grow.

So make the most of your life,
My friend.
For it is a mystery,
A gift, and a journey.

16. The Mystery of Life

       by Rumi

The mystery of life is not a problem to be solved,
It is a reality to be experienced.

Do not seek to understand it,
But to live it.

Do not seek to define it,
But to embody it.

The mystery of life is not a mystery at all,
It is simply the dance of the universe.

Join in the dance,
And let your heart be filled with the wonder of it all.

17. The Mystery of Life

       by Hafiz

The mystery of life is not a riddle to be solved,
But a poem to be read.

It is a song to be sung,
A dance to be danced,
And a story to be told.

So open your heart to the mystery,
And let it fill you with joy.

For the mystery of life is the greatest gift of all.

18. The Mystery of Life

       by Kahlil Gibran

Life is a mystery.
It is a journey through the unknown.
It is a dance with the darkness.
It is a song of the soul.

Life is a mystery.
It is a gift from the divine.
It is a blessing to be cherished.
It is a miracle to be celebrated.

Life is a mystery.
It is a challenge to be met.
It is an opportunity to learn and grow.
It is a chance to make a difference in the world.

So embrace the mystery of life, my friend.
For it is the greatest gift of all.

Final Thoughts

As we conclude this exploration of mystery poems, we invite you to share your thoughts and reflections in the comments below.

Poems about mystery, like finely crafted riddles, invite you to unravel their secrets, sparking your imagination and curiosity.

Whether it’s the best, the famous, the funny, or the profound, this mystery poetry has a unique power to keep you engaged, as you embark on a poetic quest for answers.

The allure of the enigmatic beckons, and in the world of mystery poetry, the pleasure of uncertainty is as profound as the pursuit of truth.

Join us in celebrating this captivating literary journey that melds pleasure with mystery, inviting you to continue your poetic exploration of the unknown.

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