Whodunnit in the Garden?

Over in the Garden Corey took us to a virtual bar in New Orleans, a touch of spirits, great music and a poetic mystery linger in the air.   A damn WhoDunnit on Bourbon Street has left our blog proprietor Kerry in tears.  Stolen words was how the news release put it.  The announcement of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry had been awarded to a poet by the name of -lets just say it wasn't a Toad who won.  Everyone who lingers in the Garden is called a Toad.   The mystery involves Kerry-she had just written the same poem-with the exception of the last line-which really didn't fit. 

Absinthe photo credit: wallyg via photopin cc

We are to write a poem revealing the last line of stolen poetry and announce whodunnit!

Words spilled everywhere

 like glorious dew or swamp water

which pond do you prefer

clean n' fresh
or scum thick
dangling participles stirred the night

Green Goddess

clouding your sky

making new pigment
floating colored eyes

in a fish bowl
What taunted Van Gogh?
 Goddess told him his ear was Luna Moth

"But best of all was the warm thick slobber

 Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water" 

as fingerprints faded into lost stars.

© Ellen Wilson

Whodunnit-Semus Heaney! 
In his defense, he was a spirit when he tossed one back with us at the bar.  His last walk on earth.  We didn't know who he was-just a kindly elderly man with Chia pet white hair.

*From Death of a Naturalist, published 1966.*

Raise a glass to Seamus-he was a true talent!  I think he would of enjoyed our Garden!
Here are a few of his amazing lines~

Is wooed into the cyclops' eye
Of a tarn. Our unfenced country
Is bog that keeps crusting
Between the sights of the sun.

They've taken the skeleton
Of the Great Irish Elk
Out of the peat, set it up
An astounding crate full of air.

Butter sunk under
More than a hundred years
Was recovered salty and white.
The ground itself is kind, black butter



From his poem:  Bogland