Jack the Ripper has not mended his ways
Continuing search for unwary prey
This time around, his weapon is poison
Extinguishing lives of poor, his mission
‘The weak must perish’, Jack the Ripper says
Homeless vagrants at food bank, to God pray
Oblivious that blue skies have turned grey
Their food today, prepared by a demon
Jack the Ripper
Panic sets in as these weary souls sway
Each falls to the ground and there they do stay
Mass murder most foul, against God, treason
Yet the man who did it, not in prison
Criminal feels what he does is okay
Jack the Ripper
30-July-2021
Panic at the food bank poetry contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Although intoxicated within ethereal madness;
bound within the chains of this soulless prison.
I'm desperately in love with this Gothic sadness;
whilst staring into a fog of disheartened reason.
Walking and stalking through dark rancid streets;
stopping for pints, now the pain's finally receding.
Through smoke and crowds; reverent and discreet.
A bottle to the abyss, now heartless and bleeding.
Watch the frightened view my new lifeless prize;
found there in the dark of a White Chapel lane.
A gutter splashed in blood; wasted faceless lives;
I feel not of blame, nor absolved of pious shame.
A grave awaits all that tempt this pattered wraith
from the streets of lust, to the arches of festoon
stealing their souls whilst courting a devilish faith
I'm in love with blood of all devoid of a moon.
Muffled be the moans through all incised dreams;
Inhale a swirling mind while exhaling into hell.
Humming in rhyme of timed whispered screams.
Clock chimes bye, so off go I, leaving now as well.
1/28/2021
Murder In The Tunnel Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Aaron Kosminski, you were not Jack the Ripper
as many would have thought.
You have not kept a dissecting knife under your coat
as Raskolnikov had kept the ax.
You were not addicted to opium.
You liked the verse, The Hound of Heaven
and that’s Finis Coronat Opus -
the violence did not seized your hand,
there was no sound of dripping blood.
Your eyes, motionless with horror,
were not fixed on crime.
You were just like Jozef Konrad,
and myself, countryman emigrant,
only searching for peaceful life.
© A.R. Wielgus 2015
The man in the alley is insane.
Syphilis eats at his brain.
All dressed in black,
he is ready to attack.
He stalks in the dark of night,
trying to stay out of sight.
A certain type he wants to find.
Whores,filthy whores screams in his mind !
A door opens at a nearby Inn.
Laughter for a moment and silence again.
The click-clack of heels on cobble stone,
as a woman of the night walks home.
A short scream then a moan,
as flesh is cut from bone.
He can hear the music of wind chimes,
as he stabs fourteen times.
He feels joy at her last breath.
Justification is somehow felt by her death.
Her suffering and demise brings delight,
as he disappears into the night.
Jack the
Ripper,
He walks &
talks,
Like an
ordinary
person.
Is he a
psycho
murderer,
Or a serial
killer,
Maybe a
famous actor,
Or a police
constable.
He is
bloodlust
terror,
One who
possess skill
of invisibility,
Now he is
Legendary,
The renowed
london
bridge,
The place of
unravelling
horror,
An unknown
destiny
reached,
Or a mystery
of the Ripper?
Over a
century past,
From the first
victim to the
last,
The
speculation
goes on.
That his work
not done.
But where
does this
puzzle lead,
Of the many
of his
unresting
dead,
Still not a
trace of him
been found,
Only the
memory of
Jack the
Ripper
stills
haunts....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He cuts throats too, my dear friend Ramsay!
How can I sing myself to comfort,
Sing wonderfully, as my father brags,
With a cut throat!?
Perhaps the draining of my fluids shall be our killer's lullaby,
As he sleeps soundly with the soothing flow
Of my newly dead blood!
With an uncertain sigh,
I now stand alone, quaking!
Cruel thought imagining despairing fate
How could Ramsay have so much faith in a cowardly girl
When faith is simply what she lacks?
She is out to find an evil one unseen,
A twisted fiend that can be he that passes—or he!
Where shall she go from here?
Surely she cannot stand in this spot forever;
The rain has already chilled the coward to the bone,
When all she has on for warmth, the foolish child,
Is a thin old sweater?
But, ah, her bone is to be chilled once more,
And the weather, I'm afraid, will not be the cause. . .
-this is a dark soliloquy of a character in an unfinished play about Jack I wrote... maybe a couple years ago? I gottah put a date on these things! Haha-
Jack the Ripper,
As a savage nipper,
Possibly slashed his toys,
And didn’t play with other boys.
Jack the Ripper
May have liked kipper,
But he ate a kidney one day -
Or, at least, so people often say.
For Andrea's Show me the Funny contest, Part Two
Originally for PD’s clerihew contest
he played a dirty hand
though he washed them
thoroughly each day.
Brilliant mind, hiding
a hollowness so dark
committing horrendous crime
on the lowly and the discharged,
those forced to feed on the grime
of sinners in bright attire.
No one would give a damn
to these despised street beggers
they would know his clever hands,
but their screams would not be heard,
their agony ending in shallow graves.
Ah those hands, how proud he was
so precise, unshaking, for he's a master
his work must be perfect, engraved
in the mind of his seekers
receiving his letters, taunting
leaving no clue to who he is
this ripper of life, never found...
but the night knows
the night has not forgotten
his screams are not heard
as knives swiftly rip at him,
his nightmare ends not.
CarolineCecile - 10.15.12
when the knife goes in
the cuts had a sure purpose
to preserve organs
gruesome murder scene
missing body parts,loss blood
eyes have been removed
the knife,as it cuts
spills guts,who share their secrets
living in someone
as he stabs,he loves
not the human,only death
and death becomes her
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.