Long Ripper Poems
Long Ripper Poems. Below are the most popular long Ripper by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ripper poems by poem length and keyword.
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 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
When instinct becomes
an educated guess
And improvisation
demands quick redress
Like thinking on one’s feet
if too drunk to stand
Be found all at sea
throwing up on dry land
Twisted situations
we find ourselves in
When bundles of joy
reek original sin
Smack on the butt
for showing a bit of cheek
Do everything perfect
be labelled a freak
Gestures, signals,
often appear to confuse
High five, fist bump
a sweaty handshake defused
One or two fingers:
the bird a sign of peace
Kneel with respect
submissive purr on a leash
Diversions, promises,
never black and white
Passive aggression
silent treatment for slight
Jack in the box, ripper
jumps out with a knife
Break a leg, for the
performance of his life
Police warning: never
mess around with guns
Gut reaction sparks a
stampede, or the runs
Playing it very cool,
whilst feeling much heat
Praying devoutly,
burnt at stake for deceit
Sticking out one’s tongue
in contempt, no a kiss!
Sigh of relief
they were just taking the piss
Such is living, such is death
come friend or foe
On second thoughts
syllabic verse, or sh!tshow
By David Kavanagh
hms
Through the erotic alleyways
of dim set lamppost light,
smoky the figure struts on by
to catch the last bus of the night.
It's gone past eleven,
and it's down grim lucks drive,
but she'd've danced till dawn
swimming in any old dive-
Off goes the lady of liquor,
toes screeching to be a little quicker,
Her blisters cry to green sleeves
But she daren't try paddling in hazer's heap.
And she is in presence of charm
by tweens and men offering her arm.
They serenade her beauty in heckled praise:
"Your dead fit- give us a gob-job la"
and with a hickup she giggles,
and coyly flutters her stuck on eyes.
Oh the seductive sound of chavs zipper
that to her delight moonlight flicker
gives a hint to their gift like that of the ripper.
She passes by,
oh those gentle pricks of enticement-
the serenade fading to silence,
meeting her backed against the wall.
Nervous she presses her dress to her stomach,
blushing she takes her other hand
seductively pressing it on her lips and down her throat.
He grabs her wrist and thrusts his surprise toward it,
she bows her head in submission,
taking a firm grip-
she lurches and twists.
"There you go" she legs it.
Has intuition become, an educated guess
Improvisation needing impromptu readdress
Think fast on one’s feet, after making a stand
All at sea, seemingly tripping across dry land
Peculiar situations, we find ourselves in
Facing the music, for causing such a din
Take it on the chin, whilst giving back cheek
You make me smile, lying through broken teeth
Gestures signals, often mean to confuse
High five, fist bump, handshake refused
Gesture two fingers, up yours, sign of peace
Sweating profusely, through effort or unease
Dichotomies, divisions, never black and white
Passive aggression, turns into malicious spite
Break a leg, for the performance of one’s life
Jack in the box, ripper springs out with a knife
Mixed messages, better not jump the gun
Gut reactions, stand your ground, should I run
Playing it cool, whilst turning up the heat
Shake hands before a game, meaning to cheat
Sticking out tongues, in contempt, no a kiss
Crying in sadness, tears of ecstatic bliss
Such is life, such is death, come friend or foe
What’s going on in our mind, do we ever know
Standing on my head
looking up at the trees
and the sparkling sky
When it’s dark I don’t see
the ship float by nor
the tsunami sea
Upside-down women
on either side
of cotton candy eventide
When the light’s bright
palms and ferns come to life
tickling my soles
and I am able
to rearrange the houseplants
with my toes
How much harder it is
to apprehend the tossed high heels
and the mute parrot
high and higher
almost in flight
but I catch them
as I carry on
with lethargic lids
that never seam
The minute I close them
my baby-faced muse
pries them open
with a seam ripper
and I flick the light back on
and then to annoy her
I hit the switch
so I can view the “Fanch”
in the Hitchcock hour
Truly, I am reclining
and in turn propelling
out of my chair
It’s been a long day
I won’t bore you with its tales
I’ll just point you to
the simple fact
that artwork looks different
hanging
upside-down
or inside-out
or Cubist
I want to be with you all of the time.
I'll rub and caress you to keep that shine.
When I feel the aura of your bright glow,
Helios you're for me, I 'm certain, I know.
All day I dream to come home to you each night
to feel supple leather wings hold me tight.
Although you are mine, I bought you out right,
I am only your steward to all in sight
Oh how I love your strength and raw power,
your color and sheen a brilliant golden shower.
The curve of your hood and slant of your hatch,
oh, they satiate an itch that no other can scratch.
Pressing the pedal I free four hundred horses.
I am thrown back and cradle by strong G-forces.
I firm my grip on your black wheel and shifter.
I ready for your speed you bad ass ripper.
Through valleys low and canyons deep
I savor each thrust, each turn, oh the benefits I reap.
I never want to go home just want to be free,
owning the roads of this nation, Helios and me.
A little nasty bee flew
past the yellow hill –
fast as running deer
hunting a Rose tree.
Dew drops from her sting –
trembled the butterflies,
wings flapping fretfully –
scorn was in the air tonight.
“Ah, rose, do you whimper?
So lonely and beautiful –
waiting for a hand
bypassing your thorns?
The wind took your aroma far –
the hive where I live is nearby
and like an armored knight
they will swarm undaunted.
I could settle and swing -
the Jasmine in the valley
are blossoming too early -
my last spring, honey.
Now, I must bid farewell –
fear not, your Ripper
is coming, eager and tender –
loving you much so.”
And then went the bee
leaving the frail rose behind –
watched by an grey raven
flying past the moonlight.
A bloke who hails
from New South Wales
will know of Gundagai.
Some guy found gold,
or so we're told,
in days now long gone by.
I grew up there
without a care
when both of us were nippers:
she was my mate -
her name was Kate -
I used to call her "Kipper".
We loved to lark
around Yarn Park,
and sing Frank Ifield songs,
play hide-and-seek
on Morley's Creek
all golden summer long.
I'd glance at Kip
(she fielded slip)
and try to hoist one high:
but quick as thought
she'd yell out, "Caught!"
or "Nice try, Gundagai!"
Her brain was quick,
her wit was slick,
and ready with a joke.
She'd bat and bowl
and kick field goals
as good as any bloke.
Well, time moved on.
Those days are gone,
and never to return.
I've roamed this earth,
for what it's worth,
and one thing I have learned.
In this wide world
there's heaps of girls,
and some of 'em are ripper,
and dark or fair,
I've had my share,
but none of 'em's like Kipper.
I'm not that grand
with pen in hand,
but I've written Kip a letter:
I may be wrong,
it's been so long.
She may not even get 'er.
So now you know
the way it goes.
You've heard my tale unfold.
I'm like those fools
with sieves and mules,
hell bent on striking gold.
I'm a chafing chook
on tenterhooks,
awaiting her reply.
I know my Kip -
she's sure to quip,
"Oh, nice try, Gundagai!"
With years of mind numbing digging
Persistence pays off with time
I would almost call it a living
This life long search for the treasure of rhyme
Harder to track than the abominable snowman
Slippery than that monster in Loch Ness
More cunning than Jack the Ripper trailing a stripper
Is the hidden rhymes elusiveness
I've been from one end of the lobe to the other
In the deep dark recesses of the mind
Hoping to finally discover
Where it has hidden the pockets of rhyme
When I discover it I'll come back victorious
I will then share with poetry my find
The words that I use will be various
As I open to all the treasure of rhyme