Ripper Poems

Big Ben chimes Bazball Zen

Big Ben chimes again
With Bazball zen
One of those men
From special stock
Shepherd of the flock
Hewn from strewn Volcanic rock

From New Zealand's Southern Isle
But only there for a wee while
Mighty flame haired flair laird 

Without doubt more about Blighty's North East
They forged this bellicose beast
Ripsnorting sporting cavorting squire  
Glutton & gourmand gorged feast

Test town crier
Puffed buffed chest
Inspire..burning
Proper copper topper
Churning

Rise of the Ripper 3

Is it nature or nurture
This Larry wants to know
As a genetic researcher
His life has taken a blow
Could he be related
To the beast of Whitechapel
Is his life ill-fated
Something which he must grapple
His ghostly grandparents say it’s true
As a researcher what can Larry do
The family gene he must eliminate
Is it genes or love or hate
Why did Jack

Rise of the Ripper 2

You’ve heard of Brady and Hindley
And I'm sure Poll Pot too
You've heard of Fred and Rose West
and the evil that they do

Jack the Ripper had a son
Did he follow in his steps?
Find out about the boy
And learn what he did best

But this time there’s a change
From Jack, the carnage carried on
William and Emily are their

Rise of the Ripper

Through the streets of Whitechapel
 A monster roamed them all
 He left behind a history
Many to enthral
 But who knew the romance 
The lover behind this affray
 He may wield a knife but in fact
 Was Jack gay?
 A romantic, emasculated by a wife
 A sexual experience
Affected him for life
 Read about the romance
 The

Jack the Ripper

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

Jack's Choice

I've spent the evening hunting, as I'm wont to do
and choosing for tonight an older lass,
I hold the shop door open while she passes through
and as it closes, watch her in the glass

Her face is plain, no trace of paint unlines her skin,
her matted hair is gathered in a bun
Beneath the shabby dress, her frame

Whitechapel, London 1888

Wanton women of Whitechapel
Desperate and destitute
Weakened from want
Shrunken stomachs barren of bread
Dying from disease in dingy dosshouses
Selling themselves on the streets for shillings
to buy beer, a bed for the night
or a bonny new bonnet
to enable them to appear more
enticing to men with money to spend
A woeful and wretched existence
worn down by the world
envisioning escape

Evil born

Jack Speaks

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

Whitechapel You Must Watch For Me

Whitechapel, you must watch for me.
Your streets unlit, they are dark and dreary.
Those ladies of night go passing by.
I’ve chosen my victim, the one to die.
I Lurk, I follow, I know this place.
I watch this woman, I see her face.
I View this wench as she plies her trade.
I cannot wait to show my blade.
The blood

Jack the Ripper

I Jumped up suddenly out of my bed
With Jack the ripper spinning in my head
And the word cabinet kept floating in my bed
I had a very serious message to deliver
But I don't know who to tell because it felt improper
My heart was pounding and I felt like vomiting
I hurried outside and jogged around the circle
I

Tacita Pruval Learns the True Identity of Jack the Ripper

Tacita leaned in close and lowered her voice a tad. “So tell me, Jack. What’s your real name?"

"You don’t really want to know who I am. You just think you do. Aye, the public loves its monsters – as long as we keep our distance. Nessie and me, we know the score. It’s not us

Jack the Ripper

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

A Real Jack the Ripper In a Small American Town

Gladys was a devote Baptist and a
Sweet old lady who never had anything
Bad to say about anybody so when this
Young man moved into the neighborhood
They said you can just look into his eyes
And see he's nothing but bad news but
Gladys said now didn't our Lord say he
Who is without sin cast the first stone?
Little did

Ripper

Shadow-clad, softly he treads, 
a harbinger of death, and he's out hunting. 
Stilettos in a leather belt, his weapons keen 
and gleaming in the gaslight; 
skulking in concealment there he waits. 

Patience; his bloodlust can't be hurried. 
He hears footsteps on the cobblestones, 
a harlot leaves her trick and heads for home. 
Silently he sneaks

Jack the Ripper

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

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