Whitechapel Poems - Poems about Whitechapel

... 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 ......

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...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......

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...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 t......

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...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. ......

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...A nice cruise from New York, I thought From down by Pier two-one I thought I'd head to England For a good old spot of fun An Ocean trip, some nice fresh air Eleven days at sea I tho......

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...At the end of a dry, harsh August, as Autumn slowly descends upon Whitechapel, I begin my vicious practice. From Buck’s Row to Hanbury Street, I make each house call brief. My methods most prec......

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...In Dickensian time Upon sunset hour Overshadowing Thames Is London Tower Blackened cobble streets Shimmer in the rain Big Ben at Westminster Chimes an eight bells refrain At Euston Station......

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...The wretched street-haunters of London tell me where are their vile homes, The gin palaces alone invites them into a warmth that burns their hearts, The dreary lodging houses scenes of filth they spe......

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...It is a Sunday morning in spring the bright sun shines in Bethnal-green, Wander along a path between the church, the railway towards Whitechapel, For one day there are beautiful flowering gardens thr......

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...when the knife goes in the cuts had a sure purpose to preserve organs......

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...The narrow lane led to an awful place With its own page in the annals of history, Where once was committed a murder most foul It’s perpetrator to date still a mystery Thirteen, Millers Court in......

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...And you will know me by the trail of dead, the whistle of wind in cutthroat pipes, the jolly japes and spring heeled capers in the sepia pulp of the Sunday papers and in all the Jack Tar bilge in......

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