A Violet for a Mother's Grave
"A VIOLET FOR A MOTHER'S GRAVE"
"A Violet Plucked from My Mother's Grave", the song sung by victim Mary Jane Kelly the night she was murdered.
Youtube, melody and lyrics sung:
https://youtu.be/Jbf3shwKSfo
https://www.casebook.org/victims/mary_jane_kelly.violets.html
"A small minority of modern authors consider it possible that Kelly was not a victim of the same killer as the other canonical victims of Jack the Ripper. At an assumed age of 25, Kelly was considerably younger than the other canonical victims, all of whom were in their 40s. In addition, the mutilations inflicted on Kelly were far more extensive than those on other victims. However, Kelly was also the only victim killed in the privacy of a room instead of outdoors. Her murder was separated by five weeks from the previous killings, all of which had occurred within the span of a month."
Victim: Mary Anne Kelly ?
https://www.reddit.com/r/serialkillers/comments/aseyxy/this_1885_photograph_was_discovered_not_too_long/
Victim: Mary Anne Kelly ?
contemporary artist reconstruction - Mary Jane Kelly
https://youtu.be/QGMaHtZ4DUE
Victims , Canonical 5 -
https://jacktherippervictims.com/jack-the-ripper-victims/
Suspect: Lizzie Williams (Wife of male suspect, Sir John Williams)
Suspect: Mary Eleanor Wheeler Pearcey
"A VIOLET FOR A MOTHER'S GRAVE"
I am a woman
of mystery
young and fair
eyes like cornflowers
blue as forget-me-nots
skin soft
as sunlit silk
I shine
luminescent
lovers drink me up
like warm heady
moonlight milk
their faces hidden
in the cascading
canopy
of my burnished
golden locks
I am a woman
of mystery
young and fair
I carry men
to heaven
it’s the hell
that pays
the expenditure
to open pages
delicious gates
of sensation
legs for walking
streets the stories
I have sold
sanguine
the letters
in my book
buried deep
in the heart of it
that which they
will never snare
for I was never took
I am a woman
of mystery
young and fair
a treasure quay
with bonnie buxom
floating looks
handing them
the tossers, they
insolently think,
the key of me
to open
my cavernous
padlock -
because they think
they can,
they dare,
like I am some
wayward
inexpensive time
a white pet rabbit
dead eyed toy
never entirely hare,
they check
their fob
time is money
I am inspected shoddily
like some trinket
of little value,
I am measured bodily
I am a woman
of mystery
I am the alabaster sail
riding their burning mast
directing which way to steer
a figurehead added
to submit I am
dismounted and
affixed to their bow
they remain
the ship
off-course
invoking bad
manifest,
they are
truly soulless
some carry with them
like an infested rat their
infernal damned disease
acquired from the lesser
likes of me
what matter to them it be
when laying with unfortunate host,
an unprotected ghost
like me
no longer praying
is down panting
hungry as a dog
on its bloody knees
I am merely
an other,
a trifle,
an addiction
consumed consummate
alongside my broken
gin jars, I am rarely seen
unentitled I am felt
through the expensive mist
of their Spanish figurados
here on the lower levels
life is seldom pretty
always stark
ingratiating
they tarry
a few hours
singing here’s some
bees and honey
like I’m some cock-eyed
Bow Bells cockney
kissing their evensong
like they’re a prayer
I’m waiting on
they pass me
spectral haunting
all dark alleys
east ended undressing
the left-hand side of God
a shadow that has
lost its true purpose
my legs used
as their
divining rods
I am a woman
of mystery
I am the harbour
that they dock
I am young and new
fresh, tired, torn
and worn
I let them think
I am sweet
taste me tame
slow or swift
softly stinging
golden Summer rain
as you please
Spring strawberries
on my tongue
crushing arrows
shot from my splendid
cupid’s bow
while they turn me
around this way and that
unlace my fine
whale bones
I turn the magic on
fish mongers
fresh snuff
on the fingers
of their
stained hands
cup the
peaches
and
the cream
of me
I am like a
dirty god
who somehow
understands
they genuflect
before me
thank their sweet lord
whoever that may be
they remove my
one good frilly garter
with their canine teeth
they have held out
for this communion
damned to hell all the
bless’ed week,
they say I smell
like raspberries
I am a tasty treat
yet I am not complete
while they confess
they are now so
excellently replete
I hear their sad
confessions later
while I sing
them salty tunes
a good time had
for those who
each ardently
hide defeat
at the wrong end
of the street
I am a woman
of mystery
I’ve lost the
young and fair
I am only 25
didn’t plan to
find my small life
less than large
the wrong side
of a chapel
not so white
walking down
not up the stairs
a world away
from Paris now
I am cold coddled dreams
they think of me
as eggs
sunnyside down
and over easy
they play me
like maestros
extracting
sounds contralto
from my parting lips
I let them
think this is
such fun
for a biting bit
I am the maestro,
and musician
holding the only cello now,
oh where to begin,
where to begin,
they whisper
into my dainty
shell-like ears
trite platitudes
like the Ocean
calling out its
Aphrodite
short sparked
conversations
along the lines
ducky trust me
sincerely
you should
believe
more in me
than you do
in that sunless part
of your good self
that never
ever dreams
and
for a while
I let them forget
their guilt
let them
think that
I have let them in
that for me
they are a god
as close as I
will ever get
and like Phaon
they flee eventually
after an hour
or two
always before
the revealing
mourn of
abondonment du jour
shrugging off
the mystery
that is me
tossers tossing
their paltry shillings
sometimes if I’m lucky,
they say, madam here
I gift you this -
a crown -
as if I am
her majesty
placing alms
on the cheap
ball-and-claw-foot
bonheur-du-jour
I am less than
joie de vivre
florins never
make a feast
I am a woman
of mystery
no solid trail
of history
‘cept the path
you walk through
my door
I erased all
trace of that
fair girl I
once was
long before
there I stand
singing my tune
for the Violet
now calling me
eerily home -
‘tis a mother I am
wanting sorely -
and as mother,
I am now,
found sorely
wanting,
I shall disarm
the current load
shed it
like a bad apple
into that bucket
sitting there
on that bloody floor
I feel a breeze
through the
broken window
the curtain has saved
what little decency
from the lover’s fight
days ago remains
some small security
I am not alarmed,
in here I feel safe
I am engaged
as you glide
elegantly
through my door
charming smile
honest eyes
a small parcel
in your hands
a gift for me
you say,
at this moment
I consider you
an Angel
I am blessed
you have arrived
to save me
from my
dark night
perhaps
even so my
lonely days
what softer tip
could one expect
than that of crimson
petal and the white
of your mirrored
velvet tight delight
You say,
I am a woman
of mystery
heed this,
eyes like cornflowers,
blue as forget-me-nots,
in my eyes
you are never
fallen fruit,
your life has a
purpose with it
comes a certainty
a kind of offering,
a certain mode of truth
trust me,
I work miracles,
you will see;
as you undress
best fold
and place
your pretty garments
neatly there on that chair,
believe me
you are truly blessed,
here dear heart drink this
sweet sugared
cup of tea
I am a woman
of great mystery
a cut above
the rest
trust me,
you will see
(LadyLabyrinth/2021)
"Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.”
(Alfred Lord Tennyson)
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45380/the-princess-now-sleeps-the-crimson-petal
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity -- must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions -- not in these her honour dwells.
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unchained to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.
...
When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
(excerpts, "The Female of the Species"/Rudyard Kipling)
https://www.ling.upenn.edu/courses/hum100/female.html
VICTIM: Mary Jane Kelly
https://www.casebook.org/victims/mary_jane_kelly.html
https://en-academic.com/dic.nsf/enwiki/618343
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Jane_Kelly
Mary Jane Kelly/Walter Sickert/Lesbian (connection)
https://www.irishexaminer.com/lifestyle/arid-30960082.html
Mary Jane Kelly/Patricia Cornwall
https://youtu.be/q_ycdVx6rXk
Exhumation / DNA
https://youtu.be/qswrnSQa1JQ
FBI PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE – Jack the Ripper
https://vault.fbi.gov/Jack%20the%20Ripper/Jack%20the%20Ripper%20Part%201%20of%201/view#document/p2
RIPPER PROFILE
https://history.howstuffworks.com/history-vs-myth/ripper-profile.htm
BBC DOCO 2006
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/6164544.stm
SUSPECT - Male: Frederick Deeming (the Australian Connection)
https://youtu.be/FTgOkUkFzHQ
https://www.casebook.org/suspects/deeming.html
SUSPECTS – Female x 2:
Mary Pearcey
https://www.casebook.org/suspects/jill.html
Lizzie Williams (Mary Williams, wife of Sir John Williams)
https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/7053053/jack-the-ripper-woman-lizzie-williams-claims/
https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/world/was-lizzie-williams-jack-the-ripper/news-story/05c073605e6f794d391e9e582db3cf9a
https://www.livescience.com/20239-jack-ripper-serial-killer-woman.html
https://rebeccafrostwrites.com/2020/11/19/ripper-suspect-lizzie-williams/
https://www.express.co.uk/expressyourself/311968/Was-Jack-the-Ripper-a-woman
https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/7053053/jack-the-ripper-woman-lizzie-williams-claims/
(POEM - NARRATIVE)
"Sick Art". LadyLabyrinth 2021.
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/sick_art_1405157
(POEM - NARRATIVE )
"The Strange Case of FT", LadyLabyrinth 2021.
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_strange_case_of_ft_1350301
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