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Jack The Ripper
Contributed by
derbypoet
on
Monday, 27th April 2009 @ 07:52:37 AM in AEST
Topic:
StoryPoetry
|
In her old black widow's bonnet And her ragged skirt of brown And her boots of different size And woollen shawl, She went slowly through the back streets Of the Mile with eyes cast down, Seeking fumbled thrillers' coins That they'd let fall.
Past the alleys, dark, ungodly And the taverns sour and hot, Vacant mind and empty purse Back to the yard, Where the decent never lingered And the hansoms loathed to trot, And when cautious sunbeams crept They found it hard.
Inside the narrow entrance with A lantern he was kneeling Next a heap of something laid Out near the well, And both his hands were working as Though rifling or stealing, But the things that he removed He could not sell.
As she stood and gazed quite calmly, He then slowly turned his head, And he realised that he Had been found out. With a language coarse, indecent, Furious fingers dipped in red, He was on her like a flash With angry shout.
His arm was 'cross her windpipe then He pinned her fast with madness, Obsidian frenzied eyes and Foam-spit seeping, And nose to nose he searched her face, Then stopped, held head with sadness, Cried in anguish for his mother Then ran weeping.
Mary stood and set her bonnet And smoothed down her ragged skirt And picked the dirty shawl from In the gutter. Then she climbed the rancid stairway, Not quite knowing why she hurt, Found a tallow stub and chewed bread As it sputtered.
Copyright ©
derbypoet
... [
2009-04-27 07:52:37] (Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Jack The Ripper
(User Rating: 1 ) by Former_Member on
Monday, 27th April 2009 @ 08:10:29 AM AEST (User
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Gruesome...geeze. :-) Nicely done. |
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