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Thank you YesNo and cacian!
Now I know this subject is very dark, but give it a chance. I am in the middle of extensive study of the Jack the Ripper murders. Recall that there were at least five victims, dozens of viable suspects, no one ever convicted!
So the subject of the next round of poems is:
Jack the Ripper
Jack's Victim
She hoped her poverty would end
But knew that could not be.
Jack slid the blade. It left its mark,
A message that when hearts grow dark
They act so needlessly.
Jack the Ripper
Does the eye deceive
or was there a flicker of movement
beyond the shadows
amid the London fog,
hanging heavy,
like the taste of fear
in the air.
Hollow footfalls ring
upon the cobble stones,
but what is that faint
eccho that seems to follow,
a sudden silence, strangely
ominous, bated breath.
Relief floods,
giddy laughter wells up,
as fear dissipates,
the carriage appears,
gentlemanly smiles,
an offered hand.
Dawn rises,
sprinkled sunlight
splashes across
blood stained stones,
where the body lies,
wayward lass,
eviscerated.
The last sight
she saw,
a gentleman's smile
in the dark fog.
Jack My Name.
Jack my name,
ripping is my game.
On mist full night with candle in it glass cage.
With my yummy ladies of night.
With my tall hat with swoosh of my cloak.
Silence strike with silver in the beam.
Against the they flesh with ruby flowing to cobble streets.
It was the perfect crime,
but it slayed him to know
that they'd never call him
by his real name.
Jack came through the dark,
and all he wore was black, and sad.
He was a son of a b-itch,
Rode on through the clouds.
His mother was a drunk,
She drank low spirits.
He blamed her of course.
He was a son of a b-itch.
And so he came through the dark.
He had his butcher's knife.
Let the games begin.
He was a son of a *b-itch.
(edited 'cause couldn't type "b-itch")
OK here are the results:
YesNo: Nice little poem that reminds me of poems printed at the time of the murders, in 1888
Dark Muse: A chilling account of what could be any of the murders
zoolane: I liked it, but the last line throws me
Jaked: Interesting, and I'll bet, true
jajdude: And a cold SOB at that!
One winner only can be chosen:
DARK MUSE you captured the horror that was Jack the Ripper best of all :seeya::seeya::seeya:
Thank you very much, I will think of a new subject soon.
Ok since it is almost October, the next subject is
"Graveyard"
Innards
With precision the surgeon aligns the knife,
For the operation intended to save your life.
They make an incision deep into your skin,
And pull it away to peer within—
For they want a look at your innards!
Now you lie in the morgue all cold and still.
And the Coroner comes in for his usual thrills.
He slices you open from pubic bone to throat,
And spreads your body-cavity open like a sacrificial goat—
He wants to examine your innards!
They bury you deep in the damp moldy clay.
But the worms will come around one of these days.
With tiny mouths they burrow through your skin,
Desperately trying to get within—
They want to devour your innards!
Pendragon
graveyards
troubles passed away
silence has it laid
for pains to step away
to a quiet den and slow
adjourned they shall grow old
and fall apart and go
there is a place for all
no matter how grave the fall
a place where hurtful
blows
decide to stop
forever and for all
Walking Through St. Paul's Churchyard in Manhattan
The rain and wind attacked the stones
That marked where George and Sarah rest.
Somewhere their flesh and fragile bones
Decayed. The gravestones did their best
To let us know who's lying where,
But weather wore their faces bare.
These markers still have much to tell:
The chapel stood when towers fell.
Sorrow wanders absentmindedly down the grassy lane
lost, perhaps, in her daydreaming;
she stoops randomly, pulls weeds, picks flowers:
daisies, dandelions, a black eyed susan.
She pauses, inhales earthy scent, recalls Passion,
his bed, another loamy scar,
saline kisses; Sorrow licks cracked lips,
treads lightly past her stoic sentinel.
Closer, Sorrow slows, slips off her sandals;
wears goosebumps, mourning dew’s tears
upon this sacred ground, Sorrow’s mistress,
tightly grips her bouquet of memories.
Laughter, a glint of sunlight, Sorrow catches her sound
darting here and there through the mist,
she blushes, caught in her infidelity, lays her bouquet,
bends, and gently kisses Laughter’s head.
Thank you all, there were some great poems here to choose from.
Pendragon: I loved it. I very much enjoyed the darkly humors twist of your poem. I laughed out loud throughout the whole thing. A very fun and entertaining poem which approaches the topic death with a light hand and a sense of humor that I can appreciate.
cacian: A very elegant and beautifully written poem. I enjoyed your use of rhyme. I also quite liked that almost serene feeling that your poem catches. I really liked your interpretation of the subject. Death as the great equalizer and a means to offer peace at last.
YesNo: I enjoyed the way your poem told a story and I thought your poem was very atmospheric. It captured some very nice imagery and I liked the visual image which it produced in my mind.
And the winner is......
Jaked: This was beautiful with some wonderful imagery and really great lines. It was very moving and emotionally provocative. I really liked the way in which it balanced teh feelings of sorrow with the offerings of hope. A vividly descriptive poem.
Dark Muse thank you very much and congratulations Jaked!!