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AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 186
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, May 04, 2003 - 2:09 pm: | 
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Jack be…
Some say I be the dread and terrible Jack of Knaves,
but I silence them lickety split to very early graves.
Some say I be that ol’ Jack of Hearts,
and them I do rip up like I do the tarts.
Still more think me the Jack of Spades,
then I show ‘em me nice sharp blades.
And just dare to name me that Jack of Clubs,
and I’ll slit your innards you useless grubs.
And that ol’ damned rogue & bumptious rascal -
The Jack of Diamonds -
then I’ll show what’s in me pretty brown parcel.
Many call me that Jack of all trades,
but I’ll stick to sticking pretty maids,
in pretty patterns across the street,
like paintings arranged all so neat.
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,
blood is blood and blood is thick.
On a cold winter’s night I be ol’ Jack Frost,
and steal your soul at what accost?
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
And who did Jack kill?
But Jill…
and not a few others to me ol’ boot,
but not for scanty and scabby loot.
Oh no, Jack’s booty was so much bigger,
than sum or some such unreasonable figure.
Whimsical and jolly the reason why,
ol’ Jack just like to see ‘em die.
Perhaps I be but Jack O’ Lantern,
or some such other phantom.
A monster, wraith, or devil incarnate,
Jack the Lad your good old cockney mate.
I think you will eventually find,
I be but monster in your own mind.
For I am your lover or mother,
even some long lost brother.
Probably it be true,
I am just you.
So catch me when you can mister lust,
for it’s hell for me, that or bust.
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Robert Charles Linford
Detective Sergeant
Username: Robert
Post Number: 74
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, May 04, 2003 - 3:24 pm: |
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As usual, I like it, AP.
Oh well, here goes nothing......
ANSWER
If you ever plumb
The Why of what I do,
Kindly be a chum
And let me know it too.
But you'd better keep tight hold
Of your Ariadne thread -
There's something sharp and cold
In the cavern that you tread.
I think I'll check the cricket scores now.
Robert |
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 187
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, May 04, 2003 - 4:15 pm: |
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Don't be shy, Robert.
A splendid effort.
For an understanding of shylocks like Byron, Wilde and Sickert will bring you to a portrait of Jack.
Don't bother with the cricket scores, all the players threw themselves in the Thames. |
Richard Brian Nunweek
Detective Sergeant
Username: Richardn
Post Number: 141
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 05, 2003 - 3:36 am: |
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For over one hundred years, people have sought me
and given me many names.
you have all tried to enter my head,
What made me start my games?.
Am I a Gull,is my name Tumblety,
You have all tried to deliver,
Or mayby I am that schooteacher,
Who was found in the river,
Some have come close,and that is fine,
Is their really a relevance to 39,
Is my name Barnett, some call Kellys slave,
Did I spit down on that whores grave?,
Am I a sailor, soldier, Butcher,or even a quack?,
Keep guessing.. I will sign off just plain JACK.
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Bob Hinton
Detective Sergeant
Username: Bobhinton
Post Number: 56
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 05, 2003 - 6:20 am: |
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Here's a ditty I was going to use at the start of a trilogy of fictional stories about JTR:
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To do a bit of slaughter,
Jacks nearly caught and had to leave town,
Leaving Jill all alone with his daughter! |
Bob Hinton
Detective Sergeant
Username: Bobhinton
Post Number: 57
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 05, 2003 - 6:23 am: |
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Just as a matter of interest there was a serious poem about JTR, written by Hardy. It appears in a book of his poetry, which unfortunately is very difficult to obtain.
Luckily I have a copy and will shortly be offering it for sale on Ebay!
Bob |
Robert Charles Linford
Detective Sergeant
Username: Robert
Post Number: 77
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 05, 2003 - 10:42 am: |
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Nice ones, Richard and Bob!
The cricketers threw themselves in the Thames, AP? I've heard of going for a duck, but that's ridiculous.
MITRE SQUARE
Orion raised his bow, and drew :
Arrows of light pierced the deep void through,
Spans numberless measuring, sure and true,
Past lurching worlds unstayed they flew....
To hail upon the ambushed head
Of a woman who couldn't reach her bed.
(Actually I'm not sure whether the fabled Orion's arrows wouldn't have thudded into the back of some warehouse, but I don't have Patrick Moore's telephone number)
Robert
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AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 190
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 05, 2003 - 1:20 pm: |
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Robert
The cricketer who took the duck was Druitt wasn't it? Didn't he play cricket?
I liked your Mitre Square, you have a touch of the Blake about you, just make sure you don't end your days in the looney bin like he did, overcome by his visions. What a master he was.
I think Orion's arrows would have thudded into the back of the sixteen coppers drinking tea with the night watchman when they should have been on patrol.
And good to see Richard and Bob contributing.
Bob, can't you scan Hardy's poem for us and post it? I've never heard of this.
Richard, I liked the spitting on the grave bit.
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Marie Finlay
Inspector
Username: Marie
Post Number: 184
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 05, 2003 - 3:15 pm: |
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Marvellous thread, I love all the contributions.
Is this thread going to be a competition for winning a signed copy of your book, AP?
If it is, I might be tempted to submit a laughable contribution of my own (because I really want to win a copy of the book).
Not that my contribution would win. Yours would probably win, AP. I'm utterly craptastic at poetry. But it would be worth taking a stab at it, for a prize.
If not, I'll spare you all the agony of having to read my poetry.
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AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 191
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 05, 2003 - 3:44 pm: |
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Marie
Yes, I am throwing in the only truly signed first edition mint copy of the Myth as the prize for the best poesie, so all we need now is a judge, as I am obviously biased.
Please do give it a go, I'm sure you are not as craptastic as you say.
It may be a whimsical thing but I do believe such means may just find some very real truths in this matter.
Thank you for your positive comments. |
Bob Hinton
Detective Sergeant
Username: Bobhinton
Post Number: 59
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 05, 2003 - 5:57 pm: |
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Dear AP
I'm afraid the poem is six pages long, a bit too much to scan onto the boards.
Bob |
Robert Charles Linford
Detective Sergeant
Username: Robert
Post Number: 81
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Monday, May 05, 2003 - 6:24 pm: |
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Go on, Marie, have a go! You can't be any worse than me. I don't expect to win the book, but I am hoping for maybe 35th place. I'm sure I remember
AP saying that the 35th place prize was a signed bottle of Spanish brandy.
Yes, AP, Druitt was a cricketer. He was a bowler, and the first time he tried to throw himself in the Thames, he missed, and a wide was called.
Thanks for the kind words. For me, Blake is one of those people who, if someone asked "What is inpiration?" you'd say "Read Blake". I certainly am touched by something, but God knows what it is!
Probably just a bit touched, as you'll see from the next one I send in.
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Detective Sergeant
Username: Robert
Post Number: 82
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 06, 2003 - 5:37 am: |
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Hallo everyone
1888
'Twas in the year eighteen hundred and eighty-eight
That several women met a horrible fate,
At least four or five, six, seven or eight,
And all because they stayed up too late.
Old Jacky did it - a somewhat brusque person,
I think he had some slight perversion,
And he's the one I've hung my verse on.
Now Jack, he wasn't too law-abiding,
Confidence in the police was sliding,
And the Marquess of Salisbury went into hiding.
The police were at the end of their tether,
They thought Jacky wore an apron of leather...
I don't think he wore it much, if ever.
Then in Miller's Court, Jack got a shock :
He decided to burn a childish frock,
Or some such garment that looked like a smock.
Poor old Jack, how was he to know
That left in the pocket from four days ago
Was something could kick up a hell of a glow?
The fire fizzed. Jack hopped back, afraid.
A Standard Firework Golden Cascade
At once to the spout of a kettle put paid.
Having lit the blue touch paper,
Jack retired from his criminal caper
And vanished into air like vapour.
Robert
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Christopher T George
Detective Sergeant
Username: Chrisg
Post Number: 113
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 06, 2003 - 9:12 am: |
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Hi, Bob:
I am curious as to the title of the Hardy poem. I am a fan of his verse but was not aware that he had written a Jack the Ripper poem. I am not surprised though to hear that he wrote such a poem.
Best regards
Chris |
Bob Hinton
Detective Sergeant
Username: Bobhinton
Post Number: 60
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 06, 2003 - 11:46 am: |
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Dear Chris,
Its called The Police.
Bob |
Christopher T George
Detective Sergeant
Username: Chrisg
Post Number: 114
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 06, 2003 - 1:21 pm: |
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Hi, Bob:
Many thanks for the information. Good luck with your ebay sale.
Best regards
Chris |
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 193
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 06, 2003 - 1:35 pm: |
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Robert
I enjoyed that to distraction. It never occured to me to inject some humour into the otherwise macabre and somber subject.
I must try that meself.
I loved the idea of a firework ruining and upsetting Jack's little game.
Actually you have touched on a very sensitive and important part of a serial killer's make up here, for they be creatures of habit and detest anything that ruins their little rituals.
Just such a little fire cracker turned Pitchfork from a harmless flasher into a brutal killer. So it seems the fire cracker might have blue touch paper at each end.
I'm afraid the bottle of Spanish brandy may well be empty.
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AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 194
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, May 06, 2003 - 2:10 pm: |
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The Bud...
Call the decorators in, let painting of rooms begin,
Let’s paint the town red, and put whores to bed.
Let’s have a tapestry of bright red gore,
The immortal remains of some dead whore.
Let’s cover the table, with which we are able,
And what’s left beside we must not hide,
For that be the skin of a beast, and
Not part of our noble feast.
It is now hard to remember, which parts
We did dismember.
And cleave this entire planet asunder,
With blood that rumbled
Like thunder.
We painted thick and fast.
And saved the best for last.
It wasn’t much,
That final touch.
But it stoked our fire, that funeral pyre,
And there did we warm our hands,
And talk of final plans
Of how she died, that worm inside
The bud.
For she were a flower that the sun never knew,
She were a crimson flower that never grew.
A flower cut in time,
A flower quite divine.
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Robert Charles Linford
Detective Sergeant
Username: Robert
Post Number: 84
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, May 07, 2003 - 4:19 am: |
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Hi AP
I liked that very much, and like it more each time I read it.
Glad you liked the humorous poem. I too have a poem with a flower in it. It's prosaic, compared with yours, but I might as well bung it in.
MARY KELLY
This violet, plucked and tossed,
Saw not her mother's grave.
Her going was a sudden frost,
Without a goodbye wave.
If she were here anew,
Gave grinning death the lie,
Would she be asking "Who?"
Or the great eternal "Why?"
Robert |
Robert Charles Linford
Detective Sergeant
Username: Robert
Post Number: 85
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, May 07, 2003 - 4:55 am: |
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And this one's written from the other side of that horrid bedside table :
LONER
So the People turned out for Polly, flush
In their grubby coats and hats,
With the vicar mouthing his meaningless mush
And the women all shrieking like cats?
I only wated a whil
(To them it seemed uncanny)
Before I packed them off in style
To say goodbye to Annie.
So now the police care more than two hoots,
There'll be extra men on the beat?
I must have made them jump out of their boots
When I visted Hanbury Street.
And the politician crew
Are rosetted with pangs of pity?
I think the next one I do,
I'll do in their wonderful city.
So the Lord Mayor of London, no less,
Has offered a handsome reward?
It gives me real fits as they break and bless
The moneybags they can afford.
Well a Mayor's costume is fine,
And a Mayor's banquet is gay,
But I'll uncork a richer red wine
As I ruin a Mayor's big day.
So the fancy dress was for naught,
And the marching bands were stilled,
And the crowd furled their flags as a different sport
Was trumpeted and shrilled.
Now all are fogged in fear,
With "What is there left to try?"
And "Where do we go from here?"
But where the hell shall I?
Robert |
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 195
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, May 07, 2003 - 3:40 pm: |
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Robert
enjoyed those two very much indeed, liked the 'Loner' better, ruining the Mayor's big day with some rich red wine.
I think the 'loner' theme to be a good one for Jack. He was a very lonely lost little boy.
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Thomas C. Wescott
Police Constable
Username: Tom_wescott
Post Number: 5
Registered: 4-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, May 07, 2003 - 10:40 pm: |
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Hello all,
Some good stuff up there! Here's a song I wrote, inspired by Mary Kelly's popularity with so many of today's researchers. One almost gets the feeling that some are in love with her. I'll probably record this one day. The music is kind of pretty and haunting in its simplicity.
THE BALLAD OF MARY KELLY
Mary my dear, I fold back the years, and I swear I can see you through history's eye
Sweet violets you sang of, the love that you made wasn't real but you sought to find truth in their lies
But you never did see just how good this life can be
Wrapped up in mystery, but somewhere in yesterday, your feet dance like rain upon cobblestone streets
Through shadows and fog you laughed at them all, and with gaslight your halo, you made Hell your beat
But you never did know of a love worth letting go.
Mary my dear, there's no need to fear, I'm with you.
Some men will falter and some men will rise to the expectation they see in your eyes
Mary I'm not the man I want to be, but with you beside me, girl, I am complete
But you never could tell if this world was Heaven or Hell
(Break)
And you could not recall how your world ended at all
Did you see it coming, or weren't you aware
Did you fight back the Phantom or welcome your fate
Time lost your face, love, but held you a place because
You're every bit of the legend he made
And I wish I could show you the love you've never known
Mary my dear, there's no need to fear, I'm with you
Mary my dear, let me make it clear, I love you
THE END |
Robert Charles Linford
Detective Sergeant
Username: Robert
Post Number: 94
Registered: 3-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, May 08, 2003 - 9:47 am: |
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Great lyrics, Tom! I hope you do record it, and soon!
Yes, I suppose it's the youth and the bloodbath that fixates people on Kelly - plus the feeling some have that she was the target all along.
AP, Ive started one about Cutbush, as you seem to envisage him, but it will probably end up as shambolic as its subject.
This poem's very dark - it was written with the light off.
PRONOUNCING LIFE EXTINCT
As I was walking through Buck's Row
I saw it, so I stopped - and oh!
There she lay - ugly, old,
Such a one could not keep hold
On a mighty, whirling, twirling city -
Flung to the edge of human pity.
So she sprawled beside the track,
Abandoned, unfortunate, on her back.
She must in beer have bounced along the walls
To the gateway shielding the animal stalls
From the harsher struggle, then drunken reeling
Dropped, arm outstretched, as if she were feeling
For hard assurance of pavement there,
While Polaris plummeted into the Bear.
And as I finished my cigar
I closer scanned the scene:
Her eyes looked not upon the stars,
But the darkness in between.
Then with a quiet and yielding groan,
I slit her and ripped her and carried on home.
Robert
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AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 198
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, May 08, 2003 - 1:01 pm: |
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Thomas,
enjoyed that very much. I write lyrics and bang 'em out on me old guitar as well... I like it but it makes the Groenendales howl.
I haven't yet attempted to write a poesie inspired by love on this subject - it had never occured to me - but after your splendid effort I might just 'ave a go meself. |
AP Wolf
Inspector
Username: Apwolf
Post Number: 199
Registered: 2-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, May 08, 2003 - 1:10 pm: |
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Brilliant effort Robert.
I was much impressed by the way your character changed from being impartial observer to killer in an instant... and that is probably the most accurate portrait I have yet seen of Jack on these boards. A casual passer by who thought 'oh, why not?'
The image you paint of the man finishing his cigar first before slaying the woman is very chilling.
Very dark indeed, but very good.
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