You though your-self
very clever I reckon
when you
informed the police.

But you made a mistake
if you though I dident see you.

Now I known
you know me
and I see your little game,
and I mean to finish you
and send
your ears to your wife
if you show this to the police
or help them
if you do

I will finish you.

It no use your trying to get out of my way.

Because I have you
when you dont expect it
and I keep my word
as you soon see and
rip you up.

Yours truly

Jack the Ripper.

PS You see I know your address
______
The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. Part the 4th
_
With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/ripperletters/

"On October 16th George Lusk, the president of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, received a three-inch-square cardboard box in his mail. Inside was half a human kidney preserved in wine, along with the following letter. Medical reports carried out by Dr. Openshaw found the kidney to be very similar to the one removed from Catherine Eddowes, though his findings were inconclusive either way. The letter read as follows:"

From hell.
Mr Lusk,
Sor
I send you half the Kidne
I took from one woman
and prasarved it for you
tother piece
I fried and ate
it was very nise.

I may send you
the ****** knif
that took it out
if you only wate a whil longer

signed
Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk
_______
View the actual document here: http://www.casebook.org/images/lusksmall.jpg
The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. Part the 3rd
________
With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/index.html

I was not codding
dear old Boss
when I gave you the tip,
you'll hear about
Saucy Jacky's
work tomorrow
double event this time
number one squealed a bit
couldn't finish straight off.

ha not the time to get ears for police.

thanks for keeping last letter back till I got to work again.

Jack the Ripper
______
View the actual document here: http://www.casebook.org/images/coddingc.jpg

The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. Part the 2nd
______
With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/index.html

Dear Boss,
I keep on hearing the police have caught me
but they wont fix me just yet.
I have laughed
when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track.

That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits.

I am down on ******
and I shant quit
ripping them
till I do get buckled.

Grand work the last job was.
I gave the lady
no time to squeal.

How can they catch me now.

I love my work
and want to start again.

You will soon hear of me with
my funny little games.

I saved some of the proper red stuff
in a ginger beer bottle
over the last job
to write with
but it went thick
like glue
and
I cant use it.

Red ink is fit enough I hope
ha. ha.

The next job
I do
I shall clip
the ladys ears
off
and send to the police officers
just for jolly wouldn't you.

Keep this letter back
till I do a bit more work,
then give it out straight.

My knife's so nice and sharp
I want to get to work right away
if I get a chance.

Good Luck.

Yours truly

Jack the Ripper

Dont mind me giving the trade name

PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha
_____

The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. Part the 1st
_____

With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/index.html

falling with you to catch me,
i am Icarus.

wings of wax.

the man in the air of your dreams...

i can no longer understand how now,
this sleeplessness at night,
when the world is waking in other places
so far away from me,
to the ethereal powders of the breeze,
that paints the morning with its poetry,
as the phantom of the love i love,
causes me to awaken with a cry.

It's going to rain, rain, it's going to rain,
those sleek-silver drops will take me back again,
to those cobbled, winding streets,
the raucous, song-filled pubs,
and the green, the green, the red-brick,
granite and oh! the green,
the steaming Earl Grey tea,
of which i love with a yearning need,
waiting, waiting for me,
on that precious island on the sea.

I

i am so much smaller than you
and i can ever
                            believe...
and you are so much smaller
than you and
i know.

i sit within the winds,
those summer breezes,
some gusty gales, perhaps,
feeling
'the tug
               and toss
of its fabulous force
     rippling
     churning
combing the thinning grey hair on my tired head,
my clothing,
                          so indistinct,
flapping,
                  furling,
floating, --filled with this seen-un-seen presence,
     and i know

a am so small,
and my life so
ludicrous,
like the air
that comes
                      and goes
out of its own control,
but,
                                               i am too small,
and unable
to stop this, its invisible assault.

II


when i am a-float upon
the great lakes, the oceans
the
      rolling
                    rivers
i live
like a tiny slab of flotsam or
     driftwood
sailing
             slowly,
circularly,
(oh-so!) quietly
                                running,
reeling the peeling painted oars of my boat
against
the grainy flashing surface of the waters
                                 rumbling,
                                                                                  rolling
                                                                                       away
this insatiable yearning
to go wherever it takes me to go, but
i know
              i am very small,
and cannot control the eddy's creeping currents-
constant-currents
thus
          submitting
my wayfaring self
to the
unfathomable.

III
__

these trees towering
                                         above me
around me,
the sapling,
the blanketing
                              (in my lifetime)
                                blooming branches
creating
an emotional, outer, physical, inner, spiritual
                              dwindling
like the leaves left shivering beneath the cold winter's frost,
once casually
                falling,
                              dropping,
drying up around my soul
slipping
into silent winter slumber,
to awaken
                     again...
                                    --and then!
(to the dismay of my self-enlightened discovery)
i see
how small
                                            i am
only to return again
from that brownish-moist
soil-bed
                like a seed
beneath
                  the ground
                                        never sprouting,
only fogetting,
the once and always forvever
and ever
the natural
insignificance
                                                                 of being.

When I walk alone and by myself
for a day or two or perhaps a minute,
nothing makes sense and everything does,
and I want to write without words
and love myself while hating me, too,
and prove to you the world is ours
or maybe just yours
when all is paved in pain
like some puzzle missing pieces vital.
But only when I walk alone.

When I have to be with you
for an entire day or a few minutes,
it all makes sense and it doesn't
and I want to talk in silence
and be your friend and maybe more
and prove virility while wrestling the lions
or just by simply holding you
when the tears fall from your eyes
like the blood from one thousand wounds
but only when I have to be with you.

Coffee and Tea, I'll take them both,
Light me up another smoke,
Have a piece of Shoo-Fly pie,
Hear the birdies in the sky,
Take my pen in trembling hand,
Compose some poetry, if I can.

touch my hand,
touch my hand,
all day long (or
perhaps all night)
let me smell your sweet
perfume,
and i will not request
the taste of your
lips,
lady, oh, those lips
touch my hand...

I am,
however, no hero,
just a lowly poet
in the always
and forever
quest for the pursuit of
truth...

with these, my tired, aging hands,
i would weave a floral garland strand,
create a wreath of petals sweet,
place it upon your head so neat,
and in the setting of the day,
we'd frolic and we'd dance and play,
like young lovers do and for all time,
you'd love me and i'd call you mine.

Has feathers,
sleeps in the nook,
by a red rock,
and the title of this poem,
made you look
at my ****.

__
To see a photo of my ****:
http://beautyineverything.com/5048983478