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 Oct 2010
D Conors
he fell asleep
and he woke up in a dream
nothing at all
seemed the way it seemed
he reached out for the bedroom door
falling upside-down upon the floor

he crawled and clawed along the ceiling tiles
cried with laughing inverted saddened smiles
then his breath drew quick
his fingers lost their grip
and falling he fell
awaking dead from the trip
beyond the door

now he dreams no dreams
no more
D. Conors
05 October 2010
 Oct 2010
Cody Edwards
Not the romantic.
The control.
A single white digit,
the sprawl of cool
smiles extend to
taste and see.

Their lives like
hyacinths that drink
the air in books,
plastic lips.
Slime from the marble.
A widow-dream.

Metal midair that
speaks a rat's tongue
with the deftness of
a seasoned lover.
His eyes can see your circuitry.
Her mouth the tree of night.
© Cody Edwards 2010
 Oct 2010
Luke B Hopson
A Victorian Girl, with eyes forlorn
Wild and elusive since the day she was born
Her features smattered with a blanket of tears
From barbaric acts exposed through the years
Through **** and pillage she never would yield
Some hailed her as foolish as her fate was sealed

She trekked for miles with liberal endeavour
Innocence and intrigue in equal measure
Till she encountered a fellow who furnished the chance
And brandished a languishing olive-like branch
He beckoned her forth with ravishing guile
Bearing pomp and splendor and a fraudulent smile

In mounting the stallion, the deal was done
As the lecherous libertine embodied the pun
He savagely severed her ivory threads
And fiercely penetrated the pallid *******
With a barrage of torment unduly unleashed
A Victorian girl, morosely deceased.

*(September 2010)
 Sep 2010
Ryan Patrick Walsh
I don't care much in knowing how this monster was born, I have detailed case files on its existence and I know its patterns very well. I just want information on how it can be found and killed.

To **** any normal monster, all you must do is set it on fire, stab it with a stake, and shoot it with a silver bullet. However, it is nearly impossible to **** a true monster. They are much too practiced with their lifelong art of darkness - its mechanization through deception. Naturally living in shadowy places, they have strategies that work intrinsically against your police background. This monster you speak of – it will drag you from crime scene to crime scene, blood splatter to blood splatter, hoping you turn towards the light of the wrong evidence. Too many days, months, years have passed, it will know the planned escape route perfectly. Every true monster's greatest enemy is the light, however, its very survival depends on the shadow the light creates. You could shine your brightest and try to catch it in the act, but those walls will be marked by your monster, already running in the graffiti of a victim's blood. You might even catch a couple look-a-likes, the ones that are too young to know of your patrol patterns, too naive of their rights not to break under your torturous questioning, giving you useless answers. But that one twisted, maniacal ******* you're wanting, Detective? You'll have to find it while it's resting.

So if I cannot **** it in action and must find the monster while it rests, then it must have a home. What distant cabin of the marsh will it dwell in when I am there to capture it, to take it in chained for execution, to become this town's most needed hero?

For a monster to be born-

I told you, I do not much care in knowing how this monster-

But you see, the cabin of its resting place is the very cabin of its birth. If you wish to capture this true monster, the one that has lead to your own path as this department's chief detective, then you must trust me. You must listen, for your monster's cabin is owned by another.

Go on, then.

A monster cannot be physically born, it is merely a by product of the dark parasite found in a shadow. Anything that shines light has a shadow. One can never fall into their own, thus you must be forced into a different shadow for the darkness to find a carrier. Once inside, the parasite will aim to become its master's keeper. It will dig in search for the creature's light source, causing excruciating pain until it kills the host or disconnects the light. Once it takes over, the monster is born, taking it back to thrive in the very shadow it fell into. The cabin you seek is the exit from the shadow of another.

So to destroy this monster I seek, I must find who's shadow it once fell into? I must find the child this monster once was and pull him through the exit when he's resting. But where will I know to start?*

Continue painting. The sun is almost up.
A restless dream, that trapped me
Like the icy blackness, enwrapped me
I found myself cold and shaking
With no way for my awaking

Then he came, from out of the dark
Stalked me like some demented shark
Like a messenger of Death, to deliver
I found myself afraid, felt myself shiver

His eyes were red, his skin was snow white
He gave no reflection, no sign of light
When he spoke, his voice was like gravel
I could feel this life of mine, unravel

"I am the darkness within your dreams"
"I am the nightmare of your screams"
"I claim that which is mine, you know"
"I come now, to collect your soul"

I started to run, but then he was there, ahead
This strange traveller, collecting the dead
But why had he come for me if I was alive?
Did he not realise I was left to survive?

But a cruel irony can be twisted fate
You do not know when it is too late
As he claimed me, I started to weep
I did not know, I died in my sleep

So I walk with him, for eternal torment
Never to awaken from this moment
As into Deaths' dormain I am cast
Knowing now, I have dreamt my last
copyright Chris Smith 2010
 Sep 2010
D Conors
(HORROR & FANTASY FICTION)

On a dark, damp night beside a country campfire,
tales of The Timberman are shared near the mire,
of Sadie's Swamp, where not so long ago,
The Timberman came and the death toll rose.

No one knows from whence The Timberman came,
but that it was on an October night in the rain,
with hate in his heart and a love of fear,
a taste for fresh flesh and a thirst for tears.

He comes brandishing an axe of the sharpest steel,
fells trees in his wake whilst seeking out his meals;
then stalking his way through the brush without stopping,
he seeks out his victims for his fatal chopping.

The Timberman's axe would arise and then fall,
shattering bone, splashing blood, flaying flesh and all,
hacking and striking to the shriek of their screams,
reveling in the flow of their blood-gore in streams.

Then, alas! -before the chase would begin,
there'd be nary a sound nor sight of him,
just the ****** remains of his brutal hunt:
hacked human bodies and scarred tree trunks.
D. Conors
14 September 2010
 Aug 2010
D Conors
Although the actual authenticity of this poem's authorship is questionable, Jack The Ripper was credited with sending various taunts in verse to the police during his killing spree. The following poem is especially creative and chilling...very akin to the style and sound of The Ripper's literary exchange with the authorities.
______

(Transcription)

Eight little ******, with no hope of heaven,
Gladstone may save one, then there'll be seven.
Seven little ****** beggin for a shilling,
One stays in Henage Court, then there's a killing.
Six little ******, glad to be alive,
One sidles up to Jack, then there are five.
Four and ***** rhyme aright,
So do three and me,
I'll set the town alight
Ere there are two.
Two little ******, shivering with fright,
Seek a cosy doorway in the middle of the night.
Jack's knife flashes, then there's but one,
And the last one's the ripest for Jack's idea of fun.

__

The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. EPILOGUE. "for Jack's idea of fun."

__


With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/ripper
letters/
D. Conors
09 August 2010
 Jul 2010
Joseph C
We are the fury and the greed and the filthy hearts of fishermen
Wrapped necks in their own line fed on by the fish with milk white eyes
We are the rotten apples plucked off the tree of the divine
We are the rotten apples plucked off the tree of the divine

Our father breathes diseases, our father breathes diseases through his fingers
Blows them out from his hands like hot ashes sticking to our eyes

We walk the paths wolves fear to pray but for what reason or a reason at all
Our love is in violence and our love is in pain and we love that we feel this way
We are the rotten apples plucked off the tree of the divine
We are the rotten apples plucked off the tree of the divine

Our mother breathes earthquakes, she breathes earthquakes from her lungs
And the earth will open us and swallow you whole, and it will and it will
 Jul 2010
dennis gunsteen
mee lords! let thy
speak a  little phase!
thy shadow of mee
dreams.?
my little rose  love of
life.mee lady
at castle steel one
evening.
a ghostly  person
she be .
i love her but then
you see.
she a ghost of castle steel
she was mee   friend,
mee love of life.
when  she was liveing.
she  call out the  window
one evening on  moon lite
night . my dear lord
elliot  where thy be
mee  lovely friend.
by the  meadow
stream  water of of life.
and then a little bird
  flying  around
came down from sky
that  night.
bite my love.
on her hand.
so i said over here
my love .
by the garden
by our tree .
what is   love mee lords
i'll be in the  castle steel
because mee   lady spirit.
live  in these wall  at castle steel.
these is true story of us.
we are children of forest
an castle  that live once upon
a  time in  story.
mee sweet  love mee little
rose flower of life that she be
mee lady julie .
a flower of my heart.
the sunrise an sunset
of my  day. she the spring
water of my life.
my love of life
my soul my heart
thy true friend i had
400 hundred  years  ago
she was wonderful
person. my julie
 Jul 2010
extasis
Listen to the bell's toll
It brings solace to the soul
The imps of my fitful slumber
Hope to drag me in the deep of sleep
Awakening to the noon of day
I leave my house with no delay
Hoping to find the one I love, dream of
Upon the stone from where she lays
As I rush into the sea of granite
The tombstones' voices drown my thoughts
A hundred murders, a thousand deaths
Accusations, reveries, pleadings
They cloud my mind
And I embrace darkness.
I feel the chilling touch of winter's baby soft breath
As I rise to my feet
To find myself in front
Of my long lost lover's
Final retreat
A heathen's breath descends upon
My heaving breast
As I claw the cursed ground, oh, the cursed ground,
Away from this place of solemnity
‑­
As the final clod of dirt is removed, in an air of infallibility
I hope to obtain a glimpse of my dearest
Only to find those accursed pits of black like a pool of tainted water

With hair like limpid worms in the night
And that ghastly nightmare grin,
Mocking my very existence to see whom I seek
In a terrible rage, I shred, I tear, I smash, and render the Beast
Indistinguishable in any form
I fling myself into the streets
Tearing thru the crowds
Vaulting over and thru the market stalls
To find my wild flight halted by a pair of
Panicked citizens hoping to alleviate my obvious distress
Only now in a flash of mental shock
That throws me close to an unconscious state
Does the realization of my actions ascend to my heavens
And as the citizens holding me let go
I myself let go
Of everything and everyone that matters
Or should matter to me
Stumbling, hoping to hold my balance along the precipice
From which my mind has already cast itself
‑­
I once again see a dripping, searing red rage cloud my vision as the madness
That had taken me among the tombstones returns
Swatting aside those near me
I approach the river that runs thru the city
And staring into the depths
I see the creature that I had become
A haggard defeated man that had succumbed to the
Eternal darkness that engulfs everyone in time
And I see my love, the one who I had sought for so long
Alongside this poor creature that is within me
Her presence is all that I can now perceive
And I let my grasp on this world
Decay, and as I sink into the depths
My love approaches and embraces me

In the final act of Love

In the final act of Life

In the only act of Death.
I do not sleep well at all. Never have. This time I woke up and felt very, very depressed, which was unusual. So I wrote. I was about 14 at the time.
 Jul 2010
D Conors
"29 October 1888 -- this letter was sent to Dr. Openshaw, who performed the medical examination on the portion of kidney received by George Lusk in conjunction with the From Hell letter."
_____

Old boss
you was rite
it was the left kidny
i was goin to hoperate agin
close to you ospitle
just as i was going to
dror mi nife along of er bloomin throte
them cusses of coppers spoilt the game
but i guess i wil be on the jobn soon
and will send you another
bit of innerds

Jack the Ripper

O have you seen the devle with his mikerscope and scalpul a-lookin at a kidney with a slide cocked up.
_____
The letters of Jack The Ripper set to poetic formation. Part the 5th
__
With appreciation to Casebook: Jack The Ripper, the largest public repository of Ripper-related information.
http://www.casebook.org/
D. Conors
12 July 2010
 Jul 2010
D Conors
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/ripper
letters/
D. Conors
12 July 2010
 Jul 2010
D Conors
"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/lusk
small.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
D. Conors
11 July 2010
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