"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."
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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.
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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/

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
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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/

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
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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
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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

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.

with no one to talk to
and
no plan as to where i should go,
i fall into a listless,
waking slumber
and
feel covered up in cold.

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

i want you if
even for the
shortest moment
of time
even if knowing
our hellos
will also be
goodbye.

i want
you

to hold me.

i am the saddest man on earth.
my rock is mud,
my life has lost its worth.

savage, heart
so hurt
and empty
blackened pools of
pain, not envy
given into sleepless nights,
and pain-filled days,
where nothing's real,
where nothing's right.

this is the way it is,
the way it seems to
be
now i peer into a
dusty mirror
seeing little left of me.

On the streets of heat and movement
lie the evidence of pain,
she walks, he talks, the children run
throughout the burning rain.

I can smell the smoke of lifelessness
along the living death,
we talk, they walk, the sirens wail
today may rob our breath.

In the rooms of waste and apathy,
sit silent the insane,
she writes, he writes, the samll hand ticks
the hours fast away...