I wear a shamrock on my arm,
high up near my freckled shoulder,
it's been there since 1984,
from those days when I was bolder.

It's not so very fancy, my dear,
but it means so much to me,
for it takes me back to my Auld Eire,
that land I love of emerald green.
__

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."

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

Give me another needle,
make sure it's good and sharp,
stick it deep into my arm,
in this very chilly room so dark.
Take the tape and puff of cotton,
cover up the ****** hole,
leave me then feeling forgotten,
beneath these blankets shivering cold.

Like lava shooting from the spout,
rolling down the mountainside,
engulfing me in raging tongues of flame,
nothing spared, no, nothing saved,
taking me away,
     taking me away-
just a little bit each and every day,
with molten high-tech tests.
and murky I.V. drips,
no more tears of real pain left,
just flames flames flames
along with medicated ether trips.

Big ****, The Head *******,
was the head of all the ******* in the ******* Shed.
What made Big **** so skilled and keen
at dickheadedness was to be seen.
Big **** had a certain ******* flair,
for tugging at everyone's short and curly hair.
He never had an important specialty,
except for being a type-A personality.
His skills were near to nothing great.
He kinda looked like a backward ape,
with a necktie 20 years gone out of style,
and his middle-management bullshitty wiles;
"I'm better than any ******* here!"
He'd proclaim everyday with a prickish sneer.
So they put him on his own cocky shelf,
where he could reign all by himself,
and every *******, ***** or *******-wanna-be,
would come to the ******* Shed just to see,
what they could achieve if they'd observe instead,
the ways and means of Big ****, The Head *******.
___
Dedicated to every single uptight, middle-management, pain in the ****
you have ever had to work with or for.

Some coffee is bold,
some have no *****,
some coffee can cause you to bounce off the walls.
But, of all the best coffee there can be but one,
is the coffee you have when you haven't got one!

Exhale,
Inhale,
Exhale (let it all, all the lonliness go),
Inhale (and allow the lovingness to flow)
     breathe the romance
     in and out
let your entire being rejoice and shout,
"I'm in love!
Look and see!
I'm in love
and Love is in me!"

Inhale,
Exhale,
     breathe the romance.