i will end it all soon.
i have not a clue how.
i know it will happen, though,
it's embedded beneath my brow.

nothing messy, or prolonged,
i am sure,
it will be just an instant gift-
it will place itself in my hands,
and through my hands my sparks will sift.

for now i am a captive,
all night i hearken to,
the death watches in the walls,
knowing i will soon be gone,
beckoned by the darkness that now calls.

and to paraphrase ol' Mr. Eliot,
(Thomas Stearns, if you must know)-
this is the way my life shall end,
this is the way my life shall end,
this is the way my life shall end:
not with a bang,

but with a whimper, i will go.

Hum-D, Some-D,
sat alone on a wall,
Hum-D, Some-D,
had a very
hard fall,
and all the King's forces,
and all the Queen's friends
just couldn't paste, tape, glue, *****,
nail, seal, spackle, buckle,
bandage, bandaid, bubble-gum
or even sew,
D back together again
at all.

"One is at last killed by what one loves violently."
--Guy De Maupassant

During the nights when I cannot seek the sanctity of
sleep,for it does not come over me until the
deadly light of daybreak;
I listen to the still, small voice
calling out from the cracked, crumbling and
falling
plaster firmament hanging over me--
a proverbial coffin-lid
threatening
to close in over me, nailed tightly
shut
with antique copper spikes
to keep
the good dreams
     out.

I am so often told in tones
echoing sad and
silent
in the O Holy Night,
to write
the elegy of insanity
creeping
     up
from my feet
beneath
these ***** blankets,
seeping,
working its way to my throat
where lies my stifled
cries
that engulf the labored breathing
as my tender, simple
heart
threatens to explode.

Tossing a pillow against the
peeling,
painted wall, I utter
a course *"*******"
to the weathered, unwashed window
by my head
that pounds;
needing the soothing
song-sounds of
whiskey, scotch or
lukewarm beer to revive
my
   sinking,
burning soul as
     i lay me down
     to die,
     i pray to nothing
     and embrace the lies

O, the lies...

I can scarce recall
a time of peace and
bliss,
laying lonely in your arms,
with regret I had to
kiss
your sour lips
perfumed bitter with stale smoke,
***** and other such things like
this...

...this nowhere outside goiing,
going
     gone:
The Wheel of Misfortune,
the agony of armies in
retreat,
the ****** of the mind,
the birth
of Jesus, Muhammad, Krishna
and the plastic
Elvis Presley poking up
off your dusty dull-blue dashboard
like the other man's
***** you left
for mine.

Yes,
on these and every sleepless
forever nights
     I know,
I show that
O, still, small voice
the things
we refuse to see,
and maybe after it's all over
it
will sing myself to sleep.

When i lay me down to sleep of late,
i hope, i hope, i never wake.

*******
with your breathing
*******
with your charms,
*******
in the light of day,
*******
in your arms.

*******
with your heart,
*******
with your soul,
*******
just to keep me warm,
*******
in the cold.

*******
if you want to,
*******
when you're on the phone,
just as long as you make sure you
*******,
for my funny bone!

__
some poems are just meant to be completely stupid.

...and fellatial.

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.

if i could,
i would
write a poem or a song
about you every day,
place a flower in your hair,
say all the things i wish to say.

but,
i have nothing more than
empty hands
and hollow sighs,
yet my heart does sing
certain songs of you,
though most are kept hidden deep inside.

Music and flower:
http://beautyineverything.com/5071028261

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.

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

i love you (when you're)  rambling
i want to hear what you say after work
i want your face in my hands
i want you in my studio with a glass of wine
(telling me things)
i want
you.

surrounded by people, yet completely alone,
me, a breathing dead-weight, an inert frozen stone.
no ears to hear me, no one knows my name,
i live in a nightmare of apathy and shame.

hollow the hunger, no pangs of wanting i feel,
no sleep can revive me, nor doth waking seem real.
i am surrounded by people, yet all by myself,
no hope here abides, my life is lived on a shelf.

Temple
               gold
sky
       blue
Buddah
                dwells
inside

you.

__
Photo:
http://beautyineverything.com/5054754830

"I'd rather have a bottle in front of me,
than a full frontal lobotomy,"
or so the saying goes,
as for me, myself and I, my friend,
I'd take both to soothe my woes!
__
Jack, the liquid lobotomist:
http://beautyineverything.com/5060607209

For all you do
to make me
feel real
when
i feel so unreal,
you
season me
with your
sincere smile,
a mile
wide,
from the outside
into the inside
of my
so very alone
and not-so-healthy
soul,
i thank you
for all you do
to make me
feel as real
as you,
yes,
i do,
thank
you!
___
For Christine, "The Queen."
(true-blue)
http://beautyineverything.com/3309227505

I
am in a strange
and
wonderful state of
being
so amazingly
captivated
by the
pulse and passion
of this our new
and genuinely
gorgeous,
totally amazing,
absolutely astounding,
instantaneous,
multi-syllabical,
humbling,
caring,
di­scovering,
sharing,
fondly affectionate,
mutually magnificent,
tender
and oh, so
tantalisingly timid,
breathtakingly
beautiful
love
I have for you.

i have told them they better fix me,
i have told them loud and clear,
they better fix me ******' fast
or i will vanish in thin air.

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.

"Tell me where all past years are...
or who cleft the Devil's foot.
Teach me to hear mermaid's singing..."
--Donne

...and all other lessons
came to pass,
those of night-fall,
fallen too fast.
Crickets screeched within the leaves
around the rocks,
rocking the weeds
...instructions lost in lonliness,
good-byes, good-byes,
hello to death,
not breath nor sounds
of love or life,
just lessons passing
throughout the night:
by memories of times long gone
to Hell and high Heaven
in the Mermad's song.

The Devil seems
to have had his share,
he ate our dreams,
left none to spare.
But, who can blame
the poor ol' man,
he's only doing
the best he can;
and what we don't,
(because we won't)
in language lost on sailing ships,
as we the cargo
are shipped off to crypts;
still wondering now
as the dank ground surrounds:
where went those years?*
whilst the dirge resounds.

From puppyhood's hour I have not peed,
As others sniffed, I have not gleaned,
As others pawed, I could not seem,
To bark along with the canine teams.
From the hydrants red and wet with drizzle,
I have ne'er to leave  my yellow stream,
For my bladder had all fizzled,
Clogged with endless hordes of fleas.
Then- at the vet's, one gloomy dawn,
A very strange device was drawn,
And poked and prodded where I ill,
Then I was forced to take a pill.
Then from  the torrent of this river,
My shaggy fur began to quiver,
Upon my haunches did indeed I rose,
Feeling wetly coldness on my nose,
Then the raging yellow stream,
At last dislodged itself of fleas,
And to my great and sweet relief,
They lay a bone befor my feet.
_______
The original poem:
  
Share |


Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
--edgar allan poe

o goddess...the tears that spill like oil
chokes the seas...
pray for
us left lost in the mist...

all i have left are brief, fleeting fantasies.

i see things i wish i could touch, and touch nothing that i see.

it makes no sense, none at all i know, as it's now all in vain.

i must learn to give myself up, i must give into the pain.

tears are trying to fall, yet the lions of rage stifle the flow.

i know i am going nowhere with nowhere going to go.

here's me taking a stroll now into that land of makingitallup.

this is my last less than a mile to go, falling down, falling up.

this is the invisible me who can no longer be seen or give talk.

this is me you don't see on the bymyself walk.

___
brief fantasy:
http://beautyineverything.com/5089079591

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/

It is Autumn, once again,
my
favorite season,
and again,
the leaves turn by way of the wind,
in colours of palettes,
around my aloneness again

I look long down the avenue,
the street,
the sidewalk, the trees,
I wish
I could watch myself wandering,
with someone
I love
     in the breeze,
but,
this again is uncertain
as my cigarette lifts
in this crisp
Autumn air...

     my aloneness has gathered here.

More along the lines
of my loneliness discord,
I stepped into the crime
of a *****, painful sword.

Too many closing doors,
and sorrow always there,
a memory has flood the moors
of my eyes a-brim with tears.

We have watched the sacred clock,
tick-tocking away delight,
yet never understood the shock
that something was not quite right.

Tomorrow's now never hoped for,
yesterday's a shattered dream,
we now crouch behind a closed, locked door,
and in silence loudly scream.

nothing on earth
could brighten the dooryard
of my studio,
like your shining face....

There once was a poet called D,
stopped in with some strange poetry,
he began to write,
caused a pub-room fight,
then fled the scene with mad glee!

(PARODY, SATIRE & TRIBUTE)

From puppyhood's hour I have not peed,
As others sniffed, I have not gleaned,
As others pawed, I could not seem,
To bark along with the canine teams.
From the hydrants red and wet with drizzle,
I have ne'er to leave  my yellow stream,
For my bladder had all fizzled,
Clogged with endless hordes of fleas.
Then- at the vet's, one gloomy dawn,
A very strange device was drawn,
And poked and prodded where I ill,
Then I was forced to take a pill.
Then from  the torrent of this river,
My shaggy fur began to quiver,
Upon my haunches did indeed I rose,
Feeling wetly coldness on my nose,
Then the raging yellow stream,
At last dislodged itself of fleas,
And to my great and sweet relief,
They lay a bone befor my feet.
_
The original poem:
  
Share |


Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
--edgar allan poe

My new policy
on critics and trolls
is that from here on in,
they shall be kicked in the *****.

Hard.

With steel-tipped boots.

Repeatedly, if need be...

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!

Who is China?
Why does China speak to me?
How does China come to my dreams?
Who are all those people, all those
Chinese souls,
who visit me when my eyes are closed?
__
Chinese souls:
http://beautyineverything.com/3449882810

oh, really? are you really, rolling
on
the
floor
laughing?

I'd so love to see that...

i think about you all day long
no matter
how soft the thought
or dear sweet the song...

And now the vivid leaf of summer green,
Shall burst to flame of flashing fame.
Where reminded youth so sweet and keen,
Fade softly in the autumn’s name.

Sweet, your darling non-touch of what we can say is real,
you make me feel when the sun-streaks high-time your
birch-brown tasty hair beneath the deep and always sky,
above the gleam-gleam-glisten of the sparkle eyes, i
know to love to listen when we speak nothing-sweet to the
almost nobody i can sometimes seem to be that explains
these sweet, your darling dreams i dream of thee.

long ago,
leaving me to weak to yell,
i
saw a single stone laying in the dust
along the road.
Taken by its
loneliness,
i
reached
down
to pick it up,
placed it
crying
inside my left breast-pocket
without
an angry word,
(or none)
as the world
imploded
from within my
empty soul
and the birds
above
had ceased to
sing.

(STRANGE, BUT TRUE)

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

dconors  love  know  sweet  like  time  day  want  eyes  hands  kiss  just  deep  tears  long  left  heart  slowly  night  look  lips  hair  horner  ol  air

our hands
one each, fingers splayed,
long and warm,
pressed against my
chest,
mine pressed against your
breast,
taking in so softly with each
palm,
of our excitement, yet so
calm,
soothing, smoothing, tenderly
touches,
the other hands,
holding on so
tight
all for the time being oh so
right.

our hands.

I know that you are feeling
Lost and wandering, disconnected, lonely,
Saddened by the scorn of so much pain,
Neglected and rejected without mercy,
Left beside the road out in the rain.

Never for a single, precious moment,
Have I ever once felt faltered in your love so bold,
You reached down deep and made me a rich token,
You reached down deep and warmed me from the cold.

Now you stand there so heartbroken and crying,
And you feel there’s nowhere else left to hide,
But there’s something you must understand, my darling,
You will always be here by my side.

When everything seems bitter and so tasteless,
And tears fall down your cheeks in salty brine,
Remember in the end, my darling angel,
All will be okay in its sweet time.

Now rest your weary head down on my chest dear,
Hear the music of my beating heart,
When you awake there will be no more tears,
For you and I will never, ever part.

i may never
see you
or be
with you,
i
will always
love you.

never forget that.

is sick
and to die...
all i can do
is sit here and
cry...

...the tears fight for escape
from behind my tired
eyes,
eyes seeing nothing and
nowhere,
eyes
that are blinded by
pain beyond pain
on top of shame,
eyes,
that wish to close
and die

now.

___

(i'm always ill all the time)

it's going to be
so easy to do what i have
got
to do
when i do
it
since knowing
that doing what
i am going'
to do
won't matter
to you

(or anyone else for very long, anyway)

which makes
it
easy
to do,

soon.

d.conors: i want you.
M: no you don't
M: ****
d.conors: i say what i want.
M: fine
M: go on

d.conors: i look at your pics all day
M: you do?
d.conors: i set my pc up with your pic on my backdrop
d.conors: i look at you and have little silent chats
M: silly boy
d.conors: yes
M: crazy boy
d.conors: and paint and smile and look at that beautiful woman who loves me
M: so ....that's how you spend your day...
M: do I chat back?
d.conors: i spend my day working my tail off with no real contact with other people
d.conors: no, you do not chat back
M: but I do
M: in my head

d.conors: you just stare at me from off the screen with those crystalline eyes
d.conors: and i want you.
d.conors: i lay me down to sleep
d.conors: and
d.conors: i want you.

M: deep sighs
d.conors: i wake up and make coffee for me
d.conors: and
d.conors: i want you.
d.conors: it was rainy and cold today
d.conors: and
d.conors: i wanted you.

M: gulp

M: I sit at my computer
M: stare out my window....and I want

M: you too

it's a
tear-
drop
this time

you
can't have it,
it's
all mine

not
many left,
but you'll
be fine.

tear-
drop
all gone,
now dry...

Wonder where I'm going, past azure fields of pain,
where the wild wind is blowing,
where damnation earns its name.

Rivers running bitter cold, through dusty, ancient woods,
and as my soul was starving, I'd forgotten if I could
love or laugh, cry or sigh, gain or pain, live or die
(I slept on cairns of greystone and never realized
there was a bed of feathers so close by.)

Wonder where I went, through dusty courts of dew,
as when the air was steaming and my emotions screamed at you.

Flowers falling on the floor, time wasted by the yard,
as all you wanted was to open up my tangled, shattered heart
soul and mind, soft and kind, enduring all you stood by
(I forgot myself, on an empty shelf, where my spirit
slowly slipped and died).

When I discover where I'm heading, along the highway where I'll
vie,
in the land of rocky bedding, as my anguished thoughts are shedding,
something softly tells me, (somewhere deep inside)
your gentle, tiny hands will hold me,
should I ever learn to cry.

i
want to cry,
when i think about
your eyes,
i
want to touch you
and wish
for just a single,
endless
kiss,
a kiss upon your
eyelids
and lips...
just one?

In the misty shades of morning light,
Where daytime breaks the dark of night,
You come to me in sunburst streaks,
With love’s seared flames upon your cheeks.

And in the meadows near the rivers,
Where knights and maidens have gone by,
In my embrace I warm your shivers,
Within a world now lost in time.

With your certain precious powers,
You capture me in chains of grace,
Bathing us in love’s pure showers,
As joyous  laughter wreaths your face.

Now as the sunshine glows brighter,
And we hold each other tight,
Our sweet souls become much lighter,
As we speed together towards the night.

i am a shadow of my once was,
waiting and waiting for word of my fate.

_
photo:
http://beautyineverything.com/2678444760

lay down with me in your dreams at night
carry me in your thoughts at day
and i will never be far away