Sweet Catherine Eddowes,
Second lady one of two,
On a night of grisly finds in the square of the bishop's headdress,
In London's not so fair city,
On this the Sabbath's tragic night,
'Kate' tragic shrew was tamed, not by Petruchio,
This murdered lady from tragedy of night walk,
Tatooed lady, hazel eyes and fiery auburn hair,
Bonnet left on after death, protected her beautiful hair,
Perhaps the ripper cared,
Kate filled usually with vile temper,
Her temper not apparent on that sad night,
Appeared to put up no fight,
Her beautiful face was sliced to ribbons,
Cruelly disfigured by this evil,
Usually was a jolly gal, loved to sing and dance,

Unable to make a flight to escape the merciless wrath of this mystery man,
Carotid artery slashed and dashed,
No blood left on the ground,
Smeared foul faecal matter all around,
As ripping evil stole, her bowels,
Lain, like sleeping naturally ,
Still warm corpse discovered,
Fellow passing by saw a woman pass,
May have been her with a chap, fair haired,looking shabby,
Different description from the others,
Poor Kate left family of three behind,
A daughter and two sons,
The sun had set for the last time,
For their poor dear mother.
The forth ripper victim!
By ladylivvi1

Her name is Catherine Eddowes
and it rhymes with meadows
of green fields and moon's shadows
but in the street she wallows
in the darkened danger that swallows
through the London fog that follows
her every movement and her sorrows

Oh Catherine, my dearest
come to call in nights severest
of pain and pleasure without rest
strike you like a luckless jest
you are who you are, that's your best

I am looking at you and memorizing
your ****** features that are tantalizing
I do not hear if you are coming or going
But I never want to hear you crying

Her name is Catherine and pray,
do not forget
She is far away now,
much to my regret
I miss her but
I must not be upset

Someday ,perhaps, she'll
grace me with her presence
she'll look at me with no pretense
she will show me emotions intense
I'll smell her perfume like
fragrant incense

Hello and goodbye,
dear Catherine Eddowes..
a name that rhymes with meadows

"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

They call me Jack! A Jack the Lad
a man who likes to go out late.
I must confess that I'm a cad
and often seen in Aldegate.

Whitechapel and Spittlefield
are other locations I frequent.
Tis where I often draw my yield
and nay for that I'll not lament.

Inspired by my ill repute,
repugnant chanting of my name,
I'll seek and find a *******,
commencing to secure my fame.

Reference books cannot advise
what two skilled hands can show.
Exacting cuts when I excise,
instructing where my blade doth flow.

My first, Miss Nichols, I recall,
whom blinded by the lure of coin,
into my clutches she did fall
and she, I did indeed refine.

Chapman then I did impress
with incision so demanding.
Nothing taken to excess
an ***** now made outstanding.

Stride and Eddowes in one night
but fortune demanded I should race.
Though well presented to the light,
embarrassment is my disgrace.

My final lady played the game,
Miss Kelly whom at my insistence.
She alone recoiled my fame,
my very own Piece de Resistance.

It all happened
Once Upon A Time, like in the fairy tales, but
it went backwards
and backwards
and
backwards,
opposite and upside down
like he was in Alice in Wonderland

and the wicked stepmother was not a stepmother at all;
with no pointed chin or sharp daggers for eyes.
Instead she looked like a princess
with a gentle face and round, brown eyes
like a mother.

She was good at goodness
at being kind
at loving him in front of everybody’s eyes
and making him think
it wasn’t so bad, after all.

But she was also good at
shouting
and yelling
and hitting and smacking,
at giving him the belt
and the switch
and sometimes the slipper.

And in his fairy tale
there was no kind, gentle father.
There was no father.
“Gone,” she’d say of him, “drunk somewhere.
With a *****.
Dying, hopefully.
If he was here
he’d **** you.”

Sometimes he
wished,
hoped
his father would come back and
live up to his promise
and ****
and ****
and ****
and ****

and ****
until there was nobody left to ****
because they were all dead and destroyed
and dead
and destroyed
and their clothes mopped up their own blood
and when he was sobered enough to realise what he’d done
he’d stand over them,
mournfully,
and weep
over his drunken mistakes
over just who he had
murdered
with his own knife, who he had cut
cut
cut
jagged shapes into their flesh,
torn pieces of them away
like he had drunk away pieces of himself;
an eye for an eye;
an equal pound of their fair flesh,
cut off and taken,
stolen,
like a jewel in the night.

But no father came,
and he stayed dissatisfied and alive
and his mother came
and belted him
whenever she pleased.

He grew up dissatisfied,
lived dissatisfied,
and anger grew in his bloodied heart,
furious,
bleeding with the pain of it
growing to despise his father’s ******
even more than he despised his father
and his mother
and himself.

He learnt all their names:
Nichols
and Chapman
and Stride and Eddowes

and Kelly.
And he stalked the streets,
searching
searching
searching
searching

searching,
for they had lain with his father
and had wronged him
by leaving him
alone with his mother
and the belt
and the switches,
and if they wronged him,
should he not revenge?