On Lolham Brigs in wild and lonely mood
I’ve seen the winter floods their gambols play
Through each old arch that trembled while I stood
Bent o’er its wall to watch the dashing spray
As their old stations would be washed away
Crash came the ice against the jambs and then
A shudder jarred the arches—yet once more
It breasted raving waves and stood agen
To wait the shock as stubborn as before
—White foam brown crested with the russet soil
As washed from new plough lands would dart beneath
Then round and round a thousand eddies boil
On tother side—then pause as if for breath
One minute—and engulphed—like life in death

Whose wrecky stains dart on the floods away
More swift than shadows in a stormy day
Straws trail and turn and steady—all in vain
The engulfing arches shoot them quickly through
The feather dances flutters and again
Darts through the deepest dangers still afloat
Seeming as faireys whisked it from the view
And danced it o’er the waves as pleasures boat
Light hearted as a thought in May—
Trays—uptorn bushes—fence demolished rails
Loaded with weeds in sluggish motions stray
Like water monsters lost each winds and trails
Till near the arches—then as in affright
It plunges—reels—and shudders out of sight

Waves trough—rebound—and fury boil again
Like plunging monsters rising underneath
Who at the top curl up a shaggy main
A moment catching at a surer breath
Then plunging headlong down and down—and on
Each following boil the shadow of the last
And other monsters rise when those are gone
Crest their fringed waves—plunge onward and are past
—The chill air comes around me ocean blea
From bank to bank the waterstrife is spread
Strange birds like snow spots o’er the huzzing sea
Hang where the wild duck hurried past and fled
On roars the flood—all restless to be free
Like trouble wandering to eternity

"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

Looks of an angel, why did she sink to this?
Let him take you home, let him take you
Crack open those shutters and welcome the dawn
For the shadow of the rose has no thorn
Looks of an angel, why did she sink to this?
She falls through the cracks, right through the cracks

Body of beauty, how did she come to this?
Just let him love you, just let him love you
Open those windows and breathe the fresh air
The holes in your life, are starting to tear
Body of beauty, how did she come to this?
She falls through the cracks, right though the cracks

Mind of a madman, how can he live like this?
Just let her take you home, let her take you
Open your heart, spring open your mind
Feelings of love, once left behind
Mind of a madman, how can he live like this?
He falls through the cracks, right through the cracks

Soul of a sinner, how can he think like this?
Just let her love you, just let her love you
Set her down in your cold heart
Set her down, right from the start
Soul of a sinner, how can he think like this?
He falls through the cracks, right through the cracks

Together forever, how can they be like this?
Just let them go home, Just let them go
Nobody's perfect, breathe the free air
Nobody's perfect, don't stop or stare
Tother forever, how can they be like this?
They fall through the cracks, right through the cracks

You're falling through, the cracks
You're falling through, the cracks
You're falling, falling, falling through the cracks
So let me fall with you
Let me, fall, with you
Fall, with you
With you
You

The waddle is a curious bird,
(with one leg long and 'tother short,)    
and loves to gallop round the hills
and frolic mid'st the daffodils
and eat the flowering clover.
But should it turn the other way,
  you will notice with dismay, it simply rolls right over.
A curious bird you will agree
and should you one day chance to see
one running around then do tell me!!

What is the definition of myself?
A modpodge rendition of a pinterest post I saw?
A poem I wrote drunk off my ***?
A half-hearted rhyme I can't tie tother?
This is not a poem. It's my life.