London Fog

an exercise in visualization of a place and time I've never known

The spectral exhalations
Of both horses and coachmen
writhing like wraiths wrap’t round
pale lights on the street

Hard leather soles
Of young ladies slippers
Tap out sharp cadences
With their hurrying feet

Fog from the Thames
Slides easily in
And shrouds the streets
In a greasy skim

A young lady of the night
 Stares vacantly at nothing in sight
Her throat slit ear to ear
…in a ghastly grin…

Cold cruel eyes,
a scalpel sharp dirk
Another foggy night
Another nasty bit of work

Bits and pieces taken
Token body parts
Livers, breasts,
Still beating hearts

Caped figures,
tolling bells
Sounding out
Death knells

Jack the Ripper lurking
In shadowed dim-lit door
Stay home tonight…
stay out of sight!

Else become part
Of London’s lore

Author's Note

More of an exercise than serious poetry

Reviews

[Marie]

A very eerie poem indeed...Jack the Ripper...or his ghost...