ms found in a belfry

So you thought you knew....?

I stared down at Whitechapel's Streets

Reflected through a mirror,

Safe closeted in darkness with

The Camera Obscura,

From this one central vantage point

My eyes ranged over all

The sad rack of humanity,

Its petty rise and fall,

The Toffs, clad in their Toppers, and

The Dollymops procuring,

The drunkards and the thieves and rogues,

Beyond man's curse or curing.

 

All types had passed me slowly by,

As I stood watching, praying,

That should the Lord declare his love

Those lives might be worth saving,

I saw but heads and shoulders from

Where I stood, looking down,

The lens was tilted from a height,

From Camera to the ground,

They passed like busy, swarming ants,

Unknowing that above

Two eyes were watching closely, each

And every passing move.

 

Good Queen Victoria, bless her soul

Reigned over us on high,

Reigned over this unwholesome den

Of blind iniquity,

The people's pain and poverty

Showed up on every face,

It brought good men to curse and drink

And women to disgrace,

And worse, the streets of London then

Gave out some awful mist

Of evil humours, deadly sins

The poor could not resist.

 

Summer came and went, and then

Upon that final day,

Foul murder was to come to haunt

Each woman's right of way,

For Mary Nicholls, prostitute,

A shallow, aimless drunk,

Was found in Bucks Row, murdered there,

With little argument;

Her throat was slashed, her face destroyed,

Her body ripped and torn,

It was like some wild animal

On London streets was born.

 

A week went by, and Annie Chapman

Passed along my way,

I saw her stop some stranger here

And ask the time of day.

Then off she went to meet that painful

Horrid, bloody fate,

The long knife and the sickening plunge,

The silent scream, too late!

Before the manic razor gleamed

And went to work its hell,

Disturbed her bowels and organs, left

Her corpse a bloodied shell.

 

Another week, a letter then arrived

At Central News,

Pressing home the killer's point,

The rabid killer's views,

But of remorse, there was no sign,

No hint of sadness there,

And it was signed, in scrawling pen,

Yours truly, 'Jack the Ripper.'

What panic then invaded all those

Alleys, yards and lanes,

The pubs were seen as safe, while fear

Coursed gutters, poured down drains.

 

Each victim from then on had passed

Beneath me, once or twice,

I was well versed in decadence

Along these streets of vice,

I took more of an interest when

I saw some stranger trace

The footsteps of a dollymop,

I tried to see their face,

But it was getting harder as

The rain came beating down,

And often mist would swirl on through

The streets of London Town.

 

As late September fell we saw

That poor old Lizzy Stride

Was razored at the throat, but strangely,

Not much else beside.

So could it be that, just this once,

The 'Ripper' was disturbed

From cutting, slashing, finishing,

His trademark ripping curbed?

So thought the police, and yet too soon

Within the very hour,

Another woman's corpse was bled

To prove the 'Ripper's' power.

 

Catherine Eddowes corpse was slashed

And razored, ear to ear,

Her blood was scattered everywhere,

Her kidney disappeared,

Though half of it was posted back

A little later on,

The letter said he'd cooked and eaten

All of what was gone.

The police were getting nowhere

With their methods or their search,

But I... I knew, and so in faith

I had to go to church.

 

I'd seen a face look up at me

And stand out from the crowd,

A face that picked out every victim,

Followed with her shroud,

And so I found the pew, and saw

The figure lightly perch,

And cross itself uneasily

In Holy Mother Church,

So knowing what I'd have to do,

And soon as soon could be,

I asked the Lord his pardon, that

He'd start forgiving me.

 

I followed closely from then on to

Mary Kelly's place,

I thought that I'd have time to spare,

But found I'd lost the race.

I heard the screams of murder from

The centre of the house,

The doors were bolted, windows barred,

And no-one could I rouse,

But once the deed was done inside

A head peered out in vain,

I clubbed it well, to end the spell

Of Jack the Ripper's reign.

 

She's hanging in the bell-tower from

The rope that rings the bell,

And when the parson pulls, it may

Just ring her in, to hell!

A nurse, whose husband thought to stray

For one brief taste of bliss,

Then brought it home to her, she said,

That dreadful syphilis!

So in revenge she murdered them,

The women of ill fame,

And blamed all men by using then

The 'Jack the Ripper' name.

 

David Lewis Paget

 

30 September 2008

 

(Coincidentally, written on the 120th

Anniversary of the murders of Elizabeth Stride

and Catherine Eddowes by Jack the Ripper,

30 September, 1888).

 

Reviews

[Norma J. Jessee]

David, you have enlightened the world of another reason for serial killers to kill. Had my husband been going to visit prostitutes and brought home the dreaded incurable disease I very well may have gone on a killing spree myself. The only difference would have been. I would have started with him. lol

As usual your writing is impecable. The rhythm is perfect. And I love the twist at the end. No one has ever thought of a woman being the killer before, but it could have been. Only the victims know for sure.......
Love it.

[Silent Kim aka mizmetap..]

Again what wonderful talent. You really have the knack of story telling. I would love to hear you recite, I'm sure you would captivating.

[Michael X]

David, wow, quite the magnificent rendering, I was absolutely hooked,
all telling and chilling my friend, you've out-done yourself here. thank you.

[C.T. Bailey]

I think that I will forever envy and admire and desire your ability to not only create superlative poetry, but to entertain a reader and provide them with the "Paget Possibility". Geesh David...there are none like you...none. I liked this one alot. I thought the first few stanzas started a bit soft, but the plot really started to unfold with great energy and meter by the end of stanza 4. I have to say, I am proud to be your aquaintance and I am becoming a better poet by just reading your well engineered pieces.

Todd

[Charles D. Moorer]

Beautifully done. Great story. The language, the tone, and the pacing are excellent. What else of yours do you recomment that I read. Clearly you are a talent worthy of publication!

[☮]

What a solid, great writer you are. The rhyme is perfectly placed and it's impressive how you intermingled the facts in the order in which the events occured.

I went on the Jack The Ripper tour in London in 2000... It was at night. I have been to each location where these bodies were found, so this definitely sent a nostalgic chill up my spine.

Thanks for sharing this!

[Valentine]

David, another great write..but as a female..I still want to think it was a male who did the killing because he was impotent and the females laughed him to scorn...women are more apt to just go after the one that hurt them than ....them all..Hope you get busy on some more of your fabulous tales..hum...and no one ever knew for sure just who Jack was...did he eat the innards like you wrote?? God bless..Valentine

[Wildfleour]

David, I find that I wait in anticipation for your next poem.

Have you put a collection together and presented it to publishers? You should!

Jack the Ripper is legend and I have a rather morbid fascination with the headlines from this time. Only you have taken this story, become an eye witness and give an interesting answer to its mystery!

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! ;)

Well done, David.