The Blood that Jack Spilt —by Stephanie Ellis

Standard

 

dark

This is the blood that Jack spilt.

 

This is the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

This is the knife

That killed the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

This is the hand

That held the knife

That killed the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

This is the dark

That hid the hand

That held the knife

That killed the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

This is the night watch with a lamp

That lit the dark

That hid the hand

That held the knife

That killed the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

This is the body, desecrated, forlorn

Found by the night watch with a lamp

That lit the dark

That hid the hand

That held the knife

That killed the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

These are the organs, ripped and torn

From the body, desecrated, forlorn

Found by the night watch with a lamp

That lit the dark

That hid the hand

That held the knife

That killed the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

This is Whitechapel, fogbound and poor

That shrouded the organs, ripped and torn

From the body, desecrated, forlorn

Found by the night watch with a lamp

That lit the dark

That hid the hand

That held the knife

That killed the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

Mary Ann Nichols was the name that was borne

By the body in Whitechapel, fogbound and poor

That shrouded the organs, ripped and torn

From the body, desecrated, forlorn

Found by the night watch with a lamp

That lit the dark

That hid the hand

That held the knife

That killed the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

There would be more, did Saucy Jack warn

After Mary Ann Nichols, whose name was borne

By the body in Whitechapel, fogbound and poor

That shrouded the organs, ripped and torn

From the body, desecrated, forlorn

Found by the night watch with a lamp

That lit the dark

That hid the hand

That held the knife

That killed the whore

That gave the blood that Jack spilt.

 

From Dark is my Playground —by Stephanie Ellis. Purchase it here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dark-Playground-collection-twisted-rhymes/dp/1718128347/ref=sr_1_1?crid=OI0L4S3KIN3R&keywords=dark+is+my+playground+stephanie+ellis&qid=1571749330&sprefix=dark+is+my+playground%2Caps%2C142&sr=8-1

My Verse

Standard

It seemed as though my verse had gone;

I hadn’t rhymed in far too long

He took my words and killed them, see;

And then, there was no poetry.

No stanzas came, no stories nor;

All victim to my saboteur

My words no longer coursed through blood;

For what is poetry, sans love?

Of pen and ink: my paper broke;

Of diction: nary a word was spoke.

CM