Posted by: Ron DuBour | April 14, 2016

Ripper~by Roxi St. Clair





In the darkness of a London night,
the predator has his prey in sight,
for a killer, it is the blood they crave
cradle of England, is now the grave
his blade hard, like a heart of stone
ripper stalks woman, poor lass alone
the clouds blot moon, heavy, the air
as his steps match victim, unaware
in dark city streets, homicide looms
to become another of urban tombs
evil personified, he hunts and creeps
while people of Whitechapel sleeps
as his pace now suddenly increased
just another murder in London’s East
raising his weapon he begins to slice
shall it be once, twice, or even thrice?
night’s sullen air, hesitates and dies
where the bloody harlot, quietly lies
hear now, bells, in a clock tower toll
after the ripper claims another soul.

© Roxi St. Clair


  1. great poem

  2. deliciously morbid

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