Legendary Killers

Rules:

Poem must be about an actual killer (e.g., Jack the Ripper, Son of Sam, John Wayne Gacy, The Zodiac Killer, etc., etc.)

Poem cannot be about a fictional character



As many entries
One week to complete
Good Luck

Dearest Hannibal Lecter

A cannibal
He was deemed..
A people-munching
Machine..

Behind was a tortured
Soul..
Behind his mask..
Alone and cold

Amongst flesh and bones
Alive and resiliant..
Many forgot..
He was truly brilliant..

He had a mass amount
Of knowledge, buried within..
Though many can't get past
He was buried in sin..

He found confinement
In feeding on you..
And when he set his sights..
You were through..

Jack.

They called him Jack,
they never knew his name.
Nobody could catch him,
he could never be tamed.

Whitechapel, he roamed.
in his leather apron.
Slitting whore throats,
trust me, he saved them.

He creeped in the night,
was a man by the day.
Nobody knew him,
they just knew he would slay.

He ripped up the chests,
mutilated the girls....
His fingers like knives,
left mysteries unfurled.

Eleven girls disappeared,
existing only in files.
Jack gave them a name,
and brought out their insides.

He mutilated them all,
his style, precise.
He would tear up their chests,
and look them in the eyes.

Thanks Kristany and Kristyn for your killer entries!

Must say, great job Kristyn... Amazing!! I alway liked Jack the Ripper, he was my first choice.. then The Zodiac... Then I guess I got fed up and Hannibal came to my rescue... Great read though! And might I say this is a great topic, I wish I had thought of it myself... O.e

Jack was easy.. I know'd lots about him already XD

SOMETHING WICKED

Her beauty is known throughout the land

Many man has asked for her hand

Many men disappeared

For something wicked - did dirty deeds


Blondes have more fun

How true that is

Except for Marilyn who died so young

A beautiful flower secretes poison

There my dear, have a handful


She is so dazzling - you brought her home

To meet your parents so they would approve

The cat disappeared

The dog howled

Something wicked this way comes


Only the classiest woman for you

Well bred, well educated

The laugh is on you

She looks down on you, you stupid brute


The Church wedding was so lavish

The honeymoon was ecstasy

She keeps having miscarriage upon miscarriage

Finally has one - it does not look like you


Tuxedo Park, Fifth Avenue

Only the best - for you two

You have a job not far away

How does your wife spend her day?


There is a little crowd gathered

In front of the tall building

A man lies on the ground

His wife runs to hold his head while he dies

Sorry dear, she whispers - something wicked

Is what I do

*****************************************************************

Ever wonder how someone so very beautiful can be so evil inside? Take the case of Becky Cotton. She lived in the town of Eldridge, South Carolina and had no trouble attracting husbands. In fact she married at least three times. One husband she killed with a needle through the heart. Another, she axed to death. And one she poisoned. One has to question whether she liked the state of marriage or preferred widowhood. It seemed she could not make up her mind.

And what did the pretty little delicate flower do with the bodies? She weighted them down then dumped them in a nearby pond.

But one fateful day, someone discovered one of those bodies. A quick investigation soon led to the other two victims. Before long, Becky found herself arrested and facing trial.

The evidence was strong. All three men were directly linked to Becky. The prosecution prepared themselves for victory, certain Becky Cotton would be convicted. That is, until she rose to her feet to testify on her own behalf. And did she ever lay on the charm! Through a cascade of tears, she batted her pretty blue eyes, and uttered such saccharine sweet-talk that melted the hearts of judge and jury. Despite the overwhelming evidence, the case against Becky was dismissed.

Soon afterwards, she married one of the jurors, with several other jurors attending her nuptials! Ah, but this story does not have a fairy tale ending. In an eerily similar murder to those she had herself committed,  Becky Cotton was murdered by her own brother. To this day, her legend lives on in Edgefield, and some say, so does her ghost.  

That. Is. The. Shit.

Well, they do not come any more historical or legendary than Vlad Tepes "The Impaler", aka Dracula. Here's an appropriately chilling poem. Is it a true story? I'll never tell.

- Moonlight and Scarlet Stone -
A.k.a. The True Dracula
Based on some of my past-life memories…

Prologue: Halloween Symphony

Each year Halloween comes to bring back old memory,
As the season of the dead sings it’s secret symphony.
Children trick or treat dressed as they often think I did,
As lunatics and madmen use my name to cast their bid…
For attention, or destruction; so I laugh at them all thus,
I, whose name was Dracula, came before all of this fuss!
I am the truth in the fiction, the reality behind the name,
In a past age, I did unspeakable acts; I knew no shame!
They call me immortal, but only my soul can ever be such.
I have died a thousand deaths, and felt the Devil’s touch!
Only to be born again, to grow up and learn my identity…
In each life the memory returns, restoring my lost dignity.
This verse I pen so that 'ere this life comes to a final act,
The truth behind my legend is so revealed in honest fact.
Walk with me back in my mind, to a time now long dust…
To a castle where I lived, loved, and often gave in to lust!

My home is no longer a castle, a chair is now my throne.
But still I recall the old country; how the wind did moan!
In the land beyond the forests, where spirits still haunt,
And wraiths stalk the living, ever featureless and gaunt...
I was a mortal monster, but one made by my fellow man,
We all begin life innocent, before we follow another plan.

Part One: The Ruins of Poenari

Chill is the mist in the endless pines of these mountains,
Cold is the snow that coats a land where gypsies dwell.
Yet therein was my home, my castle and its’ fountains,
There was my sorrow, and the pathway leading to Hell.
Now it is summer, and the snow is not fallen on the path,
Roughly hewn, the road that leads up to the battlements.
I look below, as I climb, to see the site of ancient wrath,
Where skeletons lay on stakes, free from resentments…
Unable to again take up arms against me, they are freed.
I bid farewell to former foes, and soon I stand above all!
Master of these lands was I, when the lands did bleed…
As I took up a sword and pike, when came the holy call!
When the sultan came to claim what his greed bade him,
I met his legions with the fury of the dragon in my veins.
And though it cost me dearly, I repaid every wicked sin,
By unleashing upon the foe, one thousand terrible pains.

Poenari Castle, above where the Arges river entwines,
Was where I lost my princess, amongst watery pines…
In the river where she leapt from a high tower window,
Down to her death, where the cold waters still do flow.
The Prince of Darkness I was called, but I have a heart,
To my people I was a hero, and I strove to do my part!

Part Two: Blood for the Princess

The hearth in the castle has grown cold, once so warm…
Where my princess and I sat, talking long into the morn.
Long has it been, since my heart was as warm as the fire,
That once we tended, tenderly, filled with wanton desire.
Now darkness lies within halls once lit with bright torches,
And shadows lurk as sharply as any flame that scorches.
When an enemy arrow’s note told her that I was no more,
My princess ended her life, pushing me past Hell’s door.
For so long, I carried the battle with hate and vengeance,
But when the red haze passed, there was nothing to win!
It could not bring back my princess, not even by chance,
All the wars, and enough blood in which one might swim!
Like a princess in a river swimming without breath of life,
Those who took her life now drowned in their own strife.
Impaled in the woods, their rotten forms feeding crows…
Their blood nurturing my roses, where red beauty grows.

I spent seven years a prisoner in Hunyad Castle’s tower,
A guest of a king who so sought to bind me to his power!
In the end he gave his daughter to be my second bride…
I took her to my castle, and there for years did we abide.
The Prince of Darkness I was called, but I do have a soul,
Though always thrust into circumstances beyond control.

Part Three: The Black Dragon's Son

How I tried to conquer and overcome the agony of loss!
But it was not enough to stem the madness when alone…
Evil are the lonely hours when moonlight’s shaft will toss,
Blackest shadows upon the rough, scarlet-colored stone.
The statue of a black dragon with a cross through it I see,
Upon a pedestal from my father’s time, now given to me.
Dracula they call me, the Son of the Dragon that means…
I sit on a throne of skulls, as the moonlight palely gleams.
In other forms I existed and when Lilith walked the Earth,
I wore the wings of an angel, and was not of human birth!
But now in human flesh I walk, and shall walk once again,
Until I find my princess anew, my journey can never end.
But long after she and I descend, to our infernal paradise,
Men will speak of Dracula, and their veins will be as ice!
I will hear them from beyond and laugh, as is my whim…
Knowing secrets, unknown to all: both glorious and grim.

Today I write this in a body born in nineteen seventy-four,
My old body lies in Snogov monastery, beneath the floor.
Again I spent seven years alone, now for my bride I look,
I am the true Dracula, not the character written in a book!
The Prince of Darkness I was called, and still am this year,
Everyone's favorite bogeyman, filling faint hearts with fear.

Poem about Ed Gein

They called him
Many names..
Buffalo Bill
And Leather Face

A body
Or two..
Actually
Quite a few

In his farmhouse so desolate
He'd take your bodies remains..
He'd carve out your insides
And even take your brains..

He'd hang your carcass
Like a deer after the kill..
He'd cut you with precision
And magnificent skill

Police scanned "The Death Farm"
And ghoulish inventory took shape..
Bodies littered the floor
And blood poured into a lake

The smell of decay
So daunting it hung
Like the tar
In a smokers lung

Women were his victims
He lived quite deep in sin..
He kept a wardrobe with a suit
Made entirely of human skin..

Four noses
And a heart..
Kept in a box
Seperately apart..

A man this incredilous
Certainly deserves to die,
But what drove him to insanity?
How'd he do this, and why?


**The chainsaw massacre has many Ghastly Gein touches..

Serial Killers

This fear of mine has developed throughout
time, progressively consuming me, locked
within my mind,,,

Serial killers you see, have a propensity
to haunt what should be fond lifetime memories,,,

A peaceful walk alone in the park, perhaps
to find a suitor will never be, for all I
see are visions of the chivalrous Ted Bundy,,,

A relaxing hot bath in my epoch will forever
be nigh, thanks to my knowledge of Countess
Elizabeth Bathory and John George Haigh,,,
The form of baths they take and offer ought
to make anyone’s stomach churn and knees falter,,,

That inscrutable cannibal and necrophilia
beast Jeffrey Dahmer well, I’m sure he has
copy cat followers,,,

Jane Toppan, has a tendency to bring about
a menagerie of revolting thoughts, an otherwise
uncomplicated hospital stay could indeed
be fatal, with a demented, perverse nurse
such as she, so willing thus able,,,

Oh yes, let’s not forget Rosemary and Fred West,
who would’ve guessed the two operated such a
“hospitality” house of  horrors to their
unsuspecting guests,,,

Serial killers you see have done more to
me than anyone can ever conceive,,,

An effortless date with a handsome man has
always been the plan, but these fears of
mine just won’t let it be, eternally plotting
my defense and escape positively no time to
enjoy what‘s on my plate,,,

A party with a clown always brings a frown,
with never-ending images of John Wayne Gacy’s
victims distributed in the ground,,,

I’m in essence one of their multitude of victims,
For my mind is ravaged by their heinous and
inconceivable crimes,,,
The only difference I’m alive,,,

Everyone is suspect in my eyes,,,

This is turning out to be some killer comp!  Thanks all!

Miss Kitty, love your take on Becky Cotton. . .heard of her some time ago.
Illuminates Rex Regina, vampires, how I miss vampires.
Kristany, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, one of the best cult films out there!  Did I tell you I know how to operate a chainsaw;)?
CriticalMass, your buffet of killers makes me hungry.

H. H. Holmes (Americas first serial killer)

He took his inspiration,
From a devil across the sea-
And inside the black smog,
Cut off the lives of women.
Very, cleverly.
The town of black-
The City of White,
When America rejoiced-
It's founding anaversary.
What a cruel man-
To seem so nice,
Entrance poor women in blue eyes.
What a smart fox,
Inside his slaughter castle-
Hiding in plain sight.
What a monster-
Those final acts,
That murdered the lives
Of thee tiny children.
Oh, how cruel a man,
A gentleman cloaked in the city,
Hidden in the smog,
Killing in the night,
In our City of White.

The worst of the lot!
Hitler

A patch of beard on my top lip
Trademarked by an ever present whip

Steel jawed ruler
Mass murderer
What killer could compare?
Certainly no Hannibal or ripper

I held none sacred but my clan
I was master and had a plan
Kill them all
And bury them where they fall

My name still rings in history
Race killer that's ME!  

dude.. I never would've thought of him.... wow...

might I say good job, sir!