From The Attic

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From The Attic


A wooden chest, labelled ‘Uncle Jack’

Slowly I start to unpack:


Inside there sits some dusty books

Carefully placed so if someone looks

They will not see what’s underneath

A collection of human teeth

A fine, silken, black top hat

A jar half full of congealed fat

Some boiled sweets in a paper cone

Something that looks like a finger bone

Some dead flowers sharp and brittle

A wax effigy (that disturbs a little)

A walking cane with golden knob

A pocket watch with gilded fob

A bottle of crimson red ink

A round plug from a sink

A butcher’s apron stained reddy/brown

An old and tarnished bent half crown

A ticket for an east end flop

A doll with it’s head sliced off

A small piece of blackboard chalk

Some cloth that smells a bit like pork(?)

A red splattered washing rag

A large expensive Gladstone bag

A knife that almost looks home made

With a long sharp and rusty blade

A confession scribed in dripping red

‘From Uncle Jack and all my dead…”

day 16NaPoWriMo 2019list poemjack the ripperattic find

◄ Martyr

Down At The End Of Lonely Street ►


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Laura Taylor

Wed 17th Apr 2019 13:15

Heh, still having a whale of time I see ? Nicely done!

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Jason Bayliss

Tue 16th Apr 2019 23:45

Very clever, a couple of lines made me laugh and then it turned very sinister. Loved it.


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keith jeffries

Tue 16th Apr 2019 18:37


you have done it again with a poem rich in imagination, well put together, evocative and from that mysterious place above where we all live, yet so close and somewhat distant. Some years ago I assisted a friend in clearing out the loft of the family home, amazed to discover gas masks, newspapers sixty years old, and army great coat and a copy of the Daily Express celebrating the coronation. This poem speaks of the attic, a place of history and treasure.

Thank you for this


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