Sunday, December 30, 2012

Don't it Make You Wanta Go Boom

I figured it's still Christmas and I could do this one last time for this year's yuletide season. It occurred to me that I've only written twelve poems out of the thirteen (horror-themed) verses I promised to write for Christmas 2012.
      This one really happened thanks to naughty kids playing with toys (this time firecrackers) who got a million naira worth of property burnt to the ground. I know you're out there, here's to you guys, you just made history!


          A million stares penetrating the windows to December,
          Calling waived memories and forewarnings from the rudder
          Of the psyche. Things lost in the fire become flout's fodder.
          Don't it make you wanta go boom?
          The Christmas sprite is quick and true.
          Don't Christmas make you wanta burn?
          Christmastime is where the buck stops.
          Nobody gives a pin when they are blinded by pleasure.
          It's tricky can't observe when you seem caught up by seizure,
          But what happens when one firecracker busts a scissure?
          Can't kill happiness when 'tis the season to be happy;
          Can't contradict the spirit when we all feel like rejoicin'.
          Can't start fires you can't control and put people in misery.

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Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Catching Up On Christmas

A man (or woman) had a booze overdose on Christmas eve and woke up midnight of 25th or on Boxing Day to find out what we found out already; Christmas day is over and done. But wait, it's Boxing Day so he can still salvage his situation. He picks a fast food joint and goes out to celebrate Christmas.

What if the maitre d' is an old pal who's had a not-so-good experience with our guy? Of course, they recognize each other almost immediately the maitre d' comes to take his order. What if Boxing Day becomes... well, boxing day (like the Mike Tyson kind of boxing)?

          Boozed on the eve, slept thro Christmas and awoke on Boxing Day
          Feeling like I dug out a tunnel thro Kilimanjaro.
          Wished myself a Merry Christmas and got off to celebrate.
          I figured I could still catch up on the fun shake up old bones.
          I went out and caught a bus and rode 5 miles to port unknown,
          Walked in a diner, picked a table with a view of the sea.
          The menu was in french, curved like seashells and plated with chrome.
          I leafed thro the tome whistling happy tunes and reminiscing
          Of the good times I've had and the one I lost and ones to come.
          The diner was called The River; the Calabar dish got me gone.
          The maitre d' crossed the hardwood floor and spoke. Barely caught his drift.
          I tore my eyes off my meal, paid him attention and fell plumb.
          Earth stood still at that moment and its only sound was bereft. 
          I could see we met before, his hard stare was cold and oblong.
          "So, we meet again." He didn't have to say it. I felt it
          Like I felt what came next; this guy was an inch shy of 7 feet.
          He waited tables at a diner till I got his butt fired.
          The River's air morphed into a living thing, sentient and dire.
          The maitre d' bared his knuckles. "Don't do something you gon' regret,"
          I said, getting up to my 7'2". "I don't welsh on a bet."

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Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Ghetto Santa

This was trending on Twitter and I thought I could recreate a Ghetto Santa's thoughts in a poem. And what if the ghetto in question is Nigerian?
       Much of the stuff you find in this line of poetry are highly overrated but I've tried to be true to the Nigerian setting as much as I possibly can.

          Yo kid! You got your money? 'Cause this Santa ain't freebie.
          Holla at your momma make sure she got the right ticket.
          I like your style, your class but maybe I'll whack the bee's knees.
          Lose the cunt face, eh. Got no love for Santa Clause, midget?
          Say, it's Christmas that's why we're here to make some cool money.
          You came to laugh, dance and clap your hands. I came to get paid.
          Now that we understand each other, don't fight the feeling.
          Hello, how d'you do? I'm Santa Claus. Let's start over again.
          Let's get issues cleared from the start; I ain't here to please you.
          I'm here to do what I do, you're here to love what I do.
          Come, sit here on my laps tell me what you wish and you'll see
          That Santa can be nice like paradise if you ain't naughty.
          Don't mess up the costume, wipe your tears. We can talk things out.
          You don't gotta get all mushy. What are you all about?
          I like you kid but you gotta go. The next kid looks rich
          So, hurry chop! chop! Get the hell out o' here, little Grinch.

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Monday, December 24, 2012

Childhood Christmas Wishlist

What if a grown up decides to ask Santa to fulfill all his childhood wishes?What if Santa were to grant these wishes in a literal sense as the kid this man was once conceived it and not in the light of the man the kid became?
      What do you suppose, would be the consequence of such an extraordinary treat?

          I asked for it but this isn't exactly what I had in mind,
          Can you take it all back Santa, could you please, oblige?
          Mama's been dead a decade, Papa my entire life.
          I once asked that they live forever. Is that my crime?
          Ignore my childish wishes can you straddle that line?
          I can't stand ghosts, I detest spooks. Same goes for my wife.
          I wished Dad be here every Christmas but I switched sides.
          I'm immune to spirits but I will rather decline!
          Wait, was that MJ I saw walk into my bedroom?
          Man, did you have to bring him back too, what's up with you?
          I thought you was wise Santa. Couldn't you take a cue?
          There's my favorite childhood jacket, you brought it back, fool.
          I'm too big to wear it and how come it smells like goop?
          You shrunk my big Bro to a 12 year old man, that's cool.
          I'm gonna kick him around a bit until he's blue.
          But you didn't have to bring back nanny. She's so cruel.
          Santa, is that the dish I smashed on Christmas? Come on
          I thought we went over this. Mama got a new one.
          Check this out: My childhood toy collection. Man, you rock!
          And my complete Power Rangers set. Thanks, Santa Claus.
          You shouldn't have brought my dead cat. Makes me nervous.
          It's snowing under my bed, a wish you could ignore.
          My house's hooked to Santa's sleigh, I believe I can soar.
          I see the Chapel's rooftop it's top o' the world, mom!

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The Last Noel

A burglar stages a heist on the night Santa visits a home. Shots are fired but the burglar already cut the power before going in and nobody can tell for sure who's who. Problem is both Santa and burglar have a big sack and both are dressed in Santa suits. One of them is down, the other is nowhere around. Did the real Santa scramble away in fright or was it the burglar who escaped with his loot?

Here's a poem which speaks along the same line but mind the twists, it may or may not give a satisfying answer to the question but it should thrill you-there's an element of surprise.

          'Twas the eve of Christmas when two men with intentions
          Came sliding down our chimney for an awesome opossum.
          They came at intervals both present for the action.
          Dad was out on unspecified assignment, said mom.
          We was asleep when things went down but we heard a buzz.
          I guess one Santa hit on the other and they fought.
          Whatever it was that started the bustle, it caught.
          The two Santas royal rumbled beside the large hearth.
          'Twas on the night before Christmas all hell broke the peace
          And the Grinch came and stole the spirit of the season.
          One of the Santas cut the power and locked us in,
          Which of the Santas was the burglar, which was the real?
          They both wore their Santa suits, they both laughed Ho! Ho!
          When mom demanded they pull their beards they went No! No!
          Now Junior he's been basing but do not tell him so.
          He fetched his Luger and drilled in one Santa two potholes.
          'Twas on the morn' of Christmas by the light of the moon,
          We checked the Santa Junior picked off and mother swooned.
          Second Santa was long gone guess he was the real goon.
          But how come mama zonked out, did she love Santa too?
          I know we killed the real Santa but it wasn't noon?
          He wore beards, hard to identify without preview.
          When mom started kissing Santa, we thought she was loon.
          Junior pulled the beards, Santa became Dad. We were doomed!


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Dasher's Dilemma

What if Santa's Reindeer, Dasher wanders far from home and gets lost in the backwoods  (I don't think there are any woods in the North Pole so maybe Dasher gets himself lost in an endless beach of snow) then, has a fatal encounter with The Abominable Snowman, a polar bear?
     My high school Reader had a very short poem about how a kid named Algie met a bear and got eaten. That poem inspired mine however, in my piece, Algie becomes Santa Claus' reindeer, Dasher.

          A deer for a bear is only fair
          As a thriller that's a diller's a winner.
          Fair is fair as a deer is dear.
          A belly filler as a tiller's a digger.
          Gore came down one fine Christmas night.
          When Dasher took a casual walk
          And wandered thro the beach of white
          Snow-rid expanse off Santa's court.
          The moon glowed gay the stars shone bright,
          And Dasher fell into deep thought.
          One more night then Santa's sleigh ride.
          His last thought before his breath caught.
          A deer for a bear is only fair
          As a thriller that's a diller's a winner.
          Fair is fair as a deer is dear.
          A belly filler as a tiller's a digger.
          You see, Dasher had been walking,
          Behind enemy lines crossing.
          Th'Abominable Snowman's a-sleeping
          Dreaming reindeer for a feasting.
          Old Dasher he was a-singing,
          Ignorant of devilish scheming.
          How Fate thus makes fools of us all.
          If only he'd seen his downfall.
          A deer for a bear is only fair
          As a thriller that's a diller's a winner.
          Fair is fair as a deer is dear.
          A belly filler as a tiller's a digger.
          One eye then, two eyes popped open.
          Three eyes then, four eyes were gaping.
          'Tis two Abominable Snow Men.
          He knew not he was the token
          The answer to prayers unspoken.
          For the bears, Christmas'll be smokin'
          But the deer knew not what's cookin'.
          A deer for a bear is only fair
          As a thriller that's a diller's a winner.
          Fair is fair as a deer is dear.
          A belly filler as a tiller's a digger.
          So, the bears walked up to Dasher
          He almost believed they're Santa.
          But there's two and that's a whopper.
          "Say, you care for a hug, Dasher?
          He stepped back too spooked to answer.
          They hugged him tight, hard and harder,
          Snapped his spine and burst his bladder.
          Dasher bowed and slept forever.
          A deer for a bear is only fair
          As a thriller that's a diller's a winner.
          Fair is fair as a deer is dear.
          A belly filler as a tiller's a digger.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Bad Santa's Sack

The last two poems have been a little more comedic in nature than horrifying. I do remember stating I was all about horror-themed Christmas poems this month. I'm coming through on that promise with this one.

What if somebody (might be a kid or adult, you fill in the gap in your own private time) stumbled upon Santa's sack but there's no Santa in sight and naturally (at least, it appears so to him) this guy decides to keep this sack and explore the content, later. Unbeknownst to him, it's the Bad Santa's sack and he ain't really Santa but Pandora in disguise.


          Like rubbish dumped in an exotic trash bag, it stood in his path,
          Foreboding and seeming out-of-place for a strange Santa's sack.
          The wind wailed in the trees like Banshees giving prophecy
          His eyes roamed the vicinity for signs of Santa, searching intently.
          Santa wasn't forthcoming.
          He waited a while longer, turning it over in his mind,
          "This stuff could come in handy, there can only be one of its kind."
          He said to himself as he surveyed his find.
          He decided he'd take it along, see who might come along
          On the other hand, he might keep it as Santa's gift to him.
          He figured he wasn't too old for gifts but he was wrong.
          On the real, he should have turned the other way, let it be.
          Death came on a midnight scream.
          Pandora paid a visit to his town and made wreck of it.
          A killer went on a shooting spree then, there was pandemic;
          There was floods in the cities, suicides and suicide bombing.
          It's Christmastime but rioting and violence take no vacations.
          Had Anonymous known this he would have been less ambitious.
          Secret Santa was wicked Santa who gifted guns n' roses
          A plethora of perils 'till we learn in these silences
          Danger comes not with sirens.
          The wars, the fighting, the pain, had Anonymous time to think?
          Would it have been different if he was content to eat and drink?
          That what makes Christmas special are the things which make hearts sync?

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Friday, December 21, 2012

Ad Hoc Santa

Wouldn't it be funny, if there was a Santa Suit that could transmute folks who put it on into a real Santa? I know it sounds silly but, humor me for a minute, why don't you? What if a mall thief trying to impersonate Santa and hoodwink the security guys finds this special suit in a sealed-off closet and completely unaware of its peculiar powers puts it on?

However, there's a clause to the Claus suit (pun intended); what if the suit allowed its wearer his previous devilish fancies that is, it could make somebody good on the outside but the original wicked thoughts stayed (even though, the guy couldn't really put 'em to work until he took the suit off)? Can you imagine the frustration such scenario would create?

The following lines are the mall thief cum Santa Claus' thoughts as he performs his (Santa) duties.


          Let me out o' here! Kid just kissed me. How I hate it.
          Why does a guy gotta go thro such torture to eat?
          Waoh, this one's pretty heavy. Say, what do you feed it?
          There goes my diamond ring bought and paid for. This is sick.
          How did I get stuck in this suit? This is a bad thing.
          Wish I could get this, wish I could steal that. Gimme that!
          Security looks away but I'm Santa Claus. Alas!
          I'm ad hoc Santa and I hate being Santa. It's Whack!
          Must be raining outside; the mall's full to busting,
          Can't believe they're here 'cause o' me. Heck, I'm delirious!
          Kid's yelling, let go. she likes me not. Are you for real?
          The world's hugging my space yet, I can't be mischievous.
          Ouch! Kid kicked my shin I've marked his face for payback time;
          Stop tuggin' on the mustache cause it's stuck and it hurts.
          Ho! Ho! Ho! it's No! No! No! say I'm losing my mind.
          I must be going bonkers and this Claus suit's the cause!
          I know it sounds funny but I just can't stand the buzz,
          All these noisome kids and I'm meant to be Santa Clause.
          I'm only an innocent guy trying to shoplift malls;
          Why do kids gotta get intimate and make a fuss?
          I'd choose jail than babysit; I'd choose bust if needs must.
          What? Is that spittle? How come I'm smiling? It's unjust.
          This darn red suit makes me nice to kids to my disgust.
          When does the mall shut down so I can get myself lost?

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Thursday, December 20, 2012

Grimm's Christmas Tale

What if The Brothers Grimm decided to write a Christmas poem as a warning tale for children? What do you suppose, would be the aftermath of such an epic poem? Little Red Riding Hood becoming a feast for Santa Claws (eh, that's Claus, I think)?, Hansel and Gretel roasting Santa in an oven? Cinderella marrying one of Santa's elves or maybe, even Jack Frost? According to Wikipedia, the Brothers Grimm stories were didactic in nature at a time when discipline relied on fear. (How times have changed, han?).

Today, Google Doodle celebrates the 200th Anniversary of Grimm's Fairy Tales. There's a complete cartoon slide of The Little Red Riding Hood story on Google's homepage. I wanted to do a little catching up on the fun so, I decided to create a Grimm-inspired Christmas poem.

Photo: Google

          Come take my hand and let us walk into a fairy tale
          Mind me now 'cause what you see will take your breath away.
          This is the land where the impossible takes place alway.
          How could Red Riding Hood have been so very cool?
          Riding solo in the woods, engaged by Big Bad Wolf?
          How could old grandma pull thro? She was down with the flu?
          I'll share a little secret. Can you keep a folklore secret?
          There is magic like a shroud that enfolds all like a chaplet,
          It attracts faith like magnet you'll find it trapped in your closet.
          A land where you can rip shadows off folks with a steel tent-peg;
          Where there really is a Santa and his assistants are the undead;
          Come see Hansel and Gretel push a witch to her death.
          Where an entire kingdom holds still for it's Beauty sleep.
          Every day is Christmas with Seven Dwarfs to make life sweet.
          You can have my place if you'll have a frog for a prince.
          Thus is Christmas celebrated in fairy tale land
          Side by side with wicked stepmothers and evil ogres
          And Pied Pipers steal your kids if you don't pay for rats!

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Sunday, December 16, 2012

Jack Frost in Christmas Town

What if there was a Cthulhu tree that possessed paranormal powers to grant its owner's wishes? That would be pretty interesting, wouldn't it? 'Cause everybody would want to have a piece of such a tree especially, if it was a Christmas tree. What if this tree could not discern what was right from wrong-what if it granted any wish anybody asked it?

Now imagine what happens if this magical Christmas tree got in the wrong hands, the Jack-Frost-kind-of-hands? If you can imagine the bad stuff Mr. Frost could wish for, this poem sums all of that up in one rich stew of terrifying goodness.

Jack Frost Photo:

          O magical tree! From Christmas Town!
          Won't you set me free, grant this one wish?
          O magical tree! From Christmas Town!
          Hope you won't deny me one simple wish!
          One innocent wish of boom and doom for the world
          Of men who flourish and bloom in gloom and cavort,
          While their kids cherish balloons like loons with resolve.
          Oh, they just boorish. Yet, soon these goons will be gone.
          Lastly, they'll shh! like brooks these crooks will get plugged.
          How I wish my wish be thro and thro years to come;
          One prayer to garnish the book and cook the outcome.
          Cthulhu tree pray fish all rooms for oomph, let them burn!
          I'll stanby'n relish the crude and cruel of the rut.
          Make men impoverish'd. The good, make rude and deformed.
          O magical tree! From Christmas Town!
          Won't you set me free, grant this one wish?
          O magical tree! From Christmas Town!
          Hope you won't deny me one simple wish!
          While the angels watch, make toast of hosts at Christmas.
          Make men bear a grudge and ghost their foes with nerve gas.
          May the whole world lurch with groans and moans and setbacks.
          Ice their hearts and botch carol night shows, kill their laughs.
          May kids sucker punch the robed and gloved St. Nicholas.
          Use my breath and launch a bold and cold vengeful blast,
          Steal joys with a touch of stoic hate stoke flames in grass.
          Make earth a gray splotch and blow all hopes to breakfast.
          Pick a lens and scorch their toes, dispose th'universe.
          Just one wish as crutch then, go and close all Decembers.
          O magical tree! From Christmas Town!
          Won't you set me free, grant this one wish?
          O magical tree! From Christmas Town!
          Hope you won't deny me one simple wish!
          Grant that Christmas cease and brawls and growls seize the day;
          Send Pandora's beast and crawlies gosh! just make hay.
          Rain a plague release the gross and truss kids at play.
          Take away all feasts, outbursts and crush t'holiday.
          Bring it from the East encrust the Earth's horst with decay.
          Blow grit like ground grist and thrust the frost thro the pane.
          Raise hell break up tryst and cause the buzz lose its gait.
          Fulfill my wishes, rebuff their bluff, trash their game.
          Sever the cursed rift, repulse the Claus, prove him lame.
          One wish apocalypse makes crumbs of all; that's my gain!
          O magical tree! From Christmas Town!
          Won't you set me free, grant this one wish?
          O magical tree! From Christmas Town!
          Hope you won't deny me one simple wish!

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