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.

Photo: 123rf.com

          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?

          

          

          Akpan

          

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.

Photo: sodahead.com

          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?

          

          

          

          Akpan

          

          

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!

         

         

         

          Akpan

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: doktorsnake.com

          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!
          
          
          
         Akpan

Santa's Worst Nightmare

What if Santa had personal demons? (Of course, he does battle internal fears, everybody does... right?) But if Santa had nightmares what would be the content of his incubus? Would it be fear of his arch-enemy, Jack Frost kidnapping Santa Claus and ruining the Christmas fun? The Grinch who tries to steal Christmas? A psychotic killer turning his bullets lose on kids? If Santa had nightmares what would be his worst? Read on and try to see if you can solve that piece of jigsaw puzzle on your own.

     And while you're at it, try to picture a Santa's grotto void of laughing, joyful kids at the peak of the Christmas season, if you can. If I was Santa, I know that would scare me titless.

The refrain comes in after each verse. I bet you can do that on your own so I didn't bother repeating 'em.

Photo: babybitznpartypieces.com

          'Twas the night before stuff got awry
          And all things beautiful grew tawdry
          The season took a bad turn and went gory
          Need I say things fell out in one big hurry?
          
          How still I saw them lie
          Permanently immobilized in my mind's eye.
          The endless column stretched from East to West
          I gasped as my breath caught in my breast.
          What could this be?
          Who is this beast?
          For one moment, I heard my heartbeat
          The rhythm disjointed and out of sync.
          
          The moanful creak of the derelict carousel
          Carved a ring of finality like doom's peculiar tassel.
          These kids, I wish they had a childish sort of carousal,
          One fine night, without their parents' counsel.
          Darkness is fallen.
          Silence is omen.
          Carols have been altered to dirge,
          Deserted grottoes placed on the verge.
          
          What's the point of a universe full of tall people
          When who you really need are the small people?
          Who stole children voices, that quaint magical dialect?
          Who robbed the season of music and a chance to recollect
          Good, genuine memories?
          How do I reminisce?
          What was the weapon-a gun, sword or deception?
          Did the Pied Piper make a visitation?
          
          It's empty! Empty! The whole world is empty!
          The sound in the silence is deathly prophecy.
          I close my eyes and dare not open it for fear
          Of what may come upon the midnight drear.
          The crows are flying.
          The wind is sighing.
          I think I'll stop by some field and pick the new blossoms;
          Never dreamed I'd witness the day kids abhor Santa Claus!
          
          
          Akpan

Paranoid Noel

I want you to close your eyes and try to imagine a kid who's grown up but is not done and over with his dread of Santa Claus. He still believes Santa is a maniac from some unidentified alien planet who is out to strangle little kids and eat them up. But wait, there's more. What if this guy (man or woman) believes Santa is still tailing him after all those years of going to visit the bearded one at the mall? What if his paranoia has driven him to the lip and actually, pushed him over the edge into the abyss of insanity?

These are the things I need you to keep in mind when you read this verse if you find you have any strength left in you to go on. I know you do.

          I seen him sitting in the mall all but acting Santa Claus.

          I seen with my eyes a kid he throttled with his glove-concealed claws.

          Don't you patronize me, I can tell dragons from dinosaurs.

          I know what I saws like I know meteors are slugs from catapults

          Of the gods released over their tireless and dumb cosmic wars.

          I watch my back 'cause in point of fact, his stare penetrates walls.

          

          I hear rats in the walls by the sound but I know who's really in there.

          You don't fool me old sorcerer, I know your tricks and I'm prepared.

          I saw a deer yesterday. It didn't look my way but it saw me clear.

          A spy from the Old One as every Christmas card's bugged with ears.

          I don't take cards, they all looking out for him with the gloves and beards.

          Mom and dad worked for him too, dragged me screaming into his lair.

          

          Woulda sucked my blood with vampyre fangs but I numbed him with my screams,

          Broke into a run and I never been back to see him since.

          It's same story for father and mother. Lord, forgive me my sins.

          As a man, I paid them a visit and chopped them in pieces.

          I made them pay for all my pains; the nightmares that stalk my bliss.

          I'm here now, a lonely man, peace won't allow my fantasies.

          

          I saw that old fool yesterday. Have I told you that it's Christmas?

          He walked up to me all  Ho! Ho! and hypocritical farce. 

          I saw the bulge of his belly and it all came back in a blast,

          What would have become of me had I not taken off in a flash.

          I coaxed him into a corner no more fear of Christmas past.

          I wrung the neck off his bulk and fed scavengers his carcass. 

          

          

          Akpan

A Psycho Christmas Carol

Well, did I say I was going to try my hands on horror-themed Christmas poetry or not? This is the first of my Thirteen Days of Christmas (13 being the evil number). It looks through the eyes of a psychotic killer who sees himself as one of Herod's soldiers who were sent on the killing spree during the search for Christ. There are 12 more dark verses for Christmas. Stay close to me and not one of us will be lost in this journey through the darkest night of the season.

          The coldness stung; the night was dreary.

          The wind played songs; the skies showed nary

          A cosmic stud; moonlight was tardy.

          From Rachel's womb; the tide flowed steady.

          

          Rip the wombs wide open, spare no swords;

          Flood the streets of 'Salem with a curse.

          Search the sewers, wash your feet in blood.

          If any mother resists thee, put her to the sword.

          Herod the Terrible has spoken

          Get The City smokin' n tokin'

          To the slaughter of the Only Begotten

          Herod will be lord or nothin'

          

          The coldness stung; the night was dreary.

          The wind played songs; the skies showed nary

          A cosmic stud; moonlight was tardy.

          From Rachel's womb; the tide flowed steady.

          

          This ain't no Sesame Street I'm playin',

          I came to dig for all that's breathing.

          If he's two, a fetus or still toddling

          I'll slit his throat till warm blood starts gurgling.

          Hang 'em with their umbilical cords;

          Bash 'em against the rocks.

          Write their dust-to-dust before they're born

          Wet your sword with baby blood.

          

          The coldness stung; the night was dreary.

          The wind played songs; the skies showed nary

          A cosmic stud; moonlight was tardy.

          From Rachel's womb; the tide flowed steady.

          

          I'll do them one at a time, gangland style.

          Two to the head and watch them die

          Slow while infant blood flows half a mile.

          I hear mothers curse but I'll let it slide.

          I got an arsenal of dynamites

          To initialize strange delights.

          I'll free 'em from their plights,

          Kill 'em off when they're in my sights.

          

          The coldness stung; the night was dreary.

          The wind played songs; the skies showed nary

          A cosmic stud; moonlight was tardy.

          From Rachel's womb; the tide flowed steady.

          

          

          Akpan

          

          

Why Horror Sells at Christmas

Why do people create horror-themed works for Christmas?

Well, do you think they have a choice? 'Tis the season to be gory. Let the season come upon a midnight scream!

Horror-themed Christmas movies (art, books and poetry) reveal our dark side. They tell us there is a reason to celebrate and look beyond all the terrors and waking nightmares that taunt and haunt us. And people really do find it intriguing to be able to sit back on their sofa during the holidays, grab a bowlful of popcorn in their hands and munch away while watching a really good shock/suspense Christmas movie.

Photo: audio-history.blogspot.com

I'm not trying to make fun of a noble event or blaspheme a holy cause or anything of the sort. But the birth of the Christ was horror-themed. Somebody did try to murder him, if my knowledge of the Bible is not all that rusty, when he was born. A king, I believe it was. And you do remember how that chapter of the Holy Book ends, do you not? The Herod eventually executes every child from age two and beneath thereby, setting himself up as the most infamous infanticide in history.

Besides, as we celebrate, we ought to be made to recall not everybody enjoys the same privileges like us. There's somebody someplace going to get robbed naked on Christmas day; a child on life-support might not make it through the season; life will never be the same (for worse than for better) for some folks after this Christmas. You think I'm sick for mentioning stuff as troubling as these are during the season? Well, take a look around you. Is life more promising during the yuletide than it was in say, November? I'll bet my shirt, it's not.

The war in Syria, the fighting in Afghanistan even in Nigeria (though, of recent things have looked up at least on one occasion, when the military trapped a few members of the bomb-chucking maniacs and annihilated them) the terrorist group, Boko Haram is still very much around and in business.

I don't quite understand the mechanism of some people's minds, but it seems people are more terrified by horror-themed movies than they are of real life-deleting scenarios. Folks watch a horror flick, look away in disgust and exclaim, "What sort of sick individual could have imagined such a thing?" Now here comes the news guy with gruesome images of war and homicide-man actually, killing his fellow man-and this same folks sit up and yell for more live video shooting of the whole drama. If you told them that's gross. They'll probably reply, "Why. That's  the NEWS. It really happened!" And you wonder if that ought to make it less or more horrifying.

Every Christmas (since 2010), I write Christmas-themed poetry. This year, I'm taking a crack at horror-themed Christmas poems. 13 dark verses which I have named Thirteen Days of Christmas. It's definitely a new experience for me and I do hope to learn a few new tricks in the art of shutting people's system down, even though temporarily, through the art of fear. It's always a lovely thing to find new reasons to celebrate. Gore came down at Christmas! (Sorry, I mean, love.)

There ought to be a chicken in every pot but you and I can name a few cases where there was no pot and the chicken caught a cold and died a few days before Christmas. Try to get yourself a very merry Christmas and keep in mind that it's better to visit the house of mourning than a place of fun especially, fun for the sake of it. That's probably, why horror sells at Christmas.

Have a horrific Christmas!

Akpan

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