Stormy With A Chance Of Monsters

[MystyrMystyry]

Fast awake or wide asleep? I'm in a strange city scape
It's night, it's wet, it's stormy - I'm no cement jungle ape
Cower in the dark wet alleyway - all the sky ablaze
Lightning strikes abundant, when I spy something through the haze
Creeps toward me from the mist - its enormous eyes afire
It gurgles, slurps, burps and farts - the situation dire
Turn to run and run I do - just as far as a puddle
Which trips me up - arse over tit! - my head's all amuddle
Ground is high, sky is down - this monster reaches out for me
My reflexes kick in - I kick out - but only graze its knee!
I regain my footing and attempt - like my mind - to race
It grasps my arm - I knee its- nuts? - break free - then punch its-... face?
Once again I trip - now upon a squirmy tentacle
From whence these turds? Summoned on a mystical pentacle?
This slimy smelly creature reeks foul with the stench of poo
Aside from its thousand eyes, this perhaps provides the clue
Sewer scum, this one - are chemical toxins being flushed?
Needs be cleaned down there, I muse briefly - but I'm in a rush!
Seven more appear behind - from some weirdo-esque planet
Ghastly horrors everywhere - I've had enough Goddammit!
Unlike my heart they miss no beats - as swift they're giving chase
Make a break for it - pref'rably to some populous place
I hit the street in the pouring rain - no cops as usual
Nor even gangsters when you need one - wait! That's unusual!
Flashing neon arrow directing to a club downstairs
I don't recall a nightclub here - wasn't there! - raises hairs!

But the size of the bouncers - judo experts? This is a song!
Hurling myself down the flight I lose myself in the throng

A drink I need - to the bar! - may as well try the hors d'oeuvres
Beer on tap is best by far - it does wonders for my nerves
But what was that which I'd just eaten? Tasted like chicken
Mmm, savoury, and what's the expression - finger lickin'?
P'raps it's something in this red sauce that lends that special tang
I enquire what it may be - and the barkeep bares a fang
Delicious is it not? grins he with sickly bloodied gums
We've all come from everywhere for to fill our hungry tums
Well I've just arrived and this is the most exceptional fare
In fact so scrumptious and wondrous I wonder, would I dare
Why, yes I would - there is a need! Could you grant the recipe?
You mean the sauce! he suddenly barks, laughs aloud at me
I thought you meant the meat within - within this tasty treat
I s'pose we all have diff'rent tastes - TexMex is what you eat
And the recipe? I ask again - though I'm not sure why
Beer and food have brung such relaxed mood that I feel quite high
In fact it's hard to recall why I'm here - Why am I here?
You came in through that door - that's all I know - what's that smell? Fear?
Only that I don't remember- but as I turn around
There is a change in atmosphere - a cooling underground
The crowd it seems to turn on me - they sniff and snarl as one
Fear!? they growl with vernacular variants - Fresh human!?
I see that I'm in quite a bind - I can't admit the truth
But being so drunk on the beer I declare Holy Ruth!
Can't you dicks take a joke!? I thought this was a celebration!
Not a funeral nor a morgue - Are you full of constipation!?
That's it! I can take no more, I see I'm wasting my time-..!
Shutup! snaps Barkeep - It is a funeral! And a morgue-...!

[A Chime]

They all - we all - look askance toward where we heard it from:
The rear door - and standing there, in black topper and apron
A figure out of place for even here - so truly dark
It looks like night personified dressed up to the nines - Hark!
Light rays bend toward him which he in turn sucks dry
Absolute ambience of the night - the Witching Hour's nigh!
I can feel it - we all can - just an aura in the air
Simply no sound but silence - electricity in our hair
My gooseflesh is atingle as I'm sure that yours is too
I turn to ask the barkeep but he's gone - or rather - flew
Above the room he circles in his trueform of the Bat
As the people are no more - at least - leastways - not like that
The Wolf is here, as is the Snake, and in the corner - the Ghost
Mister Nobody roars at Invisible Man, The Host -
The Host has become - of this lonely town at least - The Toast
The Mummy is steadily re-ravelling to reveal
Itself in reverse - equal in eeriness is the squeal
Of the Harpie Queen (actually she still looks much the same)
Many more I don't recognise not before nor after
The room erupts in a sudden wail - monster laughter?
Not to seem ungrateful - whilst I've been privy to their game
And it seems as good a time as any - that is to say
It occurs to me I should take my leave while this place
Is still at peace, and I commence to make a bit of space
Betwixt me and them - precisely: a beeline for the stair
I take a few hors d'oeuvres for after - far away from here
To later have that sauce analysed - and also my beer

I'll have to run to grab a taxi - hope there is one soon
But alas the bouncers block my way - Where dja think you're goin'?
Why I'm going home to bed - it's getting late - I must rest
But it isn't safe out this time of night - or do you jest!
You had me goin' there for a second - I thought you were-...
Stop him! booms the darkest voice and I look across to where
He was - but he's close - too close for personal happiness
Why? I ask - What do you want? I'm of what possible use?
You are the human out on the street? I saw you fight off-
That? That was nothing - less actually because I pissed off
And avoided being captured by running into here
That's what use you are - you must teach us this speed - you see we're-
Slow? I know - or so I've noticed - the brain department too
So you can teach it to us please? We need to learn it soon
To catch my fellow humans? So that on their bones you'll feast?
You have us wrong - don't do that anymore - we've found geese
Chicken, pheasant, duck, quail, taste better - superior
How dare you sir! Take that back..! Erm, eerie - eerier!
We dine on just bird these days since discovering the itch
You want to catch fowl instead of acting foul - that's a switch!
Catching bird is not the problem - we're fast enough for that
So not to chase - not to catch... It's surely not to lose fat
No - promise not to laugh now - to cover us from misdeed
Oh whyfor, Bogeyman? Why else would you wish to learn speed?
Public relations angle - our nasty reputation...
You've been bad - you know it - but you're fine now - destination?
They want us, your kind - they want to stab us with sticks - and rocks
And stones throw at our bones, bash our skulls, dynamite our socks!
The coy way the Bogey said this made me raise a smile
You'll teach us how? We'll pay you well - make it worth your while
Can't believe I'm hearing this! Monsters want to run away?
Yes - like you did when thinking we were after you today
This is ridiculous! You are monsters pure and simple!
Only on the surface - no longer underneath, pimple!
Why did you abuse me then? If you're so sweet and wholesome?
Frustration - we're not wholesome - certainly mostly gruesome
I need some air - I do I swear - I'll need some time to think
We haven't time, Bogey explains - Come - have another drink
Why no time? And be specific - what happens if I don't?
After tonight we'll vanish - and that's it, that's all - you won't

Pass my eye over the crowd - sad misbegotten misfits
And do you know I nearly shed a tear? But then it hits!
They don't want to run from us - they want to run from Hell
These bastards will never be friends - they want to flee the spell

Hey - listen up everyone! (Suddenly I have an idea)
You don't need to run! Confess your crimes! Do the time - no fear!
What!? barks Wolfy - I'll get fried in the chair! I don't want to die!
But that won't kill you, see - only silver bullets - no lie!
You're suggesting we confront our past? intones a zombie
Geez I don't know, says Batty - mine goes back a long long way
Far farther than most around here - I think I speak for all!
Well - all except me, says the Mummy - I go back four thou!
I said most, says the Bat - I said that! Everyone heard me!
But you also said all! the Mummy old spits his dummy
Bah, groans the Dragon King - I can easily beat you all!
I said most! the Bat needs reiterate - Bother! The Gall!

Enough already! I shout at them - Listen, I don't know -
Community service maybe, get a life-coach - or go-...
Yes? says the Bogeyman - we're listening - what do you suggest?
Join the circus! I cry - You're freaks! You're weirdos! You digest?
I think I do, howls Wolfy - Spend the rest of our long lives -
I mean immortality - wearing make-up and in dives
Hiding from our past? says Batty - a sort of blending in
That's a term, I say - perhaps you can learn new tricks, Demon?
I'm up for it! the Mummy says - always liked the trapeze
An acrobat I think I'll be! Soar through the sky with ease!
It will take some training, I try to placate - just a bit
I'm prepared for that! To learn the ropes! The circus - that's it!

Bogey reaches into his pocket and fishes out a purse
Thanks, he says amid some moths - I think we can lift our curse
He then pulls out a fifty and thrusts it at me - Payment!
What's this? I say - a mere fifty for my trouble - payment?
It's not enough? Wolfman snaps - We shall have a whip-around!
Everyone - empty your pockets - give your dough to the hound!
Never asked for money - your cash is not the issue -
Thankyou for your souls, I grin, wiping my mouth with tissue
What the Devil! You Devil! I mean - you can't be the Devil!
Not before - but I can be now - thanks to you - aren't I evil?
So what do you want, oh Master? What shall we do this day?
Whatever you want - for now, I laugh, and turn to walk away
Oh - and I almost forgot - the recipe! You got it?
There is no recipe, Bogey shrugs - Just blood - and that's it!
Then what is the tang? Tell me now! Must know before I sleep!
Sleep? Not the Devil! Devil never sleeps! And the flavour-
Yes! Tell me how you make it - of that which I have savoured!
You drain the Tex - and then the Mex - I guess it's down to what-
They've eaten? Of course! Blood you say? Spiced with chili - and hot!
Well thanks again, I leave them there - Thankyou for all your souls
Under the stars I walk home - and ponder:

I must buy bowls


.

[kittypaws]

funny....Michael Jackson's Thriller came on the radio as I was reading this! hahahaha ~ for real!

It did take me two times to get through it but a great story! It kept me involed and laughing...you showed a good sense of humor in MHO. Much like I would expect evil to show.

One question..why poetry and not short stories?

And I am supposed to sleep well tonight after reading this? Someone better be holding Moi!

lovely ~ kittypaws

[MystyrMystyry]

Thanks Kitty

The thing with short stories vs poems is that for some themes one or the other may work better, but not all

They're both a challenge to execute effectively, because they must both be economical with words - even moreso with a poem - but the poem is a priceless (in both senses) jewel appreciated and derided by almost everyone at various times - and that's the real challenge: to prove and reinforce the idea that poetry can work and new poetry is possible and stories can be told within the form - and it is as valid as music, and novels, and visual art, and cinema, and what have you

And as for sleeping - the Devil doesn't sleep!

[MorpheusSandman]

This is like a crazy mixture of Iced Earth's Horror Show (a concept album with each song dedicated to a classic horror monster) and Sandman Vol. IV: Season of Mists (where gods from classical mythology come together to bid over the key for hell, which Satan is giving up). I think it gets a bit hard to read in the dialogue sections without quotes, and you don't really sustain the meter enough to make the end rhymes anything but a distraction, but I think you have a nice narrative here that could simply use with some tune-up editing. I think the second half (all after the "chime") is significantly stronger, though. It's quite enjoyable (and very unique!) overall. It's nice to see longer, narrative poetry being written around here.

[MystyrMystyry]

Thanks MS - it's the dead metre - 14 to the floor, only in rare places stretched to 15 - don't look for 'em - it'll drive you crazy

I began with something similar to Poe's Raven for the mystical Wizard summoning curse like feel, and because - well, who doesn't like the Raven? - but that 18/17/19/15/ jingo is hard to master and I didn't really want to spend the entire week counting syllables

I'd like to have the patience, and I am fairly patient, but there are some things that just rack your patience - it's one that you end up thinking I'll let someone else do it (quietly hoping that someone will!)

(just thinking - I've got the basic template now - how hard could it be to insert five syllables per line? We'll see - it may just happen...

I'll have to checkout the Sandman number sometime if I find it - shouldn't be too hard

Thanks again

[MorpheusSandman]

Aha, so you set the meter by syllables rather than stresses? Perhaps I should've clarified that I meant the latter. I honestly don't think syllables are a valid way to determine meter in English, a language that is naturally stressed timed. Yes, I realize there are poets and critics who'd disagree with this, but I think it's hard to deny that English IS stress timed and that most poetry is based around that. Fourteeners were basically ballad meter stuffed into one line, which I do think works better for longer pieces like this, but it should still maintain the the 4/3 stress relationship (though I agree it doesn't have to be perfect in such a case; in fact, subverting it would lead to some interesting artistic/expressive opportunities). Let me use two lines to illustrate:

It gurgles, slurps, burps and farts - the situation dire
Scans: -/-//-/ || -/-/-/

Now, this reads almost like a perfect common meter in a fourteener line; 4 stresses followed by 3, generally in iambs with one elided unstressed syllable (dire can be read as one or two syllables, btw; it's actually one of the rare bimoraic diphthongs in English).

Ground is high, sky is down - this monster reaches out for me
Scans: /-//-/ || -/-/-/-/

Now, instead of the 4/3 common meter fourteener, this is more balanced, with four stresses on each half of the caesura, with the only difference triggered by the difference in rhythm of the first half's headless iamb and middle spondee, which could also be read as two cretics.

[everyadventure]

No cops or gangsters when you need 'em :) Get a life coach :D

Where do you come UP with this stuff? You are a bottomless pit of wit and horror!

[MystyrMystyry]

Thankyou every - not certain about this 'bottomless' business - I should goggle it to see if it has another meaning?

[Delta40]

Well I enjoyed it and thankfully lit-netters like Morpheus are there to instruct as well as praise your work. MM you strike me as someone with a particularly fertile imagination and you really remind me of the children's author Colin McNaughton. He wrote Making Friends with Frankenstein and Have you Just Seen Who's Moved in Next Door to Us?

He is a delightful read for bloodthirsty children. I could only locate one poem of his online since one has to purchase his books




I Don't Want To Go Into School


I don't want to go into school today; Mum,
I don't feel like going into schoolwork today.
Oh, don't make me go to school today, Mum
Oh, please let me stay home and play.

But you must go to school, my cherub, my lamb,
If you don't it will be a disaster,
How would they manage without you, my sweet,
After all you are the headmaster!

[MystyrMystyry]

Thankyou MS for the metrical analysis - I don't get it - I've never got - I doubt that I ever will - but usually I stumble on it in natural rhythm, like music has to swing a bit, like Mozart breathes, like jazz feels, like a cobblestone road makes for slight unsteadiness

I like the idea of a formula to make my words groove like they do when I'm talking, but I think if you analyse Shakespeare, the afore-mentioned Raven or in fact any poet who is not so strictly style-obsessed, the rhythm breaks constantly

To me it's an interesting concept, and something to study, but in my opinion no poem is perfect - this, if I were to grade it, I'd only give 5/10, especially because I can see where it fails and I know where it can be improved - but not without an entire rewrite - a rewrite at the end of which would require a further rewrite... ...

But again I appreciate the lesson in metrics - maybe eventually some of it will sink in

[MystyrMystyry]

Ah Ms Delta!

'MM you strike me as someone with a particularly fertile imagination'

What makes you so positive this isn't a true story, hmmm??


I did the Colin McNaughton search the last time you mentioned him - and I found quite a few at the same site (poemfind,com, I think) but wherever there were so many poets to search I began to get sidetracked plenty easy and temporarily misremembered him

I'll have to go back and scour the archives with the blinkers on like they put on horses so they don't run of the tracks

[MorpheusSandman]

I like the idea of a formula to make my words groove like they do when I'm talking, but I think if you analyse Shakespeare, the afore-mentioned Raven or in fact any poet who is not so strictly style-obsessed, the rhythm breaks constantlyI never meant to imply that the key to a perfect poem is simply counting metrical feet. In fact, that makes for very dull poetry; writing to the tune of a metronome, as one critic said. That said, I think it's important to know and be able to play by the rules before you break them. Shakespeare is a great example of someone who could write in perfect blank verse when he wanted to, but would frequently break the rhythm for effect, like, perhaps, beginning with trochees to start on a "hard" syllable to get the audience's attention and drive the lines forward with more authority. In fact, one of the reasons for establishing a fixed meter is precisely so you can break it it. You know, you lull the audience into this fixed rhythm, and then you subvert it at just the right moment, pull the carpet out from under them.

It always surprises me the number of people on here to whom meter seems like a foreign and difficult concept. Of all the elements in poetry--indeed, even all the arts--meter is relatively simple. In fact, of all the elements that make up rhythm, it's by far the most straight-forward. You aren't even into stuff like intonation, phonetics, punctuation, word/line length, and all of the other stuff that affect the rhythm of a piece.


To me it's an interesting concept, and something to study, but in my opinion no poem is perfect - this, if I were to grade it, I'd only give 5/10, especially because I can see where it fails and I know where it can be improved - but not without an entire rewrite - a rewrite at the end of which would require a further rewrite... ...I think you're a bit too hard on yourself. What you have going for you is the originality and imagination. Hell, that's the stuff that can't be taught anyway, so everything else is just about craft and discipline. Be thankful your strength is on the side of the stuff that can't be taught and learned.

[MystyrMystyry]

Ah well - in that case thankyou - and I'll update my opinion to 10/10!

The thing with metre being simple - well, that's valid provided you're not considering those who are tone deaf, colour blind, can't smell, etc etc

I've not only met people who can't keep a beat to save their bacon, but people who are incapable of recognising faces! Couldn't recognise their own mother in a police line-up because that part of their brain doesn't work

As for your first paragraph - I understand that both musically and visually - but just not very well in written language where I can't perceive all of the subtle nuances - even of my own words. I'd like to be able, but not to the detriment of my happiness/sanity (perhaps these adept linguistic rhythmatists should do the rewriting - like a translation from English into English?)

But thanks again - I do appreciate the advice