These poems are all about monsters -
All furry with big, pointy teeth.
There are all kinds of monsters within them,
Except for my favourite one, Keith.
Dad, stop the car
‘Cause I’m going to be sick.
I can’t hold it back -
I can taste it a bit.
Quick, Dad, I’m going to be sick!
Just breathe in deeply.
I’m going to go slow.
Swallow it down
And wind down the window.
Calm, son, I’m going to go slow.
He’s going all funny
And smells really bad.
A bit’s coming out
Of his mouth - just a tad.
Oh, Dad, he looks monstrously bad.
I told you that human
Was not fully cooked.
Our baby’s been poisoned
From eating that muck.
That human was not fully cooked!
All over the seat
And his sister’s new shoes.
All over the back
Of his mum’s new hairdo.
The monster has spewed up some goo.
There, there -
All monsters take care.
If you eat a human
You’d better beware.
Make sure it’s well done
And not medium rare.
Monsters, you’d better beware.
There’s a monster in my teacup
There’s a monster in my teacup
And I don’t know what to say.
The Vicar has two sugars
And the Mayor prefers Earl Grey.
But I really don’t remember
Either of them telling me
They liked to take a monster
In their morning cup of tea.
It’s floating on the surface
And I’ve given it a stir,
But that monster’s not dissolving
(Though it’s lost most of its fur).
I’ve bopped it with my teaspoon
On its head to make it sink.
And now the Vicar’s asking
If I’ll be long with his drink.
I’ve tried to scoop it out
But it just doesn’t want to come.
I’ve tried to pick it up
But it just snarls and bites my thumb.
The Mayor has asked for biscuits
And the Vicar’s calling me.
I’m going to have to leave that monster
In the cup of tea.
I carry in the tray with
Cups and biscuits on a plate.
The monster gasps for air
But it is going to have to wait.
The Vicar smiles, the Mayor gives thanks,
As I put down the tray.
And then the Vicar takes a cup
And asks us all to pray.
So as they close their eyes
I grab the cup of tea and then
I try to find the monster
Before the Vicar says, ‘Amen.’
I dip my fingers in the cup
Of boiling water and
The monster screams, ‘Please save me!’
And then clamps onto my hand.
As I hop around the room in pain
The Vicar stops his prayer.
He opens up his eyes and wraps
His arms around the Mayor.
He screams, ‘It was Earl Grey for you
And one sugar for me!
But I don’t recall that either
Mentioned monsters in our tea!’
The ghost in my toilet
There’s a ghost in my toilet
And I’m dying to go.
I’ve asked it to leave
But it keeps saying no.
I’m getting more desperate
But, each time that I knock,
It says it’s not finished
And tightens the lock.
Then it howls a wild howl
And I run and I hide,
And when I come back
I’m more bursting inside.
So I ask it politely
‘Ahem! Will you be long?’
But it lets out a howl,
Then a parp, then a pong.
Then nothing but silence,
A spine tingling hush,
And I jump from my skin
At the sound of the flush.
The bolt shoots across
And the door opens wide,
And I step back in fear
At the sight that’s inside -
The ghost in the toilet
Is spinning around
And, with one final howl,
That old ghost, it goes down.
As the gurgling goes quiet,
And the howl finally ends,
That ghost disappears
Down around the U-bend.
And I don’t think I need
To go in any more,
For I’ve already done it
Out here on the floor.
The monster down the plughole
Sitting in the bath one night,
I saw a single bubble
Rising up between my feet.
I thought, Oh, here comes trouble!
And then the plug shot out and up
And landed on the floor,
And a finger poked up through the hole,
And then one finger more.
I reached down for the fingers
And I gave them both a yank,
And out popped a small monster
Who said, ‘Thanks - I nearly sank.’
I asked what he was doing
Down the plughole in my bath.
He said, ‘I’m here to scare you,’
And I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘You?’ I said, ‘Scare me? Well,
How d’you intend to do that, chum?’
And then the monster dived down deep
And bit me on the bum.
‘Yeeoow!’ I yelled and jumped out quick.
‘Why did you do that, pest?’
He said, ‘I am a monster
And that’s what monsters do do best.’
I wrapped a towel around myself
And looked him up and down.
The water rose up past his head
So, to make sure he wouldn’t drown,
I picked him up and held him close,
Then whispered in his ear,
‘You cannot scare a person
Just by biting on his rear.
You see, scaring me and hurting me
Are not the same, you know.’
And, just to prove the point,
I went and pulled off all his toes.
‘Now that is hurting,’ I explained,
As the monster howled in pain.
‘And now I’ll show you scaring
And you’ll see they’re not the same.’
So I put him on the bath tub
And I pulled my head clean off,
And held it by its severed throat,
Which I cleared with a small cough.
I pulled my ears off, pulled my eyes out,
Threw them in the bath,
And whispered to the monster, ‘Boo!’
Then laughed an evil laugh.
And then I put my hand inside
And wrenched it out real quick
And, as my beating heart appeared,
I heard him being sick.
So I put it all back into place
And screwed my head back on.
I washed the soap out of my eyes
And saw the monster gone.
Then I saw the plug pulled downwards,
And a single rising bubble.
I climbed back in and closed my eyes
And thought, Well, there goes trouble.
Nowadays witches don’t know what they’ve got.
They don’t even make witch’s brew in a pot.
They buy it from shelves with just ten percent toad,
And chemicals added to make it smell old.
Their broomsticks are no longer made from the bones
Of fattened up children they stole from their homes.
They’re plastic and brittle and don’t last a week.
The future of witches is looking quite bleak.
There’s no natural ugliness there any more -
It’s make up and surgery. What on Earth for?
When I was a girl we could scare a child dead
With one look, but now they use movies instead.
Spoilt little brats, and what’s all this PC?
You can’t give that toy to a child under three?
I would have had poisonous spiders as toys
(And, oh, how I used them to flirt with the boys).
You can no longer cackle past nine in the night.
How scary’s a cackle when evenings are light?
You’re allowed to turn kids into frogs, rats and bats,
But can’t even cook them - there’s no fun in that.
And Halloween’s boring - so many impostors.
If we witches join in they will only accost us
And ask us for sweets. Once I ran and I hid
Because nowadays witches are more scared of kids.
Still, we sit in our hovels, our memories intact.
Our kind is no longer a threat - that’s a fact.
So let me ask you all alone in your bed -
If you saw a witch now, would your heart stop dead?
Would your flesh turn to stone, and your breath turn to ice?
Or would you just smile and say, ‘My, you look nice.’
Scared in the woods
The woods were dark,
The rain was cold.
There was no-one there but me.
I didn’t know
Which way to go,
For I could hardly see.
Then something ran
Across my path.
I jumped and held my breath.
I looked and saw
A rabbit which
Had scared me half to death.
The rabbit twitched
And looked my way.
I smiled at it and then…
A monster came
And ate it up
And disappeared again.
A monster’s Hallowe’en
“I want to dress up like a human,”
Said the monster at Hallowe’en.
“Mum, make me a suit
That makes me look cute;
A little less scary and green.”
“I want to dress up like a human,
And go out to play treat or trick.
If they give me some goodies
I’ll take off my hoodie
And scare them until they are sick.”
© Copyright Mike Lucas