This picture was inspired by a very early poem concocted as a result of playing the Word & Question game with my old school and silly co-writing mate Val (Valerie Crook then, Valeria Cass Bell now).

Here’s how the game works. Everyone writes a word on a bit of paper. Any word. The sillier, the better. Fold over the paper and pass it along – or throw them all in a pile and randomly pick up another. Then everyone writes a question. Again, daft is good.

Then – throw in a pile again. Randomly pick out. Now you must write a poem including the word and answering the question. WARNING: the subsequent readings out usually result in someone choking on their egg nog.

The example from my teenage days is this – Word and Question set by Val: Bilberry. Has your hamster sharpened all the green pencils yet?  And my poetic response? Get ready for Byronesque greatness now…

Well, he’s trying very hard to get the pencils sharp

And his heart’s not really in it; he’d rather play his harp

But I put him in a cornflake packet with nothing but some nuts

I gave him one and said, ‘Now hack it – and none of your ifs and buts’

So he’s trying very hard now, very

Da da da da da, bilberry

(I think I was having an off day.)

OK – want to have a go? I’ll start you off. The word is Fossick and the question is Do you have one of those in green with spots on?  I wait with extreme excitement for your poems!  (I don’t get out much.)

Guest Blogger Laura here, bringing you another snippet of Monsterliciousness!

My partner in crime Christian recently found this poetry book from his childhood:

Apparently it used to completely horrify him. Quite right too! Honestly, it’s scaring me a little even now.

This is down to terrifically terrifying writing from poets such as Ted Hughes, Roger McGough, Ogden Nash and J.R.R. Tolkein. Coupled with equally odd and utterly disturbing imagery from Charles Fuge. . . just like this:

This..

And this guy..

  ..who reminds me of this guy:

Apart from thinking how much this would have fascinated me and scared the living daylights out of me as a kid, it also makes me a little sad.

Sad because I once had my own childhood monster book which freaked me out and i’d LOVE to discover it now. But I presume it was given away without my knowledge. I remember so vividly picking it out from the mobile, fold-away, shiny silver bookcases in my primary school assembly hall, when the book fair came to visit. It was a collection of short monster stories (that’s short stories about monsters, not stories about short monsters!). They were all fantastic but the one that scared me the most, above all others, was about a seaweed-covered monster who lived under an up-turned boat on a pebble strewn beach.

Does anyone else remember this book?

What books from your childhood used to really scare you?

Have you recently found a book from your past that brought back strange memories?

Do you have a book at home now which totally creeps you out?

Sleep tight

____

Monstrosities

Charles Fuge

9780099673309

(1989)

The Man with No Skin
Is glistening red,
There’s no skin on his bones
There’s no hair on his head.

His nails cracked and yellow,
His eyeballs stare white.
His skeleton grin
Is a horrible sight.

You can see his black heart
Pumping blood through blue veins
As muscles and tendons
Move his grisly remains.

His taps at your window
Scrapes at your door
Looking for skin
He don’t have anymore.

So pull up the covers
Wrap yourself tight
The man with no skin
Wishes you a goodnight

Thanks for following our adventures in 2010, and I hope you’ll come back in 2011. We’ll be keeping our fingers crossed that Santa brings you all you wished for, and that we eventually get out of here alive.

All the best,

Barry

It’s a song called ‘Underneath the Snow’ and it’s from a new album that I’ve put together called ‘The Songman & Me, vol.1′. The rest of the album will be available to download from December 15th and I’ll make sure I pop back here to tell you all about it. Here’s the song:

…

Ah, that didn’t work, did it? No fancy little player thingy. Oh well. I’ll work on that. Meanwhile, check it out on its own little page:

http://joecraig.bandcamp.com/track/underneath-the-snow

Is this book related? Well, sort-of-not-really. It’s more ME-related. But I’m book related. So the complex web of relations will bring you, book lovers, to the music.

And perhaps, as the more literary minded folk that you are, you might want to have a look at the lyrics. I put up the lyrics to all the songs on the album, so you can check them out and let me know what you think. Here’s the site with all the songs:

http://joecraig.bandcamp.com/

If you click on the title of each song you’ll find a new page with a bit about each one and the lyrics.

I love writing lyrics. Very different to poetry. Very different to books as well, of course.

There’s a common truism that good songs tell stories. Some do. But I think most great songs actually describe moments, characters or scenes – hardly ever whole stories. Perhaps they suggest a story without ever telling it. I don’t try to write lyrics that ‘tell stories’, but have a look and see what you think. For me, the untold story that lyrics hint at can be much more powerful than just laying it all out there for people to hear.

And if I wanted to tell a whole story, of course, I’d write a book. I have been known to do that every now and again.

Enjoy the songs!

—

How Do You Sleep?
by Tommy Donbavand & you!

How do you sleep?

Igor the boar does nothing but snore

Drake the snake simply can’t stay awake

Mark the shark likes to snooze in the dark

Sandeep the sheep sometimes sings in his sleep

Honey the bunny sleeps with carrots – how funny!

Pat the rat watches out for the cat

Mog the dog always sleeps like a log

Gayle the whale tucks up under her tale

Bruce the goose dreams of cranberry juice!

Zack the yak sleeps with birds on his back

Claire the bear snuggles up in her fur

How do you sleep?

—

Now, it’s over to you.  Feel free to add to this silly little poem in the comments thread…

The monsters were nestled all snug in their pits,
All hairy, or slimy or covered in zits.
And I wearing only my thin Summer gear,
Shook in my prison with cold and with fear.

When in the main chamber there arose such a clatter,
I slipped from my chains to see what was the matter.
Away to the cell door I flew in a hurry,
Wading up to my waist in a mound of brown slurry.

The unsettling light of the Flickertoad’s glow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But eight slavering demon-like monstrous reindeer.

With a malformed old driver who was bent almost double,
I knew in a moment that we were in trouble.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and screamed out their name!

“Now Masher! now, Mauler! Now, Crusher and Killer!
On, Hatred! On, Loathing! On, Spite and on Cilla!
To the edge of the fire pit! To the giant slime ball!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to my cell roof the coursers they flew,
With that sleigh full of evil, and Santa-Claws too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The stomping and scraping of each cloven hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Straight through the ceiling he came with a bound.

He was dressed in black leather, from his foot to his head,
And he stunk of sour milk and of things too long dead.
A sack full of entrails he had flung on his back,
I watched as he swallowed some whole as a snack.

His eyes-how they glared! His talons how nasty!
His nose – like a well-past-its-best Cornish pasty.
His skin had the texture of thick metal mesh,
And his beard had been carved from burnt human flesh.

A small human finger he held tight in his teeth,
He chewed it and chomped it as if it were beef.
He had a broad face and a thick, scaly hide,
When he opened his mouth I heard screaming inside!

He was rancid and rotten, a right wicked sight,
And I wondered if I would survive this dark night!
He suddenly leapt and grabbed hold of my head,
And I knew in mere minutes I was sure to be dead.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Flashed his sharp fangs and bent down with a jerk.
And chomping and chewing he bit off my nose,
Then gulping it down, through the roof hole he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a yell,
And away they all flew like a bat out of Hell.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!”

His last words as he disappeared head-first into the bucket of monster solids were “It reads better if you imagine The Two Ronnies singing it.” Let us hope these cryptic words don’t prove to be this terrific author’s epitaph.

NOW READ ON…

ESCAPE!

by Alexander Gordon Smith

-

Eight intrepid authors met up one winter night,

To write a book of horror lore and give the kids a fright.

It was meant to be a tome of monster pain and slaughter,

A terrifying nightmare for our nation’s sons and daughters.

(Yet soon it would be these poor souls who found out about torture!)

-

Trapped by monsters in a cave, so far beneath the ground,

That even when they screamed for help we could not hear a sound.

Forced to do their captors’ bidding in their cells of slime,

Made to write – dear god forbid – poetry that rhymes!

(And doomed to serve their beastly masters till the end of time…)

-

They’re only let out now and then to spread the monsters’ word:

“We monsters truly aren’t that bad” – it’s really quite absurd!

On such a day, in London Town, I met Sam Enthoven,

And nervously he challenged me to come up with a plan.

(“Get us out, for heavens sake – just save us if you can!”)

-

Now I really am no hero, I’m the opposite of brave.

“There is no blooming way,” I said, “I’m going near that cave!”

But then I watched as poor old Sam was dragged into the drains,

By a brutish beast with forty toes that loved inflicting pain.

(And then I vowed: “Sam don’t you fear, you’ll see the sun again!”)

-

My first plan of action was to blow up all the doors,

So I packed my bag with detonators, fuses and C4.

I’d blast their prison open, my brilliant plan was flawless!

Until I went and realised that the bloomin’ cave was doorless…

(The cells are locked up tight with goo, it’s really quite a raw mess.)

-

Plan B: trick the monsters, it couldn’t fail to work!

“Sam,” I said, “just dress up like an ogre gone berserk.”

Sam spread himself with bogeys, an incredible disguise,

He was so convincing that the monsters let him by!

(Until Gwyneth took a fancy and made herself his bride!)

-

Next I thought I’d bake a cake and smuggle in a file,

Those eight pour souls could saw right through their windows with a smile!

But I passed the cake to Gurt Theeg, that wretched bad luck goblin,

And the goblin gobbled it down his throat, even with the file in!

(And judging by his groans of pain it’s filing his intestines…)

-

“Ali, why don’t you charm them with some of your poetry?

Sing them a nice lullaby and make them go to sleep.”

She composed a masterpiece and sung it to her guard,

But when he fell asleep she didn’t manage to get far.

(The beast had fallen on her and squished her with his a*$e!)

-

I started watching prison shows to get some fresh ideas,

And thought of drugging monsters with some chloroform tortillas.

It would have knocked them out for hours on that cold cave flooring,

But Joe scoffed all the poisoned snacks, it really was appalling.

(He’s been asleep for three weeks now and hasn’t once stopped snoring!)

-

“Why don’t you try and sneak out through the prison laund-er-y?

Jump into the trolley and then soon you’ll be home free!”

Andy followed my advice, he thought he had a chance,

But ended up beneath a pair of slimy monster pants.

(He needed to be rescued by a digger and some clamps!)

-

I told Mark and David: “You can get out through the sewer!”

Not knowing that inside it was a world-class monster poo-er.

As soon as they dropped through their loo they found it overflowing.

Are they still alive down there? There is no way of knowing!

(Except for the occasional sound of something human groaning…)

-

“Tommy, try to start a fire and set off the alarms.

You’ll be evacuated before you all come to harm.”

But the instant that he lit a match and held it to some dry rot,

A monster aimed his snozzle in, extinguishing it with snot!

(And now poor Tommy’s covered, there really was a lot.)

-

“I know what to do,” I cried. “Tunnel through the walls!”

But when Barry tried to do so he found there was no wall at all –

His cell was a vast stomach, a gooey gloop of guts,

Belonging to a monster who had tried to eat him up.

(“Argh, the only way I can escape is crawling out its butt!”)

-

Yuk!

-

Oh dear, Oh dear, Oh dear, I thought, this isn’t going well,

All I’ve done is make those writers sleep or sink or smell.

If I’m going to break them out I’ll have to risk my health,

Sneak into the prison, take those monsters on myself.

(And hope that I’m rewarded with a great degree of wealth.)

-

So that very afternoon I ventured to their lair,

With every single trembling step I’d offer up a prayer.

With stakes and silver bullets, and holy water too,

I stepped into that cave to do just what I had to do…

(Although quite how to do it? I didn’t have a clue!)

-

The moment that I entered, I came under attack,

I knew I was in trouble but there was no turning back!

My weapons were all useless, the beasties were too tough,

My holy water scared them but it just wasn’t enough.

(Though it did manage to make them smell a little less like guff!)

-

Then just when things seemed futile, when I thought that I was dead,

I threw down all my weapons and tried something else instead.

Monsters do love poems, perhaps they’d like this one?

And whilst I read it out to them my dear old friends could run!

(And somehow we would ambush them as soon as I was done.)

-

So I began to read aloud, the monsters crowded round,

The writers slipped out of their cells, they didn’t make a sound!

As soon as I had finished I said, “Now it’s time to fight!

Come on writers, finish this… Let’s give these beasts a fright!

(Er… Hello? Is anybody there? Please don’t leave me behind!”)

-

Guys?!

-

Guys!!!!!!!

-

Aaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!!

I hope you (and the monsters) feel that I have succeeded…

A stinky cloud of toxic gas descended on the earth
Asphyxiating millions and terrifying scores.
Scientists and doctors searched for all that they were worth
But none of them was able to identify the cause.

So whether you be old or young, unpleasant or seductive,
Or lover, mother, father, friend, or wide-eyed honeymooner
If ever you should sense a cloud of gas that seems destructive,
You must remember this: THE SMELL THAT’S KILLING YOU IS LUNAR!

I thank you.