|
|
| Poetry Information |
|
|
|
|
THe Monster Mash, A Graveyard SMASH (short story I wrote when I was 11)
The Monster Mash The Graveyard Smash Have you heard of the Monster Mash? I suppose you know the story of how it came to be, right? Well, I'm here to tell the TRUE story to you. It sarted out late one night, when all monsters where out of human sight. Then a tune started playing and I jumped from fright! The monsters appeared! What an eerie sight! They were movin' and a grovin'! Rockin' and a rollin'! There was no way to stop this party, except to say "Do the Mash!" As soon as I did everyone stared! Frankenstein and Dracula said "The Mash?" So I explained, "Yeah, you know? The monster Mash? THe graveyard smash? Please tell me you know the Mash!" "Um..." all the monsters replied "no." Then I taught all the monsters the Mash! We were dancing for six hours straight! It was such a delight that I go everynight! Sometimes I even invite my human friends! Last night there was a huge surprise. We found out that the swamp monster from the Black Lagoon was also doing the Monster Mash! So if you see Piranha's jumping around they are just grovin' along with the music! The dance has become so popular that their is now a song! Last time I went dancing the Coffin Bangers came! They're the best ever! Of course you won't believe me until you here them! Wolfman, Dracula, and his son came! So did many others, including ghouls and zombies. Next time you should come! Well, if your monster fiend ever needs some dancing help come straight to me! Some where inside him he knows the Monster Mash! Now the question is.... DO YOU?? I wrote this when I was 11 and was wondering what you thought of it? I think there are some places where I want to change things, but I won't. When I wrote this I was happy with, so why change it now? What do you think of it?
|
|
|
|
RELATED ARTICLES
Tsunami -a Poem Dedicated To Help Aid and Awareness and Encourage Future Harmony. Make Peace Not War Real Power. Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Dog Emlyn Williams Theatre, Mold, North Wales: 20th February 2003 Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet] Let's follow the poet to his Hell and heaven! Count his Ghosts and dilemma's? Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish] English Version Robert Burns Love Poem: A Red, Red Rose Robert Burns, a poor man, an educated man, and a ladies' man, is representative of Scotland, much like whisky, haggis, bagpipes, and kilts. He lived a life shortened by rheumatic heart disease, 1759-1796, but his life journey through poverty, informal education, disappointed love, nationalism, and literary and financial success can be identified by all Scots and common men the world over. He has become almost a national symbol of all things Scottish. His life is like a love story with a happy ending. Arizona Blue--Gunfighter: The Wolves Nest [Chapter One of Seven: The North] [Episode Five] Four Poems: Grendels Nature...the Racetrack...Counting days...[Now in English and Spanish] English Version Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More What Hides behind the Minute? Banana Republic Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered, Through eighty per cent of my allotted span, Occasionally awoken, when dissent is spoken, And I invent another cunning five year plan, Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned, So I borrowed from the French and Robespierre, Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw, And let my all equal Citizens appear, Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime, For there is another election looming, I have to appear sincere, for part of this coming year, And assure everyone that everything is booming, Never mind strict quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters, And told them which party let them stay, Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed everyone of note, You never know what might happen on the day. Motiff Have you ever experienced infatuation with someone you know is not a good match for you? Or how about an interesting relationship that roots itself deep in your memory... Here's my double take on someone who caught my eye years ago and invited me to play footsies in a work cafeteria. Although nothing ever involved from this infatuation, he has never left my thoughts. Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King] The Torrents of Hell Two Poems: Boyhood, and Old Age [with a note on style] Boyhood Review Of Stephen B. Wileys First Book Of Poetry: HERO ISLAND Poet Stephen B. Wiley's first book of poetry, Hero Island, reflects tender snapshots and reminiscent overviews of various stages of his life as a youngster working on a farm in New Jersey, summer vacations spent with his family in Northern Vermont, and his positive stance on life. Barriers There are many times I set up barriers and walls, invisible unless you come too close, And then you hit them. An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes] Old skin, once held tight Against her skeleton- Rose no more, just draped Loosely over unpadded flesh; Un-tightened muscles, and tissue, Lost its courage, no-fortitude-, Gone are the days and years That stood against the Indomitable elements; The skeleton, now a landmark Hidden under flesh and blood Guts and moral fiber, backbone? Collapsed from drudgery Time, time: cascading inside-. Bones now leaving impressions Accepting fate Like tarnished silver!... Hands look like autumn leaves Fallen from a tree Winter's around the corner The door of time is closing Like an old wood pile Being burnet up- Hard to open things Hard to do anything Precariously balanced- Painfully slow? Four Poems: Two for the Devil, Two for Peru Here is some witty poetry (not sure if that is the proper word: witty, but it will do): one poem on the Aztec year 2012, a year that has been in the public's eye quite a lot; one on cloning, and the biblical end time events--which, if I may add seems ripe for the monster events that are said to take place; and two poems dealing with some tradtions of Peru; one imparticular, on vacationing, where not to go; all the makings for some thought. The Treasure of Catalina Huanca (In English and Spanish) Note: written after seeing the little adobe 16th century church San Sebastian, in San Jeronimo, by the mountains of Huancayo, Peru, after being taken there by the Wandering Quechua guide, Enrique (4-13-2005). A World That Doesnt Care War bombs may explode demolishing man and land. Hurricanes may devastate and leave us entirely bare. Earthquakes may devour and swallow up old landmarks. But nothing is as destructive as a world that doesn't care. Thank You To Our Soldiers And A Tribute To Old Glory And A Prayer For Peace Thank you Poetry in Turbulence To many non-specialists of literature, poetry is deeply unsatisfying. There are several reasons for this, but two in particular come to mind. The first is that most poetry is overly descriptive, leaving little to the imagination; the second is that the rest of it is abstruse. This presents the non-specialist with a dilemma: either to persevere in the thankless task of attempting to unravel an increasingly unrewarding literary crossword; or to make do with the superficialities of descriptive verse and the resultant ennui. Both projects would presumably confirm any prejudices that these readers entertained about the relevancy of poetry to their lives. In circumstances such as these, I think it would be appropriate to introduce a method of poetic appreciation, which, although unorthodox, would encourage the non-specialist to revise any negative opinion of poetry held.
|
| home | site map |
| © 2005 |