Monsters - Hallowe'en

 

They arrived in small groups or just pairs. We heard the giggles and the shuffling before the knock on the door sent us hurrying into the hall. We were ready. I was, as always once a year, the witchiest witch and this time I had the pale faced Wednesday Addams helping for a little while until it was time for her to join the others outside.  Our first visitors, Harry Potter with his friend, Hermione, had escaped Hogwarts to come scavenging and helped themselves from my cauldron of appealing sweets and chocolate.  Scary monsters and super-creeps (sing) turned up in day-glo and luminescent colours, all looking wonderful – some people have amazing artistic skills and come into their own at Hallowe’en. I always do my best to get into the swing of it. Years ago I worked at our local infant school and all the children and some parents knew me. I didn’t recognise them as ghosts, vampires and spooks, but they knew me well and laughed at my witch alter-ego. Now they bring their own children to knock on my door. I’m obviously older than I thought. Not all of our visitors looked like monsters. A group of very well dressed young men, aged around nine or ten hoped I was having a pleasant evening as they took items from the cauldron. Their grown-ups waited at the end of the drive. The boys were amused at me being dressed up.

“I’m a witch, you should be scared!”

“Nothing scares us, we’re Peaky Blinders.”

Well, that was me told. Fighting to keep my face straight, I returned to my witch duties indoors. They surely weren’t old enough to watch Peaky Blinders? They certainly looked the part, though, and no, they didn’t scare me. I would have turned them into frogs, or something.  The grandchildren came back with their tubs nearly overflowing. I tried to cadge a few bits, but no-one was sharing – poor Nanna. Before they went home I had my usual moan about lollipops being dangerous things - I bin them out of sweets multipacks - and I made my usual speech about brushing teeth properly to keep their mouths healthy and Peggy, the tooth fairy happy. Hallowe’en is done for another year. By eight o’clock my cauldron was empty so the pumpkin fairy lights were switched off and removed from the front window, real pumpkins rescued from the rain and I swapped my witch clothes for comfy pyjamas.

The scariest monsters are the demons that live within us. Actual people who caused trouble, problems or any form of upset that we can’t shake off. The monster isn’t there all the time, perhaps, but lurking in the background ready to pounce when spirits are low, we feel tired, or it’s the middle of the night when our worries are magnified. They might bite now and again, but don’t let them win.

Let’s stay upbeat with  Roger McGough and Dr JCC,

First Day at School

A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.

And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.

I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.

Roger McGough


I Married a Monster from Outer Space

The milky way she walks around
All feet firmly off the ground
Two worlds collide, two worlds collide
Here comes the future bride
Gimme a lift to the lunar base
I wanna marry a monster from outer space

I fell in love with an alien being
Whose skin was jelly – whose teeth were green
She had the big bug eyes and the death-ray glare
Feet like water wings – purple hair
I was over the moon – I asked her back to my place
Then I married the monster – from outer space

The days were numbered – the nights were spent
In a rent free furnished oxygen tent
When a cyborg chef served up moon beams
Done super rapid on a laser beam
I needed nutrition to keep up the pace
When I married the monster from outer space

We walked out – tentacle in hand
You could sense that the earthlings would not understand
They’d go.. nudge nudge …when we got off the bus
Saying it’s extra-terrestial – not like us
And it’s bad enough with another race
But fuck me… a monster …from outer space

In a cybernetic fit of rage
She pissed off to another age
She lives in 1999
With her new boyfriend – a blob of slime
Each time I see her translucent face
I remember the monster from outer space

Dr John Cooper Clarke


Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Poetry Readings - A Night at the Brewery Arts Centre

 

The first time I stood at the microphone to share my own poem I was scared to death. At my request I was given an early slot before nerves might get the better of me. I’d spent a couple of days worrying, wishing I hadn’t committed myself, but there I was, in a café full of proper poets with a proper message and a witty way with words. I was the imposter with a few rhymes, persuaded into the spotlight despite my ‘better on page than on stage’ plea. At the time, my comfort zone was ‘Going on a Bear Hunt’ with twenty-five or thereabouts Year 1 infants, all of us doing the actions and having fun. Now I had adults looking at me with anticipation of how I might entertain them. I was amongst friends yet it felt like my appearance was being scrutinised before any words came out. I know I was blushing and my voice, when I found it, lacked my classroom authority.  I heard giggles in the right places, which was comforting, and applause at the end. My ‘daft rhyme’ was well received and I was happy to sit down, switch to ‘relax’ and enjoy the rest of the evening. I’ve done it lots of times since and I’m always nervous. As much as I love performance poets I don’t want to be one.

I was so excited to see John Cooper Clarke at the Brewery Arts Centre in Kendal. We had a pizza first in one of the restaurants there before taking our front seats in the theatre.  Yep, front seats and John Cooper Clarke, what a night!

It was an even more incredible night than I imagined because supporting JCC was a poet I’d never heard of (shame on me) who absolutely blew me away and I’ve followed his work ever since. Mike Garry, check him out, comes from the same place in Manchester as my family. His poetry illustrates places I know, people I’ve heard of and the way they relate to each other. His grandad had a pub on Fairfield Street when my dad had The Star and Garter. Our families might have known each other. Mike’s poetry is very different to JCC’s but they complement each other so well. I don’t know if it’s the Manchester / Salford thing or just Northern but as well as being excellent stand-alone poets, they certainly gel on the same bill. It was great to chat with him at the interval and buy a signed copy of ‘God Is A Manc’. There’s stuff in there that made me cry and still touches me.

John Cooper Clarke, still recovering from pneumonia at the time, kept going and going beyond his finishing time, turning pages of hand-written poetry and delivering words in his trademark pistol-shot speed. Poems I’d known for years came to life with the poet’s own voice, and he was right in front of me.

Here is the first poem of mine I dared to share,

There’s really nothing wrong with you…

 

 The dentist thinks you’re going mental,

Your funny taste is nothing dental

But you can’t convince the GP’s nurse

That all your ailments are getting worse.

She says your temperature’s fine at 37,

Twelve stone is good for 5’11”.

You should be glad that you’re so fit

You horrible, hypochondriac twit.

You don’t need extra Vitamin C

For occasional twinges in your knee

And stop that over-acted limp

You whinging, wailing, wussy wimp.

Bin the smelly cream for sweaty toes,

And menthol spray for your bunged-up nose,

The pots of Vick for respiratory congestion

And the Milk of Magnesia to ease your digestion.

Whizz that strong inhaler for chesty wheeze

And the K Y Jelly for personal ease.

Peculiar feelings in your tum

Means another camera up your bum,

But there’s never anything to find,

It’s not up there, it’s in your mind.

Oh take your special magic pill,

The one that stops you feeling ill.

It’s just a placebo, so let’s pretend

You’re feeling better and on the mend.

Now then, by your own admission

That phantom cancer is in remission

It’s just a headache, not a tumour.

Time you found a sense of humour

And stopped bringing your worries and distress

To the attention of the NHS.

PMW

Thanks for reading, stay safe and keep well. Pam x

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