Oh, not for me thanks: trying to cut down.
I’m just not comfortable with it, you know?
I’m trying to make more ethical decisions.
Oh, I’m not judging you, Don’t be like that!
It’s personal. My choice. I just don’t like
The moral implications of this diet.

Why eat the naughty children, after all?
Some kid breaks a window, gets in fights,
Won’t eat its vegetables, won’t to go to bed…
And suddenly that makes it edible?
I’m sorry, that does not seem right to me.

So from now on, I’m trying to eat cleaner
And only put good things into my body.
Wholesome and ethical, and toxin free!
So now, when I eat children for my supper,
I take the ones who always do their homework.
The ones who help old ladies cross the road.

I think that, if you’re going to eat meat
You want it to have lived a decent life
And like I say, it’s my choice, I’m not saying
That every ogre ought to be like me.
But speaking for myself, I have decided
To try, where possible, to eat good food.

Audio version here:
https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/rQksx

I was just about ready to sleep
When some strange little men came to creep
Right up into my cave
Were they stupid, or brave?
Well, they weren’t going to rustle MY sheep!

So of course, I flew into a rage
Which nothing at all would assuage
But the taste of their flesh
The meat’s best when it’s fresh
So I kept them, alive, in a cage.

I did not want them getting away
So I started to eat two a day
I’m a bit of glutton
But tired of mutton
So the change, it was more than ok!

Oh they pleaded and begged and asked why,
What had they done, that they had to die?
I was sick of the bleating
About to start eating
When one shoved a stick in my eye.

Oh the pain, it was really severe.
I was blinded, but still I could hear
So I asked for the name
Of the one who had maimed
Me. He told me. His voice was quite clear.

In retrospect, I should have known
He was lying, not just by his tone
But I had just been stabbed
As I wildly grabbed
At the stick, I soon started to moan.

“No-one’s hurt me, my brothers! Oh please
Slaughter No-one! Make sure that you seize
No-one quickly and slay
Him: he’s getting away!
You must bring No-one down to his knees!

This did not have the wished for effect.
It worked pretty much as you’d expect
They all thought I’d gone mad
Now I know I’d been had
At the time, though, I didn’t suspect.

It was easy for them to escape
A blind Cyclops. I felt for their shapes
But my sheep all seemed fine
On their way out to dine
But I soon realized my mistake!

They’d all snuck out! I’d never felt worse
To be fooled by my food: that’s a first!
And then “no-one” said this: “Here’s
A tip: Blame Odysseus!”
At least now I know who to curse!

I’ll clean your house
While you’re asleep.
You’ll never see
Me as I creep
About at night
To scrub and mend,
But just take care
You don’t offend
The Hob

When you are sick
And in your bed
I’ll bring a cloth
To soothe your head
And medicine
To treat the pain
Unless you earn
The deep disdain
Of Hob.

And in return
I do expect
That you will treat
Me with respect.
A bowl of milk
Won’t go amiss
And just be sure
To never diss
The Hob.

If I am not
Appreciated
I’ll get cross
And you’ll be fated
To a life
Of toil and pain
I’ll never do
Your work again:
Not Hob!

Instead you’ll find
Your food will spoil
No crops will grow
Upon your soil
Your doors will stick,
Your mirrors crack
You’ll wish that you
Could see the back
Of Hob.

There’s one more thing
I truly loathe
Just never try
To give me clothes!
Can’t stand the things
They’re far too tight!
And nudity’s
The sacred right
Of Hob!

It’s only me, old Mörkö!
Can I please come and join you?
Please do not run away!

Don’t be afraid of Mörkö:
I don’t mean to annoy you,
No matter what they say

About the scary Mörkö
With pointed teeth to bite you,
Who brings the frost and cold,

I’m sweet and gentle Mörkö
So quiet and polite, you
Could never call me bold!

I’m such a lonely Mörko
I just want to befriend you
No matter what they say.

But when you see a Mörkö
I know that in the end you
Will always run away.

Please don’t.
Please stay.

I couldn’t help my parentage
My mother mated with a bull.
That isn’t easy to ignore.

People complain, I’ve often heard
Of being seen as less than human,
Treated like an animal.

So where does that leave me? I guess
I must deserve the life I live:
I’m less than human, bestial,

And beasts, of course must be contained
To keep the normal people safe.
I can’t blame anyone for that.

But even though I know that I’m
A monster, in the truest sense:
A man and yet no man at all,

I never wanted to be this
The terrifying Minotaur
Who eats the cream of Athens’ youth

But, in a way, I didn’t mind
At least this is a way to serve
Make myself useful to the king

Who’s not my father. Many would
Have killed the bastard freak, born of
His wife’s perverted tastes. But he

Gave me a purpose. Be the threat
The monster in the cellar. Be
The worst of man and animal.

Sometimes I dream of open air
Of tender grass and gentle breeze
But I am here, and thus I serve

The ones who made me what I am.

The antagonist of second labour of Heracles, in which he received a sneaky assist from his considerably brighter nephew.

For every head that is removed
Two more grow in its place
And it can easily be proved
When looking at this case,

That even if someone could slice
Those monstrous necks in seconds
Each well placed cut would lead to twice
The work. It can be reckoned

That ten of such beheadings would
Soon call for twenty more
And if your maths was any good
Then soon you’d know the score:

The speed at which you work will just
Exacerbate the task
The whole endeavour is a bust
Unless you stop to ask:

Is there another way to win?
I know it won’t come naturally
To you, although you are my kin
You never did think laterally.

Oh Uncle Heracles, where you
Have strength, you lack in cunning
But I’m the opposite, it’s true:
My intellect is stunning.

So let me help. I have a plan:
And here I’ll summarise it:
Each time you slice a neck I can
Jump in and cauterise it.

You’ll get the credit, Uncle: you’re
The big name in our house
There’ll never be a poem for
The Labour of Iolaus!

This is a French monster who eats the fingers of naughty children.

Hi guys and gals – and everybody else!
We’re trying to be more inclusive here
At Croque-Mitaine Productions. Welcome, all!
Today we’ll show you how to best prepare
Our own signature dish: Fingers En Croute!
Of course we all know young fingers are best
As older ones are sinewy and tough
But, here’s today’s hot tip from Croque-Mitaine:
You want the fingers from the naughty kids
A lot of merchants will not tell you this,
But naughty kids taste better. It’s a fact!
We think it might be the adrenaline
That courses through them that provides the spice.
But disobedience is what you’re after
You want a puff, but rough puff will be fine.
Wrap them in bacon, then in pastry. Bake
At three-fifty degrees. for half an hour
Or if you’re in a rush, no need to panic!
Just coat the fingers (once removed) in milk
Add eggs and herbs and spices to your taste,
Then roll in flour and fry. Bon Appetit!

Disclaimer: while this delicacy’s great,
You may be grilled by the authorities
If you’re caught harvesting this tasty treat –
So practice caution. Please like and subscribe!

“There’s a terrible monster who lives in the lake
He comes out at night and he eats all the cows
He might even come into Banyoles to take
People out of their houses! We cannot allow

Such a state of affairs to continue! So we
The brave soldiers of Charlemagne, offer to save
The good folk of Banyoles! There will be a fee
But you must see it’s worth it. We’re strong and we’re brave.

(Alright lads, all the bumpkins are pretty convinced
That their cows have been eaten by some scary beast
So it’s time for these fools to get totally rinsed
And this ought to be good for a medal, at least.)

Do not worry, good people! We’ll go down tonight
And we’ll slay the great dragon. Remember the deal?
When we’ve killed it, you pay us. That only seems right.
(What’s that, lad? The monster is actually real?

And it’s killed the whole squadron? It’s just you and me?)
Change of plan, everyone. We have been called away
On, um, Charlemagne business! So sorry to be
Rushing off, but it has been a pleasure, good day!”

“So you say there’s a monster, down there in the deep
Eating cattle and villagers, soldiers as well?
And you’ve woken me up from my afternoon sleep

(I mean afternoon prayer ) just to ask me to tell

You how it can be killed? Such a bloodthirsty lot!
I will pray for the creature, and help it repent.
You think torches and pitchforks will solve this and not
Some diplomacy? I shall divine its intent…

Buenes noches, dear creature. I beg you to cease
Eating cattle and people, in Jesus’s name!
You’re a herbivore? Well my child, you go in peace
You’ve been lied about cruelly, and that is a shame.

Well, this tale of a tyrant was only pretense,
Oh you fools of Banyoles, I fear you’ve been had!
Yes, he did kill some soldiers, but in self defense.
Since you sent them to kill him. It’s really too bad!

Take some cabbages, cauliflower, peppers and corn
And make peace with this creature who means you no harm
And if Charlemagne’s soldiers come back, just be warned
That they are the ones who caused all the alarm.”

And from that day to this, people frolic and swim
In the lake at Banyoles, no fear of attack
From the monster (whom they have assumed is a him)
Oh and Charlemagne’s soldiers? They’ve never been back.

There used to be more of us. Someone decided
That we were too big and we must be divided.
To make two new animals. This was misguided.
Not many escaped the decision, but I did.

We were huge, we were long, and nobody could beat us:
Not humans, hyenas, or leopards or cheetahs
A way must by found whereby they could defeat us
We ruled the land, and they had to unseat us.

There isn’t an animal longer or fatter
Than me, so escaping was no easy matter
But my glorious form I would not let them shatter
It’s stay or survive, and I’ve chosen the latter.

I slithered away and I hid in a cave
The others were stupid: they tried to be brave.
And I wish there’d been something I could do to save
Them. Alas, even I had a very close shave.

They were changed into elephants, stumpy and stunted
And small, skinny snakes. Wouldn’t you be affronted
To be cut in half, so that you could be hunted
By horrible humans? I need to be blunt: it

Was genocide. Now I’m the last of my kind.
But does anyone care? No! I’m always maligned!
If they call me a monster I don’t really mind:
But I’m not going to make myself easy to find.

So get out of my cave! Don’t come looking for me
For I promise you, you will not like what you see.
And then you’ll be the ones who must suffer or flee.
I’m the very last grootslang, so please, let me be.

I should have done this as poem 69, but I forgot.

I’ll come to you at night, and take my pleasure
From you. With you. The things you think of doing,
You know, the sinful ones: I’ll do them to you.
It won’t be your fault. You will just be dreaming.
You’ll be the victim of an evil demon
No-one need know how much you dream of fucking.

But I do not bestow my gifts so lightly
I do not come to those who do not call me.
So you and I know: this is what you wanted.
But do not worry, I will be the demon.
I’ll take the blame. No one can say you’re evil.
Relax. Enjoy what your kind call corruption.

If only you could see: this is not sinful
The pleasures of the flesh, they are your birthright
But when you demonize, you need a demon
To be the thing you hate, and yet you long for.
One day, perhaps, you’ll understand things better
For now, I’m here to sin on your behalf.