Ryan Mecum

All The Cool Monsters

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan Mecum) — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 19:03:00 +0000

All The Cool Monsters, by Ryan Mecum

All the cool monsters know where to sit
in their high school cafeteria at 2am.
All the vampires at the long table up front
talking loud like they own the place,
throwing their food
and getting blood everywhere,
acting like they’re too cool to notice
the disheveled zombies off in their corner,
who dress like they don't care
all untucked and messy hair
as they pile on top
of the helpless night janitor.

The werewolves sit at a table in back
with their hair all up in everything,
clearly losing the battle of puberty
while they act like they look fine,
overcompensating in sports
or their moon howling lengths
to make up for their unfortunate cheek hair growth
and fingernails that they say are grown out
purposely for guitar picking.

Quasimodo at a table by himself,
crying in his crepes over some popular vampire girl
who he likes to think she doesn't know he exists
but its hard for any monster to miss his bulging hump
lurching through the cafeteria as he attempts to not drop his tray.

Nobody sees the ghosts
even though they moan and shriek
about how everything in the afterlife sucks.
The vampires sing this same tune
but they are prettier and more visible,
so even though the upperclassman ghosts
have been whining long before
the trendy vampires showed up,
the ghosts don’t get the credit
and the vampires are too cool to care.

At another table sits the invisible man alone,
who is so uncool he has yet to realize
he became visible again a few days ago
but no one has noticed so nobody has told him
that he no longer is see through
though basically he still is.

The witches are quietly binding their time.
They are drama queens who hate everyone
knowing their classmates use them
only if they need help with homework
or need a broom ride home.
The witches will one day rule the world
with their magic and manipulation,
starting a Wiccan religion that gains credibility,
they will do well financially and live good lives
with the exception of their haunting memories
of not being cool in high school.
which sadly means more to them
than they would ever admit.

High school belongs to the vampires.
They own the hallways, teachers fear them,
they don’t use their lockers, they don’t take notes.
The vampires are the monsters that rule the school,
who also know way down deep down,
they’re not as cool as the zombies.
But the zombies are too busy not caring
so the vampires claim the thrown,
slowly draining the principals blood,
playing their emo goth rock over the loud speakers,
and voting their own for homecoming court,
even though everyone knows
zombies make the best dancers.

It’s A Zombie Haiku Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan Mecum) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 20:49:00 +0000

It’s A Zombie Haiku Christmas, by Ryan Mecum

Once on Christmas eve,
with one infected fruitcake
the world fell apart.

When the plague arrived
not one place on Earth was safe
even the North Pole.

The sweet Christmas elves
ate from that infected cake
and lost their sweetness.

Zombie Christmas elves
surround Santa's North Pole home
moaning for his brains.

Santa's nine reindeer,
the only means of escape,
scream while ripped open.

One choking zombie
has Rudolf's blinking red nose
glowing through his throat.

As the elves broke through,
they found the back door open,
their meals escaping.

Zombie Christmas elves
chase Santa and Mrs. Claus
under northern lights.

Mrs. Claus falls first
as zombie elves pile up
for their Christmas gift.

Santa turns and looks
as dozens of small zombies
devour his wife.

The ice around her
snaps, breaks, and the pile slides
into the cold sea.

The rest of the elves
who did not fall in the sea
turn to their master.

Zombie elves move slow
but so does a fat Santa
dashing through the snow.

Santa's one defense,
"Any elves who bit my wife
make the naughty list!"

As Santa slows down,
zombie elves overtake him
for their Christmas meal.

Santa screams in pain
as his bowl full of jelly
rips onto the ice.

He spoke not a word
as he drifted out of sight.
Santa is dead. Good night.

Zombie Mrs. Claus,
trapped under the frozen sea,
waits for the spring thaw.

The Vampire Bandwagon

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan Mecum) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 19:14:00 +0000

The Vampire Bandwagon, by Ryan Mecum

I’ve packed you some blood bags
inside this handkerchief on a stick,
but before you run out that door,
give me a hug and listen close
my gross little vampire haiku.

You climb on up that bandwagon
and bite your fangs in tight
for those wagon wheels are well worn
and the road is all downhill from here.
There’s not much room left
on that rickety wagon,
but you are a slim book
and if you hold tight
you can ride that bandwagon,
find yourself some work,
and send some of that money back home.
Then come back to your daddy
when you’ve made us more financially secure.

Stay in the shade and keep drinking blood.
Smile wide, let them see those fangs
with your creepy feminine mouth
and that tiny trickle of blood
like all the other vampire book covers
and all the other vampire dvd covers
who are all bringing money back home
to their daddies, too.

I know you will feel so tiny
by all those fat vampire books
who have their own bookmarks
and their own clothing lines,
but you are unique.
There will be bumps ahead,
as the wagon hurls through the dark.
Many are sick of vampires by now,
but you mustn't lose hope.
Remind them of the horror, the dark humor, the lust
of a good old fashioned vampire tale.
Try to find some tweenage girls
who take experimental risks with eyeliner.
Let them read you and they will like you
as you suck their Hello Kitty wallets dry.

And when you’ve made your money,
jump off that bandwagon
before it drives off the cliff
that we all knew was coming
and then hobble back home to me,
my gross little vampire haiku.

The Vampires in America

noreply@blogger.com (Ryan Mecum) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 18:49:00 +0000

The Vampires in America, by Ryan Mecum

The vampires in America are hard at work,
creating vampires in America stories
where the vampires in America are nice.
The vampires in America
write stories about American vampires
who go to high school, who go on dates,
who watch the CW, who like baseball,
who play in the sunlight and sparkle.

The vampires in America want you to think
that vampires are people, too.
They can’t help it if they were born that way
(or bit that way).
Isn’t this America?
What about their rights?
What are they supposed to do, starve to death
while leaches have free reign
to latch onto any poor soul
who enters their pond for a dip?
America is the vampires pond.
They didn’t make it that way.
That’s just how it is.
Vampires should not be discriminated
simply because they are vampires
or at least that what the vampires in America
are working hard to make you think.

The vampires in America hope you believe
that they cower in fear at blond Sophomore girls
who roam the streets with wooden stakes,
and vampires, so fragile, so weak,
have only one course of defense,
they must turn from their wicked ways
and fall lovingly into submission
with the lip glossed underage girl,
and despite their decades wide age gap
she forces him to attend her Junior prom
complete with an afterprom gymnasium
full of inflatables and fat children
which he wills himself not to drink
but to stay eternally thirsty
in the name of love.

But in truth, the vampires in America,
they are not nice at all.
They do not love us.
but only what’s inside of us.
We are not their masters
we are their drink containers,
their human shaped juice boxes,
their Capre Sun blood bags.
Their distracting entertainment
before their main course.

And the stories vampires feed us
of friendly vampire boys
these drain us of our fear
and drain us from the truth
that, in truth, draining us
is all they want to do.
American vampires are monsters.
They are demons.
They are wolves in sheep clothing.
Or bats in emo clothing.
Sunlight is their enemy,
not narrow-mindedness,
nor high school girls with temps.
Don’t be tricked, don’t be brainwashed.
vampires are not your friends.
They don’t want forgiveness.
They don’t want redemption.
They just want your blood.