Thursday, October 02, 2014

Steps on the Stair

                                        STEPS ON THE STAIR
                                                            By Doc Walton

He remembers it now. 
His had been an aggressive and pervasive fear, always there waiting to spike at the sound he dreaded, the sound of steps on the back stairs.  The moment the first footfall touched wooden plank, his attention would sharpen, his hearing become focused and acute.  Was it the heavy tread that presaged pain or the lighter one that meant an evening of minding his Ps and Qs and making it safely to bed?  The measure of the steps on the stairwell foretold all.  
The solid whuck of a car door slamming in the drive was the first tell.  He would stop and drop whatever he was doing and become "all ears."  The big man’s tread on the old wooden steps spoke to what the night would bring.  A light brisk, regular footfall meant sobriety and, perhaps, an evening free of violence, an evening in which Mommy smiled and Daddy smiled and he, the good, obedient child, only spoke when spoken to.  A heavy, uneven series of thuds on the stairs meant brace yourself, steel yourself, there would be pain and, perhaps, even blood.  Daddy was home and he was drunk.  Again. 

Daniel was his name, born and dubbed so some twelve years ago to an abusive father and a beaten down mother too frightened to intervene.  His reality from the moment he understood the concept was simply fear, fear of hurt, fear of harm, fear even of death.  And the face of that fear was Danny’s father, a hard man who strode nightly through his house, his kingdom, with the attendant I-am-lord-and-master attitude.  He was a thick man, strong, fearsome and, as Danny was taught over and over, NEVER WRONG.  So take what you had coming and try not to say a word.  Cry a little, cringe a little, show that it hurt, hurt a lot.  If you didn’t, the blows would increase until you did.  Squirm, beg even, but never act defiant, no never defiant, or your life, young Danny knew, could be ended. 

Twelve, though, is an interesting age.  For many it marks a "coming of age," a time when bright kids realize that some decisions are actually theirs to make and they are not just puppets dancing to their parents’ will.  Self determination, at least in part, becomes a goal if not an immediately accessible reality. 
Considering his circumstance, though, it would be harder for Danny to achieve his psychological emancipation and even more difficult his physical one.  Running away, he knew, would not work.  He would be caught and brought back to a hell worse than the one he now occupied.  Telling someone was also out of the question.  Who would believe him?  And even if he was believed, who could take action before his father put his fists to him?  There was in Danny’s mind but a single choice that could free him forever.  Since he couldn’t go… Daddy had to.
His plan was simple and seemingly accidental enough that even if it failed Danny couldn’t be blamed.  In fact it was Danny’s own misadventure, tripping on a low stair and falling, that gave him the idea.  It was winter and snow would fall.  Shoveling the heavy, wet white was his job and he did it diligently.  Along with the sidewalks and driveway the back stairs, all twelve of them, had to be cleared.  What if, Danny thought, Daddy was to slip from one of those stairs, he would surely be hurt, wouldn’t he?  The bruises from his own fall were proof of that.  And what if he slipped at the very top? Wouldn’t he be hurt more, hurt really bad?  Maybe break something?  Maybe even his head?   He could be so hurt, Danny thought, he might be unable to stop what would happen next. 
And so this boy, tired of pain, tired of fear, tired of groveling, waited impatiently for that one day when the snow would come and the temperature would fall and a weatherman promised more of the same.  On that day he would act.
And so he did.
Danny shoveled and then swept the stairs of every last flake of snow.  Not a trace remained.  The water he poured on the landing and top two steps froze instantly and was quite invisible.  His bat, a hefty Big Papi model, was propped inside by the door.  Danny was warmed to a sweat by his work but nevertheless felt chilled inside; cold and determined.  The day was Friday.  The day his dad was always drunk.
The car door slamming was later than usual and, to Danny’s attentive ears, louder.  It was an hour or so past most bar Happy Hours and quite dark outside.  Danny had purposely left the house back lights unlit. This he knew would infuriate his father, but an angry, drunk, careless man was what Danny hoped for.  Muffled footsteps reached his ears as his father stumbled the short walk from driveway to back stairs.  It was with the first step upward that the big man’s cursing began and Danny’s hope and fear shot up simultaneously.

Cluff cluff, the first two stairs.  “Son of a bitch, I’m going to beat the crap out of that little fucker.”  Cluff cluff, the next two.  “Goddamn it, I can’t see shit.”  Cluff, cluff, two more.  “I am truly going to bust his ass.”  Cluff cluff.  Seven and eight.  “Come out here you little bastard!”  Then quickly, cluff cluff, cluff cluff.  “I’m going to teach you, WHAT THE!”
With his ear pressed to the door Danny then heard…was it two or three loud thumps?  He wasn’t sure.  He flipped the back light switch to on, turned the knob and opened the door warily.  His father lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, his head twisted at an unlikely angle.  The bat, Danny knew at once, wouldn’t be necessary.  He turned then, back into the house.  “Mom” he hollered to his TV engrossed mother.  “I think Dad has hurt himself.”
Yes he remembers it all now, some 15 years later and he remembers it with no regrets.  Why should I feel bad, he thinks, the man was a monster.  If he hadn’t died me or Mom would have.  He was certain of that.  He pushes the memory aside as he hears the sound of laughter ring out from the next room.  His twin sons are happily engrossed in their video game.
“I told you boys to go to bed,” Danny shouts at them with menace in his voice he doesn’t actually feel. “Do it right now.” He knows they will piddle around a little longer until he actually appears and hustles them up to their room.  He doesn’t mind.  They’re good kids.  He thinks, though, for a second, what his father would have done.  He has heard it said, after all, so often, “Like father like Son.” He ponders that for just moment and then his next thought spills out aloud. “Yeah, well not in this house” he declares. “Not now, not ever.”  
September 2014  Doc Walton



Sunday, September 21, 2014

Feel Like Writing, Don't Know Why

Maybe it is because I have been dodging it for a few days, avoiding having to make stuff up that is, or maybe it is because what I had been writing is about an unpleasant subject, child abuse, or maybe it is just the end of a spurt of laziness - make that a wave of - but I do feel like writing this morning.  Nothing grand, nothing notable, just spit out some words and see them there on the screen so I'll know for sure the whole writing thing is possible.  Here goes that.

I read earlier this morning that Fannie Flagg said her wanting to write is like a one legged man wanting to tap dance, it is so hard, but she, nevertheless, wants to.  I feel the same way.  And someone else of note, I can't remember who, said writing is a way of talking without being interrupted.  Both comments are, in my opinion, pithy, which inspires me to think is now my turn to write something pithy...

as soon as something pithy comes to me.  

Or is it I just like saying pithy?  Possibly.

In the meantime, while we are waiting for the pithy to arrive, it is best we don't hold our breath. 

I did have a nice moment while talking to a couple of bible thumpers the other day.  Wait!  That's derogatory.  Let's call them door to door proponents of "Good News," to use their term.  Their good news, unfortunately, was simply a belief they held for which there is no proof.  "A belief " I pointed out, (pithily)"without proof to substantiate it, is nothing more than opinion."  

Granted, not as good as my best pithy which remains, "Old men like old whiskey, old women like dessert" but it is in the running for Best Pithy Saying About Something Other People Have Said Better. 

(I wonder if there is anyone anywhere who lacked a lisp and said don't be so pithy?)

And now, for a change of subject, see my next post.


Wednesday, August 13, 2014


I'm not feeling at all clever this morning.  I slept well.  I had my morning coffee.  I'm awake.  I feel good.  Everything, as far as I can tell, is as it should be but...I'm not feeling clever.  Does this ever happen to you or is cleverness not one of your particular priorities?

For me it is a question of mental agility.  You know, the ability to see the odd, the skewed, the usually unnoticed, and especially the funny.  Where would life be without the funny?  (Nowhere I want to go, that's for sure.)  And maybe that's it, my lack of cleverness this morning. The funniest man on the planet, Robin Williams, is gone and I and the planet are feeling his absence.  What a loss.  He was 63.  We should have had at least another decade of laughter from him. 
So I'll pass this day clever-less and maybe a couple more as well.  I'll just enjoy the many clips of Robin's brilliance that are certain to be aired and put aside my small bits of funny to appreciate those of a true master.  I will miss you Robin and so will a world that needs laughter more than ever.

Rest in peace. 



Saturday, August 09, 2014

Addicted !

When I read writing that is better than mine, which is everything I read, because I won't read anything that isn't good, I wonder why I write at all and yet... I persist.  Clearly, my inner psychiatrist suggests, I have an addiction. 

Alrighty then, what to do?  

My first thought was to quit cold turkey.  I abandoned that line of reasoning almost immediately when the phrase "cold turkey" led me down an imaginary failed Thanksgiving dinner that I knew I would have to write if I lingered long on why the turkey was cold.  If I went to the expanded phrase, "quitting cold turkey," leftover and deli sandwiches would come into play for that is where cold turkey most often appears and I would be hard pressed to do much with that subject.  I also wondered why "cold turkey" was used to describe a way of ridding oneself of an addiction by applying  will power and no other aids. What the hell do turkeys have to do with that, let alone cold ones?

Tapering off didn't work either.  Watch I'll show you:  Tapering off doesn't work either. See I'm still writing.

I was left with only one choice, WA, Writers Anonymous.

Hello, my name is Doc Walton and I am a writeaholic.   I spend hours a day getting into a numbed out, trance-like state in which I ignore the reality around me.  The damage to myself, my friends and family is incalculable.  I know this as I once tried to calculate it and came up with twelve and I have no idea what that signifies because we writeaholics don't do well with numbers. What's that you say?  Twelve is the number of steps it takes to complete the program?  Okay, then. I'm clearly in the right place. What exactly is the first step?  Get rid of my blog!  You people are Effing Crazy?!

I'm outa here! 


Monday, August 04, 2014


During yesterday's PGA golf tournament Sergio Garcia hit a shot that went awry and clipped the hand of a woman spectator.  The woman was unhurt  but the golf ball knocked her engagement diamond from her ring. When a subsequent search failed to discover the ring, Sergio told his caddy to get the woman's name and address and he would buy her another diamond.  

 Woowoo Charly suggested to me that here was story potential.  Her view was that a fictional golfer experiences the same situation and upon meeting the woman at an agreed upon jewelry store the two are attracted to each other and shuffle off to a nearby place for lunch and cocktails. From there, of course, they fall in love and the golfer ends up buying two rings, one to return to the woman's former fiancee and one to give to his new love. 

A decent plot line but not exactly one that is up my alley.  Up my alley there are weirdos and winos, some of whom may or may not be golfers, and either humor or horror is about to be afoot, at hand, at arms reach, or some other close body part of your choice.  Romance is less likely but not out of the question if you pose the question properly as in, "So Doc, any chance of a love affair in your story of an alcoholic werewolf who only savages people named Jack Daniels?"  The answer right off the cuff and other parts of my clothing would be no, but it would give me pause later, because there is something in the word pause that if spelled differently could lead to a sexually titillating scene and that is a scene I might be inclined to write. (I have learned that writing from an inclined position causes blood to flow away from the brain making that organ less functional which, as it turns out in my case, is usually a good thing.)

So anyway, back in real life where I occassionally but seldom willingly live, the woman's diamond was eventually found in the rough bordering the fairway, hence the title of this blog.  The discovery of the rock ended any chance for a romantic liason between Sergio and the woman which is too bad. Had the stone not been found the woman might have been bitten by a wolf, turned to drink and, well, you know the rest of the story.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014


Emails have been answered, Facebook scanned -  too many Salons and UpWorthys, too many Shares from others, too few actual people messages - ball scores noted, news perused and lo, wouldn't you know, I am ready to blog...sort of.

What I mean is the decks are cleared. Cleared of distractions and mental bric a brac.  You know, the usual things decks are cluttered with.  I am now ready, willing and...not quite ready to go.  I need the spark of inspiration that precedes action.  (It is a spark, isn't it?  I may actually require something larger, a bolt perhaps or a jolt. Or a big, freaking blow upside the head of my imagination.) Hang on a minute, will ya?

It's coming, coming, coming and HERE IT IS:

I got stung on the back of the neck by a bee the other day.  I had taken the dog outside so he could offload his cargo and when we returned to the house the bee came along for the ride on the back of my neck.  I was unaware that it was a stow away. (I used "cargo" and "stow away" to tie this in with that clearing the decks naval metaphor I used earlier. You got that, right?) The bee waited until I was seated comfortably before alerting me to its presence by inserting its stinger in the heretofore mentioned back of my neck.  I did what any highly intelligent human with a Nobel Prize winning intellect would do in the same situation. This action, of course, might also have been duplicated by a near brain dead imbecile on life support but let's go with the first category for the hell of it.  I swatted the bee away.  It landed, wounded and ungracefully on the floor where it began to crawl about.  Now here's the interesting part.  (From the crowd a cry of, "I sure hope so Doc because you haven't got there thus far.) (I replied, "I like the use of 'thus.' Very clever to avoid two 'so's in the same sentence.) Because I am blinder than a bat with a little white cane I could tell the critter on the carpet was a bug, but I didn't know of what sort.  It could have been a spider or it could have been a tiny alien from another planet here to implant the eggs of its species in the nearest host.  To identify the creature and thus determine its intent (See I can use thus too) I grabbed a magnifying glass I keep nearby for just such occasions, stooped over the beast and said, "Ah ha! It's a bee of the bumble variety" in my best Sherlockian voice which, if I may say so, is quite good.  I then proceded to slay the beast and the case was closed.

Or was it?  Two days have passed and the lump on the back of my neck remains.  Is it possible that an alien DISGUISED as a bee might have left a colony that is even now working its way toward my brain?  And if so. wouldn't some say that was a good thing?




I've been away. my mind engaged elsewhere, the pen absent my hand, the keyboard unviolated. I haven't been stuck or blocked or any of those circumstances that occur to people who actually write with their brain functioning. I've been testing - not quite consciously - how people pass the day who don't spend a chunk of it sitting around letting their mind conjure stuff it wouldn't otherwise. Apparently, if my experience is any barometer, they watch more television.  This is an action, if it can be called such, that leads to couch potato status or, in my case, arm chair potato status.  I don't wish to knock this, in many people's minds, elevated status, but I am, if nothing else, a man of action.  Of course "if nothing else" leaves room for doubt which in this case may be a room the size of a football stadium, so I will clarify by defining action as any endeavor that takes place while the television is off.  Among these I include napping.  I am an Olympic Class napper.  When, however, the nap is concluded, I find there is still time to engage in activities that don't require turning the telly on.  I can't think of any at the moment, but I am sure they exist.  Wait! There is one that comes to mind and by mind I mean a consciousness of some sort.  It's that odd thing I used to do on a near daily basis in which I put words down in an almost orderly fashion and called them a blog.  Is it possible I could do that again?  I believe I will give it a go, see what happens.

Thursday, June 05, 2014


                  By Doc Walton

Let's begin at the beginning the wise have often said.
It­'s not what we've been told or the books that we have read.
It's the movies that have shaped us who lived before TV.
I know of this for certain, 'cause it happened sure to me.

I pay now homage to the films throughout my years,
That most invoked my laughter, my tears and all my fears.
The films that have taught me all the small things that I know,
How to stand up straight and tall, how to think and how to grow.

There were lessons to be learned upon the Silver Screen,
But it wasn’t education about which I was keen.
It was all those creatures, all those monsters in the night
That gripped me so with terror, such vicarious delight.

I interrupt to warn you, lest you think me simply mad,
That among my list of goodies, you will find a lot that’s bad.
Some greats are on my list, left off I’d be the fool. 
But for me they are the lesser, ‘tis horror truly rules.
Citizen Kane made its auspicious debut
And was over-rated in my subjective view.
The Wolfman appeared to save my first year,
Metamorphosing darkly, inspiring my fear.
The Mummy’s Tomb brought the curse of Ah-Mand-Rah.
To The Ghost of Frankenstein don’t take your sweet grandma.
The film she would most like, take this to your banker, 
The box office bonanza, the war film Casablanca.
Son of Dracula that year was a highlight for me.
Lassie Come Home is remembered quite fondly.
Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman could also be seen,
If like me you chose monsters on your movie screen.
House of Frankenstein came and was quickly sent
To the B movie houses for which it was meant,
Where it paired with a clunker, The Mummy’s Curse.
In Forty-four a toss-up for which bad film was worse.
I’ll skip National Velvet also shown in that year.
Though a young ‘Lizbeth Taylor I’ll always hold dear.
‘Cause the film lacked a heavy, some horrible creature,
For that’s what I think my kind of film should feature.
And Then There Were None in the year forty-five.
Agatha’s Christie’s tale where but one would survive.
It was better by far than another that I’ll mention,
House of Dracula though lame, still caught my attention.
Song of the South and It’s a Wonderful Life
Were box office favorites that caused me no strife.
The Yearling was nice, but the film that still lingers
Is the B movie treat, The Beast With Five Fingers.
This year was a dud, not a film with a fright
That was worthy of mares that come in the night.
Sinbad the Sailor was adventurous fare.
‘Bout The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, I just didn’t care.
Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein at last,
Which both tickled and scared me in my distant past.
The Three Musketeers swashbuckled to their fate.
A windy Key Largo one spook short of great.
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court
Featured dapper Bing Crosby with no song to sport.
The Sands of Iwo Jima had soldiers brav’ry sung,
But for best of the year, give me Mighty Joe Young.
Cyrano De Bergerac unsheathed his lethal sword
Defending unrequited love to keep me far from bored.
Sunset Boulevard in turn, was dark and oh so weepy.
Gloria Swanson’s “close up” a perfect form of creepy.
Jim Thorpe All American was an athlete next to none.
The Day the Earth Stood Still was strictly Sci Fi fun.
The film that set the standard for scaring my wits out
Was The Thing From Another World, for me there is no doubt.
The year was just a tepid one with few monsters slain.
No horrible brutes did this year’s movies entertain.
A song and dance, however, was there to ease my pain,
Gene Kelly doing his best work while Singing in the Rain.
The House of Wax melted down in splendid 3D.
It Came From Outer Space, was an awful film to see.
Invaders From Mars and moral gunfighter Shane
Were better by far than the thing in the jar known as Donovan’s Brain.
The giant black ants that were featured in Them
Were B movie horrors causing sewer mayhem.
The Creature From the Black Lagoon was double fun for me.
Julia Adams in a swimsuit brought on my puberty!
The Night of the Hunter made it perfectly clear.
That humans as monsters could also bring fear.
For the best monstrous thing in a Fifty Five feature
You sat back, relaxed, watched Revenge of the Creature.
Invasion of the Body Snatchers was one of the many
That thrilled me with horror while I chewed Good and Plenty.
The Creature Walks Among Us an unsatisfying sequel,
To Lagoon and Revenge it wasn’t close to equal.
The Incredible Shrinking Man was all the rage
As a man shrinks to nothing on our movie stage.
I saw a Teenage Werewolf and a Teenage Frankenstein.
Neither was destined to H-O-F enshrine.
It Came From Outer Space, if I correctly recall,
Was a movie ‘bout a weird and ominous eyeball.
The year Fifty Eight brought horror movie schlock.
Attack of the 50 Foot Woman was no rock around the clock.
The Fly had its moments, The Blob had none at all,
The Brain Eaters eerieness did make all my skin crawl.
Plan Nine From Outer Space was an Ed Wood disaster
That scared not a wit, but inspired general laughter.
House on Haunted Hill ran chills up/down my spine.
Its ghostly goings on, a preference of mine.
The Tingler was loose “in a theater near you.”
If your seat was wired, it’s a day you would rue.
Village of the Damned – space kids twisted and wrong.
Little Shop of Horrors – the one without the songs.
The film of that year causing viewer unrest
Alfred Hitchcock’s great Psycho, will forever be a best.  

101 Dalmations’ Cruella Deville
The year’s cartoon evil, I remember her still.
The Pit and the Pendulum Poe’s tale dark and mean
Was better in print than it was on the screen.
To Kill a Mockingbird, a ten best of All-Time
That year’s Lolita, was an icky kind of crime.
Cape Fear had my hands clenched in frightful apprehension.
It had no disbelief that needed my suspension.
The Haunting and The Birds - Ghosts and nature come to play.
The Man With the X-ray Eyes also had its big scream day.
In year Sixty Three the horror had to yield
To Soldier in the Rain and Lillies of the Field.
Dr. Strangelove and The Strangler, a mixed bag for sure.
The first one was a riot while the second quite the bore.
The Last Man on Earth, killing vampires was his chore,
While a lone Shot in the Dark had us rolling on the floor.

The Curse of the Fly buzzed on in to mix with human parts.
Cat Ballou rode on the screen and quickly stole our hearts.
Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors I can scarce remember,
Did I see it in the Spring or was it late September?
Dracula Prince of Darkness was revived in Sixty Six.
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf delivered verbal licks.
Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter was not on the “A” list.
With Billy the Kid Meets Dracula, two westerns happ’ly missed.
Wait Until Dark, one of several intense movie thrillers
Including the sleeper The Fearless Vampire Killers.
Frankenstein Created Women didn’t have Bridget Bardot.
Too bad, she’d have made it a better body parts show!
Dracula Has Risen From The Grave, he just won’t stay dead.
Rosemary’s Baby was a devil story better read.
Night of the Living Dead was a midnight horror great.
The Graduate was the film to see with your heavy date.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid shot up and out in glory.
Midnight Cowboy was a heart breaking and oh so tragic story.
This year in film lacked a fright flick dripped with malice
Lest you were shocked by the antics of, Bob, Ted, Carol and Alice.
Mash and Patton did not Taste the Blood of Dracula.
I Drink Your Blood was even less spectacula.
Blood suckers in Seventy had you hiding ‘neath covers
Except for a famous group of us, The Vampire Lovers.
Straw Dogs wasn’t fun to watch and Willard was a rat.
The Omega Man with vampires had a budget less than fat.
But if you ask I’ll tell you, the movie with great vibes
Is now among my favorites, The Abominable Dr. Phibes.
The Godfather and Deliverance eas’ly the year’s best two
Brought different sorts of horror, one old the other blue.
Blacula was quite well played, he looked great in his cloak
While Frogs was almost laughable, no fear lies in their croak.

American Graffiti and The Sting could vie for being best.
But Bram Stoker’s Dracula was head and shoulders ‘bove the rest.
The year brought someone new that got my tail awaggin’
Bruce Lee the breakout star of the flick Enter the Dragon.
Emmanuelle was naughty and never would a moment bore.
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was fraught with guts galore.
The killer baby in It’s Alive clearly an unsung favorite.
Young Frankenstein I play each year just so I can savor it.
The Rocky Horror Picture Show had music, laughs and screams.
The Stepford Wives had women to fill a dull man’s dreams.
The movie, though, in this swell year that won the most applause
Was all about a great white shark now known to us as Jaws.
King Kong returned for a second run, but with the same sad end.
Carrie burned the whole town down, because she lacked a friend.
The Omen was a devilish boy hell bent on a killing spree.
Taxi Driver’s remembered for DeNiro’s “ You talkin’ to me?”
Our Saturday Night Fever rose to a hundred and seven.
For Woody Allen Annie Hall was surely sent from heaven.
The Demon Seed was planted without the help of pentacles.
Killer whales saved the day from a giant squid named Tentacles.
Halloween had to be seen, be sure to bring a special date.
The same could be said of Deer Hunter depressing but still great.
Dawn of the Dead featured a zombies at the mall disaster.
The year’s best foreign flick? Jackie Chan in Drunken Master.
An Alien with retractable jaws arrived in outer space.
The Amityville Horror was a truly nasty place.
New York had Warriors patrolling its mean and dark streets.
Apocalypse Now had us fidgeting in our theater seats.
John Carpenter’s The Fog was not about the weather.
The Raging Bull had Jake La Motta throwing heavy leather.
The Shining’s ‘bout a boy whose dad’s gone round the bend.
The Blues Brothers played, sang, and joked right to the very end.
In Eighty One The Evil Dead dwelled in a cabin cellar.
The Howling was from werewolves and not a dog named Yeller.
Mad Max was the hero of an apocalyptic lark.
Indy Jones made his debut in Raiders of the Lost Ark.
In Eighty Two Sophie’s Choice was one I could not make.
Poltergeist and Creepshow were movies I could take.
Throw in a Tootsie to make a cogent point.
Porky’s got big laughs with a thoroughly stretched out joint.

Twilight Zone the Movie mostly failed to thrill.
Nostalgia was the reason for watching The Big Chill.
Christine a car was murderous, evil and tough.
In this year our astronauts displayed all The Right Stuff.
In Eighty Four the Gremlins came to screw with our machinery.
Children of the Corn ran amuck on movie theater screen-ery.
The Terminator said, “I’ll be back” and we all knew he meant it.
If you had a Nightmare on Elm Street you clearly must have dreamt it.
The Return of the Living Dead was not entirely unexpected.
Back to The Future we travelled if I’ve clearly recollected.
A Silver Bullet can play a part in preventing a werewolf’s bite,
Taking down a vampire proves much tougher on Fright Night.
Stand By Me said the spider to The Fly in Eighty Six.
Blue Velvet oh so creepy among my preferred picks.
About the horror of a war Platoon made me a believer.
Stopping Aliens monster things calls for Sigourney Weaver.

Predator went toe to toe with Arnold Schwarzennegar.
In Eighty Seven for horror one needn’t be a beggar.
Hellraiser was a hit and so was Fatal Attraction.
Wall Street won an Oscar for its real world horror faction.
Killer Klowns From Outer Space, you gotta love the title.
Chucky in a Child’s Play from killing seldom idle.
Eighty Eight had Hoffman’s Rain Man on the loose.
Make your fondest wish come true, three times say Beetlejuice.
Pet Semetary was no Field of Dreams in Nineteen Eighty Nine.
A Warlock came upon the screen to keep witches in line.
The Abyss, a bottomless hole, was found in deep sea water.
Batman kicked the Joker’s ass just like we thought he oughter.
Dances With Wolves this year was an epic western feature.
Arachnaphopia had spiders as its principal bad creatures.
Goodfellas truly were not and this film showed us why.
In Misery a demented fan eventually has to die.

Silence of the Lambs – from Lector you dared not blink.
JFKs conspiracy made us all sit back and think.
De Niro plays a heavy in Cape Fear and is no stiff.
Thelma and Louise so lovely, drove our hearts right off a cliff.
Reservoir Dogs in Ninety Two raised the bar for blood and gore.
Bram Stoker’s Dracula left me wanting more for sure.
Scent of a Woman projected tension but nothing scary,
While Basic Instinct gave us all… a glimpse of something hairy.
Jurassic Park’s an island where a T-Rex runs amok.
The Fugitive eventually has a decent run of luck.
Schindler’s List was sad and grim but in the end uplifting.
The Army of Darkness, a neat farce, kept my mind from drifting.
Forest Gump was dumb as a stump but left me wanting more.
Interview With a Vampire was far more than a bore.
Jack Nicholson howled in Wolf an unexpected thriller.
Bloodlust found its rightful home in Natural Born Killers.

Dracula’s Dead and Loving It with few special effects.
Species first seduces men then kills them during sex.
A Vampire in Brooklyn had profit margins in the red.
Horror fans agree this Eddie Murphy clunker’s dead.
Scream we did From Dusk till Dawn two entertaining flicks.
In Fargo a wood chipper is featured in the mix.
Flying saucers and aliens in force come out to play,
Brave humans to the rescue on our Independence Day.
The Titanic sinks and Jodie Foster makes Contact.
The Lost World gets found anew, t-rex and friends are back.
Jackie Chan ends his films with outtakes and funny bloopers,
All of which are far more fun than lame flick Starship Troopers.
The Big Lebowski’s  truly great, but not the least bit scary.
Amongst the goo a laugh or two in There’s Something About Mary.
Godzilla is back in Ninety Eight, the big doof gets remade.
A sleeper with a nifty end is Billy Bob’s Sling Blade.

The Blair Witch Project scared mostly teens, I found it hard to follow.
The biggest let down of the year was Depp in Sleepy Hollow.
The Sixth Sense and The Fight Club both used a director’s gimmick.
The Mummy was a remake but did not the first one mimic.
Scary Movie was not at all, it merely was a spoof.
American Psycho gore almost blew me through the roof.
The century turned and brought an insect filled Pitch Black.
After New Year’s Eve my Final destination was the sack.
On the Planet of the Apes you’d be surprised to find
Some ghostly children Others or A Beautiful Mind.
This cool year brought in a couple of sleepers,
A favorite for me was the unexpected Jeepers Creepers.
Let me tell you terror friends and horror dearies
Resident Evil was the first of a solid series.
This is the year that brought us Signs and Hours.
The Ring was a creepy thing with oddly evil powers.

Darkness Falls on our theater screen.
Mystic River the film, just has to be seen.
Freddie versus Jason - there is no discernible winner.
You can watch Dreamcatcher while you munch a popcorn dinner.
Saw offered choices we all would clearly dread.
Less than cringe worthy was goofy Shaun of the Dead.
The best film title of all, is surely one of a kind,
The marquis reads Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Big budget remakes saw King Kong return alive.
Earth in War of the Worlds is lucky to survive.
A haunted house theme makes its big screen comeback
With an Amityville Horror’s frightening spook attack.
Croc the movie was just that, a giant crock.
Little Miss Sunshine was too sweet a film to knock.
The Omen remake was a dud and seemed a bit half hearted.
The critics all raved ‘bout well played film The Departed.

There Will Be Blood in year TwoThousand Seven.
The Zodiac killer is going down and not to any heaven.
Paranormal Activity occurs somewhere most every night.
I Am Legend’s blood suckers can’t live in broad daylight.
The Dark Knight is back and the film is a blast
With special effects and an excellent cast.
In Twilight a girl loves a vamp that’s clearly not a Joker.
Though she wants him to, he just won’t deign to poke her.
Zombieland was half joke and half a movie dark.
The Hangover was caused by one night’s Vegas lark.
On Pandora a corporation was the sinner
That helped make Avatar the year’s box office winner.
Tucker and Dale versus Evil…why not?
The Wolfman returned with a twist in its plot.
In Two Thousand Ten a Black Swan took a dive
While back in The Ward a sane girl would survive.


This movie year brought The Artist and The Help.
A remade The Thing came and went without a yelp.
The movie that grabbed me, kept me awake and so alive
Was the action packed thriller they simply titled Drive.
Prometheus on Imax and seen in dimensions three
Made this Summer movie hit a max highlight for me.
The Hunger Games and The Hobbit also were a treat
A Cabin In The Woods housed horror and dead meat.
Two Thousand Thirteen and I’ve reached this poem’s end
World War Z’s concluded, the world’s now on the mend.
Hansel and Gretel Witch Hunters finished off this horror year.
Here’s hoping 2014 brings more vicarious fear.