Gully-Whomper Stomper

“‘But it isn’t easy,’ said Pooh. ‘Because Poetry and Hums aren’t things which you get, they’re things which get you.  And all you can do is to go where they can find you.’” —A. A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner.

I’m just having fun this month.  Happy Halloween, and enjoy!

Gully-Whomper Stomper

by Christopher “Whomper-Stomper” Seifert


Stomp, stomp, gully-whomp!

Stomp-stomp, gully-whomp!

There’s a gully-whomper monster in your basement who is mean.

He is nasty.  He is vile.  He is totally obscene.

He wakes up in the nighttime when you’re sleeping in your bed,

And he tiptoes up the stairs into a house that’s dark and dead.

Tromp, tromp, gully-whomp!

Tromp-tromp, gully-whomp!

His eyes are spooky-red.  He’s got fangs inside his chops.

The whomper is descended from a wild triceratops.

His snout is scaly-green.  He snuffles and he snorts.

He’s covered top to bottom with some unattractive warts.

Whomp, whomp, gully-whomp!

Whomp-whomp, gully-whomp!

He’ll eat your toes for breakfast and for dinner and for lunch.

He chews them very daintily – then gives the bones a crunch.

Next, he’s sure to wash them down with cups of herbal tea.

Before he goes to eat more toes with gusto and with glee.

Chomp, chomp, gully-whomp!

Chomp-chomp, gully-whomp!

He jumbles up your room.  He messes up your drawers.

He pulls out all your toys and then he dumps them on the floor.

He’ll leave his candy wrappers lying all about the ground,

But if it’s time to pick them up, he’s never to be found.

Romp, romp, gully-whomp!

Romp-romp, gully-whomp!

The guy’s a perfect monster, but he thinks that he is swell.

The half of all his wickedness I couldn’t even tell.

He picks his nose and eats it.  He spills his water too.

He spits his gum upon the floor and sticks it on his shoe.

Clomp, clomp, gully-whomp!

Clomp-clomp, gully-whomp!

Just remember not to worry.  Please do not to be scared.

Your daddy, he’s awake now, and he’s going down the stairs.

He’ll find that gully-whomper, and he’ll punch him in the nose.

He’ll dance atop that horrid whomp in bitter, steely toes.

Stomp, stomp, gully-stomp!

Stomp-stomp, gully-stomp!


© 2018All Rights Reserved.


Wind Chill

by Christopher “The Iceman” Seifert


Huzzah-huzzah coldy brrr.

Coldest night that ever were.

Wore wool socks, long underwear.

Still feels like I’m running bare.

My lips are blue, my face is red.

The heat’s escaping from my head.

I cannot even feel my toes.

Long icicles hang down my nose.

My breath’s a wispy cloud of smoke.

My fingers hurt, and that’s no joke.

I wish I brought my big snow suit,

But I forgot to, darn it, shoot.

I guess I’ll have to go back home,

Light a fire, and end this poem.


© 2018All Rights Reserved.

Follow me on Twitter @seif_train.

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