The Tale of Boris Snot, the Horrible and Vile

An ogre known as Boris Snot
the Horrible and Vile
looked every inch a monster
with his grotty, beastly style.

At eight foot tall with mottled skin
and voice so very loud,
his gruffness frightened folk
and Boris stood out in a crowd.

Yet Boris was a nice guy
and just craved a quiet life;
to have a break from pitchfork mobs
and other sorts of strife.

Upon the outskirts of the town
this ogre lived alone.
His hobbies were philately
and trad jazz saxophone.

His garden was a beauty
where he spent so many hours
in the borders planting daffodils
and other stunning flowers.

On Saturdays he pop down to the shops
and pay his bills,
scare everybody witless
at the supermarket tills

then off he’d stomp towards the park
to look for peace and quiet,
but every time he got there
it would end up in a riot.

I only want to sniff the roses,”
Boris used to say,
while chaos reigned with screaming folk
so keen to get away.

This constant mad hysteria
began to get him down
and Boris felt unwanted in
this weird little town.

I wish I had a friend
to talk of flowers, stamps and jazz.
We’d go for walks, do crosswords, jigsaws;
all that razzmatazz …

Then Spooky Sal the Witch flew by
and caught his every word.
She thought about his friendship plea
which didn’t seem absurd.

And as she liked a challenge
knew exactly what to do:
she’d change them all to ogres
(make them loud and grotty too).

So with an incantation
and a wave of wand as well,
the town was filled with ogres
at the end of Spooky’s spell.

There were ogres in the library
and ogres in the schools.
Inside a shop with necklaces,
an ogre sold bright jewels.

In gyms, the ogres lifted weights
admiring with affection
their massive lumpy bodies
posing by their own reflection.

The police as ogres found it hard
to fit inside their car.
At ballet classes, ogres dressed in tutus
looked bizarre.

The joggers, grannies, postmen,
nurses, doctors and farm workers,
the vicar, King and Queen
and some occasional work shirkers,

at once transformed and looked like Boris,
large and out of place,
with mottled greeny skin, big feet
big ears and gormless face.

Said Sal “I’ll leave them for an hour
and then remove the charm.
By then they’ll realise most ogres
do nobody harm
.”

And she was right, as while they waited
for the hour to pass,
our Boris took his saxophone
and played upon the grass

some soothing jazz which calmed folk down
and made then chilled and mellow
until some ogres joined in playing
oboe and a cello.

Then as the concert finished
and the ogres clapped and cheered,
they changed back to their former selves
as people reappeared;

except for one who stood out
and was different from the crowd
which realised how mean they’d been,
so sang for him quite loud:

Dear Boris, we are sorry
and we’d like to make amends.
We hope that you’ll forgive us
for we want to be your friends
.”

And so this chapter ended
with a bit of jazz con brio
as Boris played the saxophone
within his music trio.

One Comment Add yours

  1. A future children’s book, perhaps? 🙂❤️

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