Frankenstyle

A gentle man-made monster's only wish is to design/make clothes. However, the local villagers want him destroyed.

FRANKENSTYLE
by
Vincent Cleghorne

In a castle four miles from the village of Glun,
In the third of five turrets set back from the sun,
At the top of a staircase of soot-blackened rock,
Lived a monster �" alone - in a room - with a lock!

And, if asked, your Glun native would tell you the tale,
Of an unsightly creature made huge as a whale,
With a small barrelhead, eyes like archery butts,
A thick leathery neck, pinned with bolts and two nuts.

A dull brow that hung over an ill-fitting nose,
That kept leaving long sticky green stains on its clothes,
And a mouth like a cavern surrounded by teeth,
With a blue bottom lip and a bum chin beneath.

Both its hands and its body were massive and sewn
At the wrists, knees and elbows, left and right thigh bone.
While its clothes were of sackcloth and strips of marsh-wheat,
With huge boots that restricted two much huger feet.

Now its heart - your Glun native would say �" “It has none!
For its master, by mishap, did not give it one,
When sat piecing together that misshapen mass
From old body bits dug from beneath graveyard grass.”

But that Glun native tale really was nothing more
Than a sneer at the creature Glun natives abhor,
And each horrid misdeed they said carried out by
That so unsightly creature was in truth a lie.

Yes he was rather huge and whale-like in his way,
But approach, ask his name and he’d quietly say,
“I am Frankenstyle, built by the great Frankenstein,
Loving father, inventor, and best friend of mine.

Who one night - as he slept �" passed into the unknown,
Leaving me in my Turret Keep sad and alone.
Till that day I was sleeping beside father’s tomb,
When a wind blew a magazine into the room.

As I turned the first page, my eyes could not believe,
The most beautiful clothes one could ever conceive
Lay before me, with stitching as fine as could be,
Like the smallest of fleas jumping in lines of three.

And the styles of the clothing made tears of joy roll
Past my cavernous mouth and on into my soul,
For I felt then and there in my many a part
A great passion for fashion lay within my heart.”

And although Glun folk claimed that his heart was forgot
By young Frankenstyle’s master, in truth it was not.
For when lies are repeated, they’ll often deceive
That same person that lies, till that’s all they believe.

So believing their tall tales to be set in stone,
The Glun natives �" whose patience had worn to the bone -
Called a meeting to concoct a devious plan,
That would see dead each part of that more-than-one-man.

And that Friday at dusk as the sun bowed to set,
The Glun villagers gathered to see out their threat,
Wooden torches ablaze and pitchforks held aloft,
Kinfolk hid in the cellars, cows hid in the croft.

A brass blunderbuss gun for defence led the way,
Firmly held by Glun’s old burgermeister Von Hay,
And behind Hay, a mob, large and chanting their hate,
For that creature, whose fiendish ways kept them up late!

“Now be off with you monster! Keep far from our home
Of old Glun that lies four miles from where you were sewn,
Or Constructed, assembled, forged or formulated,
Composed, hammered out, made up, built, fabricated...

“Produced, thrown together, shaped, fashioned or more-like,
Concocted, created so as to be war-like,
Or perhaps just ‘invented’ is nearer the mark?
By a man whose bite - this time - is worse than his bark…

“That old fiend Frankenstein, who’ll this night rue the day,
He thought sending his ‘Build Your Own Creature’ our way
Was a fun thing to do with no hint of remorse,
Not believing we’d show up with this show of force!”

So, determined and steadfast the mob forged ahead
With the one single chant “Gotta make monster dead!”
And from Glun Square they marched on to Glun Avenue
With no doubts about that which they’d set out to do.

Then a call rang out, “Hark! There it is on the moor!”
Which made terror fill hearts that just moments before
Had been steadfast, unflinching, determined to stay,
And were now running left and right, trampling Von Hay.

But if truth be known, Frankenstyle had not appeared
On the moor to besiege Glun as Glun folk had feared.
This just happened to be the best route he could find
To Glun mill to buy cloth for a suit he’d designed.

You see, since that night sleeping alone in that tomb,
When that wind blew that magazine into that room,
Frankenstyle had been learning with needle and thread,
To make real all those images inside his head.

One off suits, one off dresses with zebra print shoes,
Violet paisley waist jackets, gloves in reds and blues,
Wedding veils atop gowns hung with plumes of white silk,
Dainty fur bras and panties for those of that ilk.

And as Frankenstyle walked towards Glun Village Square,
Hearing groans he looked left, right, and into the air,
Then looked down and saw crushed on the cobbles of Glun,
Burgermeister Von Hay and his blunderbuss gun.

Now, when two days had passed on the Glun Village Clock,
At the top of that staircase of soot-blackened rock,
In the third of those turrets set back from the sun,
In a room lay Von Hay Burgermeister of Glun.

Having woken tucked up in a four-poster bed
In a grandiose room with a silk-bandaged head.
A silk sling round his neck holding one arm in place,
And a soothing balm spread ‘cross his trampled blue face.

In a monogrammed nightgown and tasselled night cap,
Knitted bed socks and long johns with built-in-back flap,
All intended - it seemed - to make pleasant his stay,
This did not sit well with the suspicious Von Hay.

But suspicion was quickly replaced by true fear,
As huge footsteps became all Von Hay could now hear,
Pounding to a dead stop at the door’s outer side.
The brass door handle turned as Von Hay’s eyes flashed wide.

‘Cross the room in the doorway, a massive shape stood,
With huge arms squeezing in past the door surround wood.
First its head ducking low and then up into light,
Thus revealing the face of that ominous sight.

And as Frankenstyle’s face was revealed on his head,
Old Von Hay seized the moment and leapt from the bed,
Landing slap bang right next to his blunderbuss gun,
In that room, in that turret set back from the sun.

Von Hay lifted the weapon and slowly took aim,
Then he paused, wondering whether to finish or maim,
The huge creature now stood but a few yards away,
Who in truth had done nothing but help old Von Hay!

“It’s confusing,” he uttered “But it must be said,
I’ve no longer the stomach to ‘make monster dead!’
For now as I look closer I’m filled with surprise
By the kindness I see in those archery butt eyes.

I’ll just wound him or maybe just shoot off an ear,
Or some fingers, an arm, or a cheek from his rear.
Would it be enough shooting one leg off, or can
I shoot two body parts off this more than one man?”

And as Glun’s burgermeister stood puzzling, a smile
Crept across the mouth of his old foe Frankenstyle,
Who before you could blink had revealed from behind,
The most beautiful suit he had ever designed.

In soft midnight blue velvet with sapphire blue trim,
A pearl-buttoned high collar and sapphire stud rim.
With a gold woven braid on the chest, cuffs and tails,
And suede shoulder braids topped with exquisite gold veils.

With a tall peacock plume on a sapphire blue cap,
Lacy panels, silk stitching, and gold-laced chin strap,
A blue visor embroidered with three words that read,
“Burgermeister of Glun” in a fine golden thread.

Flabbergasted! Amazed! Choked-up! Taken aback!
Were the feelings that suddenly seemed to attack
Old Von Hay, as a tear formed, then fell from his eye,
The gun dropped to the floor as he spoke from a sigh,

“It’s stupendous, the finest suit I’ve ever seen,
Of a quality fit for the groom of a Queen,
And yet crafted by hands that belonged to who knows,
Hands with more stitches in them than this suit of clothes.”

“My dear boy!” cried Von Hay as he hugged his erstwhile,
Most abhorrent, and unsightly foe Frankenstyle,
And in hugging discovered the clothes on his back
Were of Saxony Tweed, not the cloth from a sack.

A great fanfare of trumpets blared throughout the day
Across Glun when Glun’s old Burgermeister ‘Von Hay’
Turned up safe and unharmed after three days or so,
In the finest of suits with a new friend in tow.

And as screams of “Aargh Monster!” and “Eek!” died away,
Frankenstyle’s clothing range was put forth by Von Hay
To the Glun Village Council whose Mayor promptly said,
“I’ll take two suits in taupe and another in red!”

Then the Glun natives cheered as a Grand Feast was laid
To make welcome the one who from spare-parts was made.
And each vowed then and there not to in future spend
Their time fearing a foe that in truth is a friend.

Now that castle four miles from the village of Glun,
Is home to the top fashion house under the sun.
‘Maison Frankenstyle,’ whose guarantee on all brands
Is their gold five-word motto “Hand sewn by sewn hands.”

The End