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An 8th Grade Poem: The Monk, The Monkeys, and The Moo-moo Tree

August 6th, 2014

Illustration by Yoko Sakao Ohama

Illustration by Yoko Sakao Ohama

My late grandfather wrote poems throughout his life. I remember my mother showing me dozens of these sheets of paper filled with his handwriting that mom had kept safe and started to transcribe, even translate. She has often said, “The arts run in your blood” (while my father would say, “You get that stuff from your mom’s side.”) 

The following is a poem I wrote in the 8th grade in its original form. For the sake of artistic integrity, I’ve resisted the urge to change a few puzzling word choices and correct the grammar. I’m proud to present to you the poetic stylings of my middle school self.


The Monk, the Monkeys, and the Moo-moo Tree

By Kevin Huynh, February 2002

Good day today my merry friends
It seems that I am mandate to tell you a story from beginning to end
So please mellow out and minder around as I tell you for free
The story of The Monk, The Monkeys, and the Moo-moo Tree

It was a murky Monday in the month of May
A muster of monks were to migrate to their dismay
The magnate of the monks was a wise old man
Who made many decisions for his loyal old clan

The journey was to take many days
Through the merciless jungles of the Mildimay
Little did they know of the many dangers that they would meet
Including the merciless band of monkeys which was a meticulous feat

So the magnate and his monks made their way
Beginning there methodical migration as some would say
At midday they would eat their meager meals
In a mere attempt to grease their wheels

The magnate had warned the monks of a mysterious Moo-moo Tree
That held much maliciousness in its treachery
The methodical magnate told of the monkeys of the Moo-moo Tree
Whose whereabouts were shrouded in mystery

The Moo-moo Tree was a mark of evil
With mouth watering fruit that seemed almost medieval
The fruit resembled a mango, a most enticing greet
But actually possessed a mephitic meat

The mephitic and poisonous Moo-moo Tree
That makes these animals monstrous murderous monkeys
That murder the men and eat their meat
Eventually burying them below their feet

After many days of arduous moving the monks came to a mangrove where they could see
And there in the middle, lying in the center was a mysterious looking mango tree
Surrounding it were many monstrous monkeys staring at the men
The monks counted, one, two, three, four…maybe up to one hundred and ten

The magnate meticulously moved near the tree and asked him self, could this really be?
Could this really be a magnificent mango tree to mitigate their hunger along with their worries?
Or could it be the Moo-moo Tree
Whose mephitic meat could kill both you and me

After a moment of mediation the magnate said,
“This is the Moo-moo Tree, if eaten you shall be dead”
The monks soon minded their magnate’s words
Is he speaking the truth? Or is he miserly stealing hors d’oeuvres?

But in a moment the monks came to
They followed their magnate’s words as they should do
For they have much manner towards their monk
And manly trust him, as a tree trusts his trunk

At about midday, a miniscule monkey made his way
To the feet of the magnate in a morose yet mundane way
He asked “What is the matter you moronic monk?
Why didn’t you eat those mesmerizing mango chunks?”

The magnate answered, “Me would think that with such a merry mango chunk
Someone would munch on the mango growing off that tree trunk
Especially with such a massive menagerie of monkeys among the mango tree
Without even a marked bite taken from this luscious mango tree

One simply must muster to one self, Could this be, Could this be the Moo-moo Tree?
The Moo-moo Tree that menacingly murdered so many for none to see?
So you see my mini, morose yet mundane monkey
There must be some kind of mischief in the milieu of this unmarred mango tree”

The mind boggled monkey was so very impressed
By the mental capacity of this monk which exceeded the rest
So the miscreant monkey confessed it was a trap
And with a respectful bow he marched off, as if it was a mishap

The magnate and his monks continued on their merry way
Completing their mission across the Mildimay
But they shall never forget what they learned for it is impossible you see,
To forget their magnate, the monkeys and the Moo-moo tree.

My best friend, Sean, and me around the time I wrote this poem.

My best friend, Sean, and me around the time I wrote this poem.