Best Doggerel Poems
It is our poetic verse
That releases the restraints
Opening our minds eye
To flowing sincere thought
It is the flowing of ink
That becomes our salve
Healing our wounds and scars
Allowing us to be unafraid again
It is the poet’s candid opus
The voice of the untainted spirit
Transferring our tedious passions
From internal, to pen, to parchment,
It is our steadfast sanctuary
Where we hide in total exposure
Our poetry is the end of todays voyage
For we who dare to wander
We suffer that lyrical curse,
The scribbling of unrefined verse.
'Tis Duggan's "Doggerelitis";
And teachers ironically fight us,
Like being beat up by your nurse.
You may as well put the shovel down
If you think this vivisepulture will be my end
I survived the suffocation of a small town
And I'll be damned if this is how I descend
Just another obsequious sycophant
And a supercilious, self-aggrandizing fraud
In this room there is but one elephant
And it will most certainly break down the façade
I will use the stone you try to bury me with
To build on top of your house a splendid monolith
Dedicated to my favourite poet - Shelley
If a tortoise, if a turtle
You are never going to hurtle
Witness how your limbs are placed
Splayed east to west, all carapaced
what if some meat-eating moron,
Jonesing for a snack to gnaw on,
sees you sumo-stepping by
thinks "Hey look - a fresh meat pie"?
Running will beget disaster
You beat a hare so now you're faster?
You let your tasty bits protrude
and pretty soon they're getting chewed
No! Stop to suck your vitals in,
and hope he likes his toothy grin
Cause it's going to get busted
your gooey filling's well encrusted
To dwell in the realm of Doggerel Bank
Shows the writer up as a crank.
Should anyone my poems stoop to chronicle,
I would surely be ranked with the Great McGonagall.
Whether I rise with lark or cockerel
My poems sink to the depths of Doggerel
If nocturnal like bat or owl
My verses stink of murder most foul.
With reason then will I abjure rhyme
Writing bad verse is worse than a crime
No more will I a poetaster be
And so I set my readers free..
So fair fortune to those who versify well
Adieu to my readers , my final farewell.
Roses are red,
Purples are violet.
Grammars of standard
Your rhyme dictate why let?
Dogmatic deconstructionists
declaim
the Dogs of Doggerel
during the
Dog Days of Delusion
Deluded destroyers
deliver
the Dogfights of Doggerel
during the
Dog Dances of Derision
Derisive decoys
denounce
the Doghouses of Doggerel
during the
Dog Dreams of Deception
Whatever may come of whatever may,
The breeze comes blowing in it own way,
Swirling round the sandy cove,
Gulls swirling twirling above shallow shoals.
My breezy breath is pulled from me
To feed the wind, to lift the leaves,
To pass once more my shell like ears,
Assault the eyes, bring forth my tears.
Bright sun, brash birds, the forever roar
Of weathering wind on surf worn shore,
Words here are swirled away
So there’s naught left at end of day
But visions that my eyes have seen,
A low slung flower kissed by a bee,
Orb of gold held in constant blue,
Sandy shore washed, forever renewed.
When I trudge with weary legs
Across the dunes and toward my bed
With every step I take away
I gain a word that I can say
To paint a picture with vowels and verbs
To tell a tale in the local pub
Of when I stood in sandy surf
And lost my self then found my worth.
I'd like to spend some time with you,
my dark and smooth draftee.
At dusk, when all my work is through,
I know you'll wait for me.
You're full of body, fair on top,
a bubble-head they say.
Your scent of roasted malt and hop
a working-man's bouquet.
Although there's fire in your veins,
Your touch is always cool.
I hope this doggerel explains
why, Stout, I am your fool.
The eyes would rather not engage the world.
Cotton mouth, parched, and aware of a thirst.
The muscles, lobbying to remain curled.
Feet swing to the floor, prepared for the worst.
Stiffness escapes in most audible groans.
Shuffling, a zombie, a gruesome undead.
Articulating two hundred plus bones
Fills the old body with deep sense of dread.
Missy don’t care or she knows how to cure;
Calling me upward and into the day.
The life of a dog, so simple and pure:
There’s time to rest, but it’s now time to play.
First cup of coffee; I just might survive.
Greet the day boldly, alert and alive.
Give me love that I've worked for, no more, but no less,
For no man is deserving, I freely confess!
I don't need understanding, that complicates things,
And seeds fool expectations out home on the range.
Truth is not what I need from you, meals help, of course,
Learned to hitch my ass, long ago, well before horse.
If your funny bone's struck that I hope for a dance,
Girl, with funds in my pocket, a corpse has more chance
To gain weight in the ground. Would it help to behave
Or do you prefer naughty boys? Maybe a slave?
I've more wrinkles than you'll ever see in a pool.
I've done time as Court Jester, but pass on its fool!
I do sweat fierce when heated up, shiver alone,
Known to whip up some poetic times on the phone
When you'd think I might not! Tend to think best on 'pot,'
But investments I make there don't get out a lot!
Heard your friend call you Mable, well my name is Jake
If my poem is fable, these looks girl ain't fake.
I'm as real as it gets, don't get votes from no tweets,
Spayed by multiple vets, still got spin in these sheets!
Brian Johnston
4th of June, 2019
Doggerels, *raunchy rhyme*
Are what purists call crap.
But who has the time
To listen to those sap?
We Doggerelists,
Rhymers unstable,
Are going to persist,
Whenever able.
Oftimes I'm asked; “What drives you, Bro, to generate such verse,
the bulk of which is awful and the balance, frankly, worse?”
The dark side of reality fueled each chilling ode by Poe,
For Macaulay, Roman heroes made his inkwell overflow.
Ernest Thayer waxed apoplectic when his baseball team fell flat,
and thusways primed he penned the rhyme called “Casey at the Bat”.
Such things as these inspire me not, as time has surely proved.
Sunrise, sunset, and sand and surf all leave me quite unmoved.
All of natures grandeurs no rhyme from me will spawn.
An hour of bliss, a baby’s kiss at best provokes a yawn.
One sight only stirs my muse and brings my blood to boiling,
and renders versifying a great pleasure, not a toiling,
and flings wide creative floodgates that before were tightly shut.
Nothing fans my rhyming flames like Kim Kardashians’ butt!
You may keep the rings of Saturn! No opus will they launch!
But I’ll darken reams of paper re the joys of Kimmies’ haunch.
While some bards wax euphoric at the lunar glow in June,
I pen my rhymes more clearly by the light of KayKay's moon.
She's so sexy!
She's so cute!
I love her steatopygean glute!
Pass my cam! I gotta shoot!
A picture of it,
O yes I love it!
I love that butt.
Call me a mutt!
(Perhaps in rutt)
But I love that titanic,
Oceanic,
and yet uniquely Kardashianic!
Butt!
Like water from a ruptured dam the flood of verse pours forth,
inspired by a southern view of Ms. Kardashian, heading north.
It was some hours of purgatory,
Self imposed, but all the same,
He thought of it as purgatory as
He listened to them declaim
Their long strings of words with
No apparent rhyme or reason,
As if joy and happiness had
Somehow fallen out of season.
They said he wrote doggerel
Of A Most Low And Debase Kind
Containing Very Little Substance
To Stimulate And Feed The Mind.
They inferred he wasn’t welcome
In their flagellatory poetry clubs
Which really pleased him because
He preferred to perform in pubs.
There was a real sense of victory
Using his drill instructor’s voice
To make himself heard above
The normal drinkers noise
He would get their attention ,
Conversations would stop,
You could almost hear at tines
That fabled pin drop.
So many of those drinkers
Happy to give their time
To just stand and listen to
His worthless low based rhyme.
Oh he was well aware that
He wasn’t intellectually lauded
But that couldn't hold a candle to
The joy when a bar applauded.
In the realm of the intellectuals
Much self worth was raised
As they revelled in their world
Of much mutual self praise.
And out in the mundane world
Of the pub, the club and bar
He was regularly applauded as
An open mic performance star.
A-crostic
M-akes
Y-ou
S-ee
A-s
Q-uote
U-ses
I-mpressive
D-oggerel
O-de
Topic: Birthday of Amy Saquido (June 15)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic