For some reason or other, many of my mates have suddenly discovered poetry and, with great gusto,  have added a poet’s handbook to their communication bag of tricks.

Not wishing to be left out of the mix I thought that today, just once, I’d try my hand at writing poetry but confess that the result can only be described as ‘doggerel’ but never the less, here it goes:-

It seems to me that poetry,

is now the only place to be

cause all my mates, it’s what they’ve chose

and most of it is on the nose.


Some just don’t rhyme , so,

perhaps its time

to dump the pen till Christmas time.


Some wrote of heaven, some of hell

their stories somehow didn’t gell

I much preferred ‘Poor Little Nell’

in fact I memorised it well.


Then ‘Poor Little Angeline’

soon became my heroine

then add a limerick, why not three

politically correct,  I’ll never be

and that’s the only ‘poetry’,

you’ll ever, ever get from me.


Hoo roo for now.



    1. Mrs Curren would be horrified. I remember her well. In 1954 she showed us all in class that her legs went on forever. English classes were never the same again.

Comments are closed.