Duelling doggerel!

We've seen amazing interest in the summer game so-called
'Cause the country's got a decent team at last
They're all crawling out the woodwork, the toothless, lame and bald
Cricket victories are so far in the past

We've seen nineteen years or more pass since the team could hold its place
With the champions who play the five-day game
There's a young 'un now emerging, darling of the Saxon Race
You may know that Andrew Flintoff is his name

He has many useful team-mates and a doughty captain too
Michael Vaughan striding calmly to the crease
Is it too much of coincidence that this sounds like Mad Carew
P'raps I'll stop now, yes, and leave you all in peace

It's cold and dark in here. It's the silence I find so unnerving, and the drip-drip of water from the back of the cave somewhere out of reach of the candle's light, echoing in the gloom.

BOO!!!

Burning thoughts while listening to the sounds of the dark silence make my heart race with fevered pitch of fear and dreaded anticipation.

The ricky-ticky-tacky man is quiet as can be.
This somewhat insubstantial chap should be good company.
He doesn't yell, he doesn't shout,
He drags no iron chains about.
The ricky-ticky-tacky man whom I can barely see --
The ricky-ticky-tacky man scares the sh*t out of me.

©2005
Quietly a silent man enchants me
Louder than my thoughts begin to see
Though I cannot hear his words
Piercing, rend his two-edged swords

Shadows hide me until he fades away
Sparing me of a warrior's fateful array
Battle cries throughout the night
Remains no more reason to fight

The earth mourns for the horror
Now reflected in a hand-held mirror
As the truth comes fully about
I am now that man, there is no doubt

Here I sit, awkward in a Turkish hostel
Given use of this dusty computer by the deputy boss who'll
Do anything including changing the keyboard to please
But there are boxes preventing me moving left and the table is really a cupboard and hits my knees;
So forgive me if I can't concentrate or scan
I'm only waiting for my son to get back from the Gallipoli trip with the brilliant Turkish Aussie guiding man.

So, a limerick or two adding one doggerel
Aye, see there truly be a Clary in Turkish hostel
Glad to meet ya and to know you be real
I dreamed once of the land too surreal

Chicken was served for the next flight
As the plane taxied out of harm's sight
Language strange, but I understood
Dreams are strange, but so crazily good

Well, I shot straight up in my bed and said, "Hey, Leon,
There's something creepy peeking at me like an alien
At the window and it's got a purple eye and another green one
Both are leering at me as it sucks its thumb
You're the one with the Popeye arm
Get outta bed and protect me from harm!"
But Leon snored on. Nothing left for me to do
But shoot the sucker with my twenty-two.

I know that those monsters who live under my bed
Are really nuthin' but spooks in my head.
Still, to be on the safe side late at night
And to prevent the onset of awful fright,
I never tease them,
I try to appease them
By feeding them dust bunnies so they'll stay outta sight.
(And, now and then, a stray corn chip finds its way under there, too. )

Dust BUNNIES, you egregious lout???!!!!!!!
Such monstrous cruelty makes me shout!

Dusty bunnies under my bed
Giggle all night, drive me out of my head!
They're making love to my fuzzy slippers
Expect any day to find little nippers

A sudden noise that wakes you from sleep
Creaking of doors and shadows that sneak
Candle light glowing a flickering dance
That traces an outline of someone perchance
The nighttime obsession that finds you aware
Keep you looking for strangers when they are not there

And now, Miz Bunny, here's to you !
I'm about to enjoy some good rabbit stew.
So don't treat me like a leper,
I really love that hassenpfeffer.
Some chopped-up rabbit, a glass of wine.
What a glorious way to dine!

yo, sense im here all alone
ill take my first crack at a poem
you should have known
that id be good
u think i cant rhyme cuz i aint from da hood
belive me trust me you should
dont crack down on me
and we be all good
...and thats it give me some advice cuz i aint dat good yet

Santa (forget the Dear),

You screwed me this year.
What were you thinkin'?
A bio of Lincoln?
I wanted a LINCOLN to drive!

DVD gifts would please
But you brought BVDs!
Red woolen and hot
Victoria's Secret, they're not!
I'm tired of getting such jive.

Where are the diamonds, the minks?
Golf clubs for the links?
This Christmas just stinks
You dissed me, me thinks
(Can we do better next year?)

Signed,
You Know Who

Frosty here
The air is clear
A fitting scene
For the time of year

I'm heavier now
That's no surprise
I ate a lot
Of Christmas pies

You did so well
On the India trip
You got on the scales
And they hardly dipped.
How could you thus
Wipe out your success?
For the momentary thrill
Of PIES? I guess
You don't really think
You should lose weight,
Because a poet
Should stay great.

No, I should suffer for my art
Cholesterol doth load the heart
And too much stuffing makes one f*rt

A lettuce leaf, or two or three
Will be enough for greater me
There is no honey now for tea

I'll get the bike out from the shed
And pedal off with cyclic tread
And only Marmite on my bread

It's no more goodies now awhile
Nil by mouth, chum, that's the style
To whittle down that blubber pile

Spew four-letter words-
We think nothing of that
Pull any blasphemy
Out of your hat -
Curses and slander and
Libel - fine chat
But we've dreaded one word
Since words were begat
Let me whisper
(the word is fat.)