The Eighth Rate Poet

I am the eighth rate poet
Doggerel’s what I write:
Cliched, commonplace, rhyming verse;
Humdrum, dull, and trite.

Aye, if you want poetical rubbish
That scans and rhymes, a bit
You could find no better person
Than me, to write it.

For I’m the King of Doggerel
The Monarch of all that’s bad
In poetry, sublime and comical;
The humourous and the sad.

I make Pam Ayres seem like Shakespeare
Ms Jennings seem like Keats
Cause I’ve never heard of iambic pentameter
Or other such metrical feets.

I rely purely on instinct
And, most unfortunately
I am completely and utterly without any sense of rhythm
As you can plainly hear.

And when it comes to rhyming
Cliche’s my middle name
Cause there’s alway a breeze
Blowing through the trees
When I lie, at my ease
Under the moon
In the month of June
Beside the river
Where bluebells quiver
And daffodils prance
In sprightly dance
As I glance
With inward glee
To be in such
Good company.

So, as you see, at the end of the day
When all other poets have been de-versed
It will still be safe to say
That the Eighth Rate Poet is the worst!

©John Steele, 1988, 2008
Ms Jennings is the poetess referred to in Douglas Adams’ “The Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” as the worst poet in the Universe.

This entry was posted in Humour, Poems, Self-Published and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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