Cur Doggerel


Cur Doggerel

Some have openly claimed

and will remain unnamed.

To charge a person of our esteemed Salon—

(Oh, sacred Muses be swift, now intervene),

Composes hack poems from midnight till past dawn—

(So quickly sharpen the rusty guillotine).

Brusk poesy hardly so refined, void of grace, a “spewed fit”

Poetry so crude and burlesque, in pain, like being dog bit.

If so-call poems were likened to a stream, no images of burbling brook

Such worthless pratter would be a gutter full of putrid, infested muck.

If it were a dog, then a mutt, a nameless breed

Unrefined rhyme, senseless, no pleasant creed.

Those scribbles could be parsed

As scrawl, pariah, wild, or worse.

If classification were a task to be described,

illuminate mindless jibber, the naughty implied.

Digressions inhabit every line within failed couplets

patter rhythm, base humor, and scores of murky subjects.

However one may slice it–

chop, mince, or finely dice it;

Fair words in all pleasant company, so proper to say

This mash n’er resemble poetry—in no-dog-gone way.

These are barks and howls

All threatening growls

Not poems by any measure, is the just charge

Merely more cur doggerel, writ very large.

© Lemuel

26 April, 2018

Daily prompt: Cur


Frigid, a Second-helping



“That’s fifteen points, Frigid, F-R-I-G-I-D; righty.” Louise was way too perky a winner.

The other players shivered with cold blank stares.

Strip Scrabble, whose idea was that?

Louise needed to lose her fuzzy hat and her Simpsons mittens.



11 April, 2018


Frigid, a Second-helping

Frantic Pet Peeve



I have a pet peeve. My right eyelid itches or a trembles at certain not-so-convenient times.

The crisis occurs a few moments after I plunge my hands into soapy cleanser or when I begin a greasy goo-covering task, it is then my right eye cover kicks up a twitch.

“I feel a disturbance in the face.”

My eyelid is frantic to be soothed. It feels weird to speak of part of my body as somehow removed from me, but my right eyelid seems to have a mind of its own. When I ignore the facial tug-of-war the results have been strange to witness.

One afternoon I was hip deep peeling and de-seeding tomatoes for a familiar recipe. The usual-suspect went into a mini-tremor then escalated into a full -fledged line dance across my face. I madly washed my hands and dried them for this was a true emergency, yep, my eyelid said so. I tried to gently shush my face-quake.

“Let me say, I was not put on this earth to sing Soft Kitty to my eyelid.”

My hands were not sufficiently free of tomato residue so some of the acid crept into my eye. A lot of rinsing later I finished preparing the tomatoes.

I have a new plan when I have messy jobs. When I begin a messy job I wear gloves. Somehow I feel I have out-flanked my right eyelid.

“Now, left ankle I’m looking at you, do not try my patience.”




Identical, an Ocean Poem



I hear the ocean in a shell,

Alike but not identical.

I sniff the ocean in a shell;

It’s not the same wet salty smell.

I wade knee deep in the warm-gray-soupy water,

And race back to the beach when I spot a floater.

I feel the sea, the powerful motion

And play dodge-shark–this is the real ocean.



Please credit me and this blog when you use my intellectual property. It’s good to know other people can see something, good or not so much, in what I make.


A Smile is a Wrinkle


A smile is a wrinkle that we use to communicate our pleasure, our humor, or even a clue of our willingness to accept others.

A smile is a wrinkle that banishes blandness from a face.  A smile electrifies the eyes and creases the nose, and even from a distance we can distinguish a smile from a snarl by the geometry of the face. Our lips wind upward and a wrinkle passes the grin-zone etched on our mugs to curl all the up to the exalted heights of the smile-zone and to radiate there.

A smile is an inviting wrinkle, amazing how a human face contorts and transforms a frown or a blank stare into an upturned expression of warmth, and no part of the face can remain on the bench in a full-on smile.

I like a simple, good-ole, unpretentious smile; the good-natured signal that can be the first gesture of friendship, or the last glimpse exchanged in a bon voyage, then again, the most reassuring thing we see when we return home.

When I think of people their smiles are usually tops on my list of good times remembered. Smiles can be tossed out and caught and relayed in a crowd like an out-of-control volleyball game. Babies freely beam their smiles.

So do I. 




Do Not Provoke the Chickens


sign do not provoke the chickens 2

The small print on the sign reads:

“Provoked chickens go off their feed.

When they go off their feed they stop laying eggs.

Then I lose revenue.

The banks foreclose; I’m turned out, homeless, penny-less, on the dole even, whilst you and your mates had a lark frightening chickens.

Since I will have lots of time on my hands I will find you.

You will beg for mercy, there will be none.

I will go all Liam Neeson on you.

I promise it will be bad, very bad, the worst ever.*

Please, for the love of all that is civilized,

Do Not Provoke the Chickens.”


*Cleaning chicken coops.


 c 2018.