Bloggerel - made to be read on the Boggerel

God Died on a Thursday

2011-10-11T23:37:00.001-07:00

by Me.

Darwin published,

and there was light.

After aeons of darkness,

Humans huddled in night.

The simple truth,

Creating fright:

That people are Monkeys.

Well, isn't that right?

Now we may be embarrassed,

By our simian siblings.

But don't be harassed,

By quibling quislings.

It's a simple observation,

A well established fact,

That our species' origin,

Was in Darwin's abstract.

The Descent of Man,

Made it perfectly clear,

How we got from there and then,

To the now and to here.

So Man created God,

It is now understood.

We looked upon the Word,

And saw that it was good.

Nietzsche said, that God was Dead,

And Dawkins thinks so too.

But people fear amorality,

So what now are we to do?

It all depends, if invisible friends,

Fill your heart with love or fear.

Hold to your faith, if it builds you up,

Deny it if you are not sincere.

I have no faith in fairy tales,

Told to children, Ages ago.

There are too many marvels,

And many wonders to know.

If your God is dead, I say rejoice!

For a world of wonder remains.

Marvel instead, as is your choice,

At Life and its domains.

PeterSW

The Mr Squiggle Rap

2010-03-27T20:55:00.000-07:00

The Mr Squiggle Rap

by Me.

My name is Mr Squiggle -

Don't squirm and don't you wriggle.

I'm a pointy nosy guy

And I always wanna fly -

To the Moon in my Rocket.

(Not the one in my pocket.)

So Miss Jane - come and hold my hand

And I'll scribble as I stand!

Refrain:

Say Yo! Yo!

Let's Go! Go!

And Draw! Draw!

Some More! More!

I draw inverted - it's perverted!

But it's art that's converted

My nose to a pencil :

I don't stencil!

Graffiti Art isn't what I draw to order.

So maybe you oughta

See my gallery (Of shapes and lines)

on the T.V. ...

Refrain:

Say Yo! Yo!

Let's Go! Go!

And Draw! Draw!

Some More! More!

I'm the dude with a 'tude -

A nice demeanour!

A happy little guy on the screen (ah!)

So send me your scribble

And I'll Squiggle

You a scene with a camel.

And maybe a bird or a mammal.

Say Yo! Yo!

Let's Go! Go!

And Draw! Draw!

Some More! More!

Hurry up! Says my good friend

Blackboard -

When he gets bored.

He grouches and grumbles

As Miss Jane fumbles with

Another kiddie caper -

Drawn on paper.

For me to hose with my nose

A funny scene with birds and yoyos.

Say Yo! Yo!

Let's Go! Go!

And Draw! Draw!

Some More! More!

It's time for me to go -

My friend rocket said so.

So I'll walk in the air

And Miss Jane

Pulls me down again,

To draw a final insane

Picture full of [speed skat] yoyos, balloons, crabs, camels, birds, stars, stairs, string and things from my brain.

Final Refrain:

Say Yo! Yo!

Let's Go! Go!

With Mr Squiggle

The Man from the Moon!

[Adopt absurd homey stance...]

How the Hungry Hungry Tiger Earned his Stripes

2010-01-10T20:24:00.000-08:00

How the Hungry Hungry Tiger Earned his Stripes

By Peter Spicer-Wensley

A long time ago in a land far, far away (oh, best beloved) there lived a hungry, hungry tiger.

Now the reason this tiger was a hungry, hungry tiger was that he lived in the deep, dark forest and there was little for the tiger to eat.

This tiger was a fussy, fussy eater and his favourite food was tasty, tasty chicken and few tasty, tasty chickens still lived in that deep, dark forest.

Now this hungry, hungry tiger was not only a skinny, scrawny, scraggly tiger.

(Which oh best beloved means that he was what today would be called fashionably thin.)

But he was also a commonly common white tiger.

This, oh best beloved, is not the case today, for as you know nearly all tigers are scarey, stripey tigers.

But this tiger had no stripes, as at this time no tigers had stripes.

Now the hungry, hungry tiger was indeed a scarey, scarey tiger although he had no stripes.

This was because he was a hungry, hungry tiger and what hungry, hungry tigers like to eat (oh, best beloved) is meat.

This is because they are not vegetarians.

Now meat, contrary to popular belief, does not grow on the meat tree,

But rather grows as we grow for we (like other animals, oh, best beloved) are mainly, mostly made of meat.

This is why we find hungry, hungry tigers so scary, scary and wise chidren are wary, wary.

For when hungry, hungry tigers look at us what they see is breakfast,
or lunch,
or dinner,
or tea.

Let us get back to the tell of this tale and talk of the tiger,

And what did prevail - to cause the plain tiger to striate from the pale.

(In plain speech, oh best beloved, this means we shall find out where the tiger got his stripes.)

Now, as mentioned afore, the deep, dark forest (home of the hungry, hungry tiger) was quite chicken-free, which as we shall see, oh, best beloved, was the primary cause of the tiger's new clothes.

Chickens lay eggs, and humans eat eggs.

When chickens stop laying eggs, humans start eating chickens.

This is what is known today (oh, best beloved) as a workplace incentive scheme.

The hungry, hungry tiger discovered that though the deep, dark forest was a chicken-free-zone,

Chickens were commonly common where humans lived, in villages and hamlets and towns.

So the hungry, hungry tiger travelled from the deep, dark forest to the tidy, tidy town to entertain his hunger for tasty, tasty chickens.

This was a danger for the hungry, hungry tiger as humans raise tasty, tasty chickens to feed themselves and not hungry, hungry tigers.

Now the hungry, hungry tiger was no fool, so he would not try to trouble the tidy, tidy town in daylight.

He would rather sleep in the day and creep in the night.

Remember again, oh best beloved, that the coat of the tiger was a paler shade of white.

Deep, dark night fell upon the tidy, tidy town and down, down, slowly, slowly, creeping, creeping came the hungry, hungry tiger.

The smell of tasty, tasty chickens was in the air after a hot still day.

The hungry, hungry tiger was growling, growling and his hungry, hungry stomach was rumbling, rumbling for the hungry, hungry tiger had not eaten in days.

The tasty, tasty chickens were sleeping, sleeping as the hungry, hungry tiger came creeping, creeping through the tidy, tidy town to the cosy chicken coops.

Now hungry, hungry tigers are not the only things that might prey on tasty, tasty chickens in the deep, dark night.

Foxes, wild dogs, even large wild cats like to eat tasty, tasty chickens.

So the people of the tidy, tidy town locked tasty, tasty chickens inside their hardy, hardy henhouse at dusk so that they may sleep safely, safely in the deep, dark night.

The hungry, hungry tiger had a hard, hard, terrible task to perform.

First, he had to break inside the biting barbs and branches of the cosy chicken coop.

Second, he had to break into the hardy, hardy henhouse where the tasty, tasty chickens roosted safely, safely in the deep, dark night.

Now much-maligned mankind may have many, many motives, oh, best beloved.

Yet primary protection of your nearly next dinner is mostly measured as a major motivation.

The hungry, hungry tiger should have thought long and should have thought hard and should have thought thrice before thinking at all that tasty, tasty chickens would be an easy thing to steal to make a feathery meal.

For my best beloved, not only had the tidy, tidy town built a cosy, cosy chicken coop.

For my best beloved, not only had the tidy, tidy town built a hardy, hardy henhouse.

The tidy, tidy town had also raised a rowdy, rowdy rooster who could wake the tidy, tidy town from their deep, deep slumbers as he did every morning, should evil come crawling.

The hungry, hungry tiger came creeping, creeping while all big and small, short and tall in the tidy, tidy town lay sleeping, sleeping.

The hungry, hungry tiger found the cosy, cosy chicken coop in the darkling dark using his nosy nose.

He pushed his way through the biting barbs and branches of the cosy, cosy chicken coop.

The barbs bit and the branches broke and the hungry, hungry tiger cried as his white coat ripped and as his red blood dripped.

Though his stomach growled in his anger he howled from the hard, hard hurt as he paced and prowled.

His horrible howls and great groaning growls,

Roused the rowdy, rowdy rooster from his deep, deep slumber.

Crowing, crowing, the rowdy, rowdy rooster awoke and alerted the tasty, tasty chickens,

who cackled and called, alarmed and appalled at the horrible howls and great groaning growls from the horror without (without any doubt).

This in turn woke the town, every one who ran down,

to see what a notion had caused such commotion.

Think what a fright awoke in the night,

as they spied a fell beast who, though not deceased,

looked blooded and bruised and was not amused!

The men then grabbed spears, and with loud jibes and jeers, (not to mention the leers,)

hit the beast in their bower and using their power,

drove it hurt, bruised and beaten without having eaten.

Strapped with stripling staves by young men and knaves,

the tiger retreated without having eated.

(Which isn't a word - or so I have heard).

So the hungry, hungry tiger crawled homeward defeated,

sad and dejected his attack deflected,

his blooded coat stained and has so remained,

as the stripes are explained from the wounds he sustained,

from his scheme hare-brained to dine unrestrained on poultry arraigned.

So we have discovered, oh best beloved, why the striped tiger is covered,

in faded red hue, (not purple or blue.)

Because of his greed, to eat without need,

That which was not offered, to take that which was not proferred.

This tale has a moral: which is not to quarrel or enter unwanted into places protected.

By Peter Spicer-Wensley

Bogan Day

2010-01-02T21:14:00.000-08:00

by Me.

(To be declaimed with a broad Horse Train accent.

This is also known as "Strine" rhymes with whine and is divine.)

Hip Hip Hooray!

It's Bogan Day!

And all across the land,

Bogans pull their cozzies on

And head towards the sand.

They wrap themselves in our blue flag

To show us they're true blue…

And SuperBogan wears the flag -

As Superman would do.

He flies around the cricket ground,

Just like a super hero.

But as he has no super skills -

He is a SuperZero.

Boozes of Bogans,

Head to town to party in the park.

To wait and watch the fireworks,

That go off after dark.

They spend the day, putting away

Huge amounts of beer.

Frying and eating all at play

'til full with food and cheer.

A day of cellar-bration!

To drink without a care.

The birthday of our nation -

Rock music fills the air.

Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!

Oy! Oy! Oy!

(Was invented for an ad.

Reworking an old rugby chant.

Into something new and sad.)

It is the Bogan Anthem.

The real one is too long.

With stupid words by some old turds,

And the music is all wrong.

A simple chant,

of simple cant,

Suited to simpler folk.

(If a little less romantic than

A Sentimental Bloke.)

Allows the Bogans to all join in,

In a communal shout.

That shows they care and understand

What Australia is all about.

"Fuck Off We're Full!" You'll hear 'em cry.

But they're not racist mate.

They hate every bastard that's not white -

It's what makes Aussies great!

"It's Time", said Gough, and I agree.

It's time for us to think.

About our nation and each other -

To chat over a drink.

We need a kinder nation.

A mature and caring nature.

More confidence in our place in

Our region and our future.

by Peter Spicer-Wensley

Unjust Country - Revisited in the News

2009-11-15T07:10:00.000-08:00

Unjust Country

By Peter Spicer-Wensley (First stanza by Judy Horacek)

(With credit to Judy Horacek who wrote the first stanza in her comic that inspired the rest – it’s her fault really. Onya Judy! See www.horacek.com.au for other gems.)

I have an unjust country,

That locks up refugees.

They come to seek protection,

We throw away the keys.

"For those who’ve come across the seas,

We’ve boundless plains to share."

Are words that I believe in,

But our leaders do not care.

They lie and cheat – they compromise,

To sell us all upstream.

To keep our gene pool snowy white,

To keep it squeaky clean.

They’re not racist – they maintain,

But standards must be met.

To be a refo nowadays,

You must arrive by jet.

Leaky boats that barely float,

And sink if there’s a ripple,

Won’t get you placed at welfare’s teat,

To suckle at that nipple.

The refugees from overseas,

That really jump the queues,

Are those that holiday, decide to stay –

And their return-tickets lose.

Refugees from crap weather,

From Europe and UK,

Come swarming to our sunny climes,

And never go away.

We aren’t just talking one or two,

There’s 50,000 every year,

That make a bob from lousy jobs,

To eat, sleep and drink our beer.

I’m not anti-immigration –

I am one – So’s my wife.

I understand why people come here,

To seek a better life.

To claim that there are teeming hordes,

And devils at the gate.

Is bullshit! – Errant nonsense! –

It’s just not cricket, mate.

These so-called Liberal pollies,

Are Liberal with our money.

To spend on locking refos up,

I’d cry if it weren’t funny.

They’re Liberal with their Attitudes,

About Borders and Defence.

And Liberal with their Platitudes,

But not with Common Sense.

They’re Liberal with everything –

Especially the Truth.

What fine upstanding characters,

To inculcate our youth.

I haven’t got the Capital,

I haven’t got the Clout.

I haven’t got the Influence,

To throw these bastards out.

So remember on election day,

Who showed them all this class.

Use your votes to show the goats,

And give them all the arse.

Nota Beni:

“Australia is the only Western country that mandatorily detains asylum seekers whilst their claims are being heard. Asylum seekers are not criminals.”

Source: Edmund Rice Centre for Justice and Community Education, www.erc.org.au

For more information or to become involved, go to Refugees Australia National Directory at www.refugeesaustralia.org which lists the major websites dedicated to helping the refugee case in Australia.

We did in fact throw those particular bastards out only to get a fresh new crop.

Time to keep them honest. Where's old Don Chip when you need him?

Ciao for Niao!

PeterSW

There's No Leopard Like Snow Leopard

2009-08-29T21:37:00.000-07:00

By Peter Spicer-Wensley

(apologies to Irving Berlin and Ethel Merman)

(Introit)

The Box, The Price, It's Sugar with Spice!

The promise that lifts you when you're down.

The opening when your heart beats like a drum

The Install when the restart wont come...

(Chorus etc.)

There's No Leopard Like Snow Leopard,

There's No Leopard I Know...

Everything about it is appealing!

Everything that Apple will allow!

Install it and you'll have that happy feeling

That I've got now...

There's No Leopard Like Snow Leopard,

There's No Leopard I Know...

For thirty bucks you get a new computer

That's speedier and nicer than before!

Drop fifty on the counter and your family -

will love you more!

For there's no People like Snow People!

They're happier in every way...

Yesterday their Macs were slowing down -

Which made them sad and caused a frown,

But now the smiles upon their dials

Shine brighter - every day!

There's No Leopard like Snow Leopard,

It has features galore...

Apple said it was just a small upgrade,

Which you believed and for which you paid.

But now you find Exchange Support, Quicktime Pro

- and much much more!

For Snow Leopard is No Leopard,

It's leaner and so sleek,

You get back a whole heap of new disk space,

That's no disgrace - and no need to erase!

But gigabytes are smaller - so take a peek...

At the new keyboard cat - it is unique!

(Finale - Larghetto?)

For...

There's No Leopard like Snow Leopard,

Install it and you'll know...

It isn't a turkey like you were told,

You won't be stranded out in the cold.

You wouldn't change it for a sack of gold!

Let's go on with the Snow!!!

Let's go - on with the - Snow...

Leopard!!!

The Hospital System Jack Built

2008-07-31T02:34:00.000-07:00

The Hospital System Jack Built
by Peter Spicer-Wensley
Here is the nurse, frazzled and worn,
That delivered the drug dose all folorn,
Killing the patient early in the morn,
That came to the hospital Jack built.

Here is the intern, tired and grey,
Who hasn't slept for many a day,
That wasn't there to save the day -
In the hospital system Jack built.

Here is the surgeon, that slices and sews,
The ailing patient in repose,
A buried mistake - we may suppose
Of the hospital system Jack built.

Here is the manager, hands a wringing,
Unavoidable major cutbacks bringing,
That will result in angels singing
At the hospital system Jack built.

Here is the head of departmental health,
With fresh ideas and lots of wealth,
That kills by a thousand cuts of stealth
In the hospital system Jack built.

Here is the minister the bucks stops near,
Who placates the media scrum of fear
With soothing lies and crocodile tears
Of the hospital system Jack built.

Here is the body now at peace,
Who suffered long until release
From curable injury but still deceased
By the hospital system Jack built.

By Me

Amphibrachinalia - Put your three-syllable foot forward

2008-07-02T08:30:00.001-07:00

Amphibrachinalia
by Me.

There was a young poet from Cottage
Whose versage and verbage was dotage
Til one day he reckoned
That stressing the second
Syllable would rescue his wordage.
(He was incorrect.)

An amphibrach is a word whose second syllable is more powerfully stressed than the first. In particular (or more correctly) it is a metrical unit with unstressed-stressed-unstressed syllables used in Latin and Greek prosody. Limericks (not be conFUSed with liMERicks) are usually written in amphibrachian meter. There was a | young lady |of wantage, etc.

You can write other types of poetry using amphibrachs but it can be tricky.

Remember Jamaica
Also by Me.

Remember Jamaica, Consider Australia.
Remember, remember, but never dismember
Seussian sonnets and limerick failure, that
Quartering a quatrain delivers distemper.

Poetic professors practising prosery,
Avoiding amphibrachs - forever are wary.
Feminine foreclosures forgetful forbearing.
Resulted resolute in metre uncaring.

Iambic pentamics, didactyl tetramics,
Sporadic spondaics, petrarchic polemics.
Deliver despairing, unyeilding undying,
Creative hiatus prothesis a-crying.

Syllabic salvation! Consider creation,
(of) casual caesura - of metre and scansion.
Dramatic personae eschewing ecthlipsis,
Denying perfection eclipses ellipsis...

(to be continued)
Peter Spicer-Wensley

On Driving Badly and Annoying the Neighbours

2008-06-29T08:43:00.000-07:00

This doggerel was written in response to drivers (locally termed "Hoons") who drive badly and disturb the tranquility of the night by their antics.
It was inspired by Spike Milligan's poem Fred Fernackapan which was inspired by the Wee Willie Winkie children's poem. It started out lightly but ended up with a dark note and moralistically. Oh well - it' s only doggerel.

Wee Will Wanker by Me. (Written on my iPod Touch January 2008)
Wee willie wanker drives round the town,
with his stereo up and his windows down.
Pedal to the metal, rubber on the road.
Driving like that loony the famous Mr Toad.

Wee willie wanker needs to compensate,
for his tiny todger and his lack of dates.
He drives a muscle car, to match his muscle head.
The only compensation is - he'll very soon be dead.

Wee willie wanker is always in a rush,
to get to the next traffic light - where he can swear and cuss.
Speeding to the corner, speeding round the bend,
Speeding up the highway - will his speeding never end?

Wee willie wanker, doing doughnuts in the night,
Annoying all the neighbours - tucked up safe and tight.
Revving up his engine, revving up a storm.
Oh, wee willie wanker! How we wish you were not born!

Wee willie wanker, driving drunk as well,
Will take some drunken mates - along with him to Hell.
Wee willie wanker loses it and crashes fatally,
Living fast and dying young isn't fun to me.

Wee willie wanker - we're sorry that you're dead.
But sorrier still for those you've killed and the sorry life you've led.
Death was only nature's way of telling you to slow.
So down into the earth with you as you reap what you did sow.

Peter Spicer-Wensley

On Doggerel - and Boggerel

2008-06-29T00:45:00.000-07:00

The title of this Blog comes from a bad (but thankfully very short) poem of mine:
Boggerel by Me.
What a wonderful verse form - that doggerel,
'Tis made to read - on the boggerel.

(A bog in this context is not a mire or swampy area - but another smelly place called the Dunny (by Australians), the John (by our American cousins) or a Loo (by the English). The Bog is another name for the toilet and I think a lot of fine (and rubbish) poetry is read in that place.

I'm making this blog to share bad poetry - Doggerel in fact.
Dog • ger • e l \ n
1: verse that is loosely styled and irregular in measure, especially for comic effect.

It is probably the most maligned of the English verse forms - the doggerel couplet or quatrain.
Doggerel has been immortalised by the witty and wonderful likes of Dorothy Parker, Ogden Nash, James Joyce, Spike Milligan, Pam Ayres and (unlikely as it seems) Richard Stallman, whose political verse Guantanamera is fine indeed. It is in Spanish (with translation for we monolinguists) and is available as a music download in the free Ogg Vorbis format. Here.

Ogden Nash had many popular couplets and witty remarks but is probably most famous for:
Candy
Is dandy
But liquor
Is quicker. - Ogden Nash

or The Cow by Ogden Nash
The cow is of the bovine ilk;
One end is moo, the other, milk.

A quatrain example is a personal favourite:
Ode to a Lama by Ogden Nash
The one-L lama, he's a priest
The two-L llama, he's a beast
And I would bet a silk pyjama
There isn't any three-L lllama.

See Ogden Nash Online for others.

James Joyce used doggerel (very rudely) in Ulysses:
If you see Kay,
Tell him he may.
See you in tea,
Tell him from me. - James Joyce

Like the limerick (and that fortunate fellow from Nantucket) doggerel has poetic potential and though it may not be as formal as the sonnet, it can be fine indeed.

Ciao for niao!
Peter Spicer-Wensley