A Poetic Wrinkle

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A Poetic Wrinkle

I like poetry to rhyme,
With a touch of symbolism
I have learnt over time
To avoid words like journalism.

Light Verse

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Light Verse

Considered silly, not serious,
Impish, but never imperious.
My verse is light, not stodgy, heavy,
Less red wine and more beer bevvy.
No clever rhymes to take your breath,
My verse won't scare you half to death.
When I paint pictures, it's by halves,
I'm only here to make you laugh.
So, if you chuckle at my poem,
Tha'll do for me and I've hit home.

The Canine Poet

The Canine Poet

I tried to draft a careful poem 
Of length, with strength, a testing tome. 
The final draft though, monochrome 
It should have stayed in house, at home. 

So, I turned to trite, a ditty 
Should have learned, as far from pretty. 
Try to force iambic meter 
Like compulsive over-eater. 

Talent turns to trad. a sonnet, 
Boy, that's just as bad, it's chronic. 
This queer compulsion to get rhyme 
To scan, oh man, it's such a crime. 

I'll try some prose, see how that goes,
 A budding Rowling, no one knows. 
That's it, my friend, I'll write a book 
With twisted end to get you hooked. 

Pen a song, with awesome lyrics 
Dance floor flooded atmospherics. 
Writing now, on upward spiral, 
Fame and fortune, even viral. 

Name in lights, and big star billing. 
Upbeat dog treats, snoozing, chilling. 
Win awards, a prize, a trophy, 
Accolades and "Well done Dauphy."

The Poet’s Pen

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The Poet's Pen

Six slim inches of ink, with proclivity
To harness her sharp creativity.
The potential for much positivity
And the power to beat negativity.

Oft times, a frustrating activity
Requiring at times perspectivity.
Striving to get objectivity,
Shunning the crass subjectivity.

She strives to achieve productivity,
Artistic, with some sensitivity,
But lacking required motivity
Writes, but once a year, a nativity.

A Yorksher love poem

Hobbo: The French are a romantic bunch aren’t they Dauphy?

Dauphy: We are, why?

Hobbo: I thought that I’d move away from funny poems and try my hand at something a bit more romantic.

Dauphy: Mon Dieu!

Hobbo: So, I’ve written a love poem.

Dauphy: This has trouble written all over it! Let’s have a look then…

A Yorksher love poem

Tha'll get me pension, when I die
and 'tools inside me shed.
You are the gravy in me pie
the girl I chose to wed.

Tha's like the salt, I put on 'chips
The froth that warms me beer
a lass that wobbles when she strips
to who there's no compeer.

And tha's the lass what 'ad me kids
and set me 'eart a thuddin'.
As solid as two dustbin lids
the air in 'Yorksher puddin'.

Tha's the mush in mushy peas
The fluff in fluffy slippers
What taught me 'bout the birds 'n'bees
The girl that cooks me kippers.

Tha's the match what lit me fire
The stubble on me chin
Who dances like a tumble drier
The nine in feminine.

So, me love, rough as you are
'tis death will force our partin'
Tha's more use norra flashy car
Despite tha' flippin' fartin'.


Yorksher:  Yorkshire
tha'll:  you will
me:  my
tha's:  you are
compeer:  compare
'eart:  heart
Yorkshire pudding:  A savoury'pudding' eaten with roast dinners
norra:  than a

Dauphy: The mush in mushy peas!

Hobbo: I know, it’s good isn’t it?

Dauphy: Has Mrs Hobbo seen this?

Hobbo: No. Not yet.

Dauphy: Well, don’t show her it, or you’re dead!

Hobbo: Why? I thought she’d like it.

Dauphy: Where do I start?…

A poetical movement

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A poetical movement

Six sonnets sail the seas
A rondeau rows the ocean
The limerick rarely sees
Such poetry in motion.

Classic Car

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Classic Car

The motor belonged to his niece
But she let him have it, on lease
On lifting the bonnet
A fourteen line sonnet
The source of the rhyme, ancient grease.

Dauphy’s Poetry Masterclass

Dauphy: That stuff we write…

Hobbo: What about it?

Dauphy: We don’t always follow the rules, do we?

Hobbo: It doesn’t matter. As long as we are making people laugh.

Dauphy: I was hoping you’d say that.

Hobbo: Why?

Dauphy: I’ve written another.

Hobbo: Let’s hear it then.

Dauphy: You’ll type it up?

Hobbo: Don’t I always?…

Poetry Masterclass (by Dauphy)

I don't give a Nelly 
for a villanelle
or a bonnet
for a fourteen line sonnet.
I'd rather watch bonanza
than struggle with a stanza.
A soliloquy
seems silly to me.
My nemesis
could be mimesis.
If I have a cold
then I might say ode.
I'd never take a stance
on dissonance or assonance.
When I do meet up with Koo
I'll say howdy, not haiku.
I wouldn't give a meg
about a mixed up meter.
You can't lick a lyric
for good alliteration
and a well penned limerick
can bring joy to a nation.
So, epic or ballad
stick those syllabic rules.
Me and  my mate Hobbo
are merely comic fools.


EIF Halloween Poetry Challenge: The Results! — Experiments in Fiction

The time has come, for tricks and treats, for fiendish fun and frights, and for the announcement of the EIF Halloween Poetry Challenge winning entries! This week, we had a frightfully good response, and I would like to thank everyone who entered. I had so much spooky fun reading your entries. A special thanks to…

EIF Halloween Poetry Challenge: The Results! — Experiments in Fiction

For You

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For You
Here's a poem for you
I wrote it by myself
If I hadn't made it up
It would still be on the shelf.
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