“A Kennel Full Of Goddamn Wonderful Doggerel”

VazamBam

by Vassilis Zambaras

“Supplicant”

High above the ruins
Of Ancient Messene
And below the lone village restaurant,
There is a haggard dog chained
To a large, earthenware jar.

His view of this once-rich
City is indeed magnificent, truly
Uplifting to the spirit, but
As he knows it by heart,
He prefers to sit on his haunches

And turn his back on it,
Looking up instead for any sign
Of the bones he prays the gods
Might find it in their hearts
To throw down to him.

MELIGALAS, Greece—(Weekly Hubris)—8/16/10—By now, readers of my previous article on Alexander the Great and Diogenes the Dog might be thinking I’m hooked on doggerel, whose meaning of course has nothing to do with canines but is merely a synonym for shoddy verse, and that the above poem is just one more in a long illustrious line of shaggy dog jingles. They might be right, as I do have quite a few pooch poems as part of my pedigree, and I’ll be exhibiting some of these after I lead you to where the above poem was conceived—Ancient Messene.

Coming up now is the auspicious one that started it all:

“The Beginning of My Life As a Dog
As Related by My Pappy, the Cur”

I said smile,

You snarling
Son of a bitch.

The childish dog (y)ears pass and before the artist realizes it, he is suddenly one of those studs (what virile and sexually active men were called in the 60’s and 70’s) who think all women have “come and get it” engraved on their foreheads and who are just itching to get at “it” with a modicum of effort on their manly part(!).

“Macho Furtive Strut”

Walking, that familiar
Shaggy stray

Cur straight ahead
Shagging a bitch

On the sidewalk—
How when

Passing by, we each give
The other

One last acknowledging
Sidelong glance.

Next in line and signaling the end—thank God—is the ultimate penultimate of even worse verse:

“A Goner’s Doggerel”

Doggone it Doomsday,
I told you he was one

Poetic son of a bitch
Doomed to go all the way

Entombed

In the worst of verse
To his dying day.

Lest some of you think this is as bad as it can get, hold your horses for this last wild card entry, which has nothing to do with dogs but everything to do with those poets asinine enough to think their poetry can elevate them (and us) to new heights of exaltation:

“Arse Poetica”

When poesy flies
Out the in-

Flated ass
End of Pegasus,

Its quick demise
Should not surprise

Its most deflated rider.

NB: Just for the record, my pappy was not a cur and my mommy was not a bitch. And we did not live in a kennel.