Category Archives: doggerel

Zoom call

© C A Lovegrove

Thank heavens for Zoom!
Proof against gloom!
Where’d we be
without our TV?
And social media
has never been needier
on laptops and phones,
replacement for drones
for spying on friends,
for gossip, and trends.

When plague years are done
where will we find fun?


Today’s coronaverse is brought to you by the letter Z.

Washing hands

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Wash your hands for twenty seconds,
After touching outside things.
Sluice your mitts with sanitiser,
Healthy lives such cleansing brings!

You all know what’s needing doing,
Otherwise we spread disease.
Utter disregard spells danger,
Reproduction rates won’t ease.

Have yourself a merry soaping!
Add clean water — don’t be tense!
Need we ask?
Don the mask!
Social distancing makes sense!


Acrostic coronaverse, brought to you by the letter W.

Super spreader

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It’s lack of social distancing I fear
each time some numbskull prances near,
it’s then a twisted new refrain
comes fast, unbidden, to the brain:

“Tonight the superspreader bugs are gonna find me, gasping out for air,
wheezing, needing care,
feeling like I need a prayer.”

What’s the problem with these chancers,
inching close like bloody dancers?
Do I need a six-foot stick,
or do they need a damn good kick?

“Superspreader bugs are gonna mind me, I may need a pill,
yes, I’m sure I will
if someone in the crowd feels ill.”

Each time some numbskull prances near
it’s lack of social distancing I fear.


With apologies to Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus. This coronaverse brought to you by the letter S.

Nauseous trio

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The virus from outside, just like a trojan horse,
attacks the victim’s inside, violates our very source,
though they try their very damnedest to repel it,
our bodies have their work cut out just trying to expel it.

The chronicles of nausea, vomit, diarrhea,
demonstrate a failure to keep clear
of the dread coronavirus,
an illness sent to try us.
Symptoms gastrointestinal —
in the analysis somewhat final —
is reported by 1 in 10 or 20
women and men: queasiness aplenty.


Today’s coronaverse was brought to you by the letter N.

Immunity free

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We don’t know what’s in it!

That’s what they are saying.
However they spin it
let’s hope they are praying
that if they’re not immunised
they won’t get affected;
they just won’t be apprised
of what’s really injected.

There’s a chip we can’t trust
in what comes from those labs;
and those experts? They just
tell us lies ’bout the jabs.

They’d rather get factoids
from some chappies online
than boffins’ and medics’
advice on what’s fine.


A coronaverse brought to you today by the letter I

Antivax anxiety

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That group who are stridently antivax?
Their hatred of jabs mounts up to the max.
They say “No-one knows just what naughtiness goes
into vaccines;” but note, they are somewhat lax
when it comes to what food in their belly
they have put; one I asked if he’d tell, he
said “Real finger-lickin’, that chlorine-filled chicken,”
and believed all they said, on the telly,
and online: “See, you can’t explain away,”
he said, “vaccine harm to our DNA;
we must all get to grips with effects microchips…”
Urgh — why can’t anyone take all this pain away?


Coronaverse: an alphabet of terms related to Covid-19. Tomorrow brings us the letter B.

Sagacious

You know those two hobbits called Baggins? Their trips only came after naggings from Gandalf the wizard. They wandered through blizzard and mines, then they drank loads of flagons. Now, one found a ring of great power, and one found his way to a tower to bring down a Dark Lord, or perish in Mordor; a deed which caused Sauron to glower.

There’s sadness, adventure and mirth in the lands all around Middle Earth. Right in the middle’s what’s won with some riddles: a magical ring of great worth.

Now a saga is something quite serious, potentous, designed to quite weary us. A limerick’s light, reputedly trite, unsuited to epics imperious. So a story of hobbits, and wizards, and elves, and matters a saga digs down to and delves is no topic for limerick, it’s pointless to mimic. If you want such a tale you must write it yourselves!

Happy new cheer

It’s New Year’s Eve. So long, and thanks
for all the luscious puns and games,
for health reports, and news of pranks
you’ve played, and all the names
you’ve called your other half,
old whatsit… It’s been quite a laugh.
And so, as we see out this year,
it’s cheers to you! And mine’s a beer.

Drone

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My cat Florrie was flattened by a lorry.
My old pa was run over by a car.

My mate Mike met quietus with a bike.
My pal Ron fought a red pantechnicon.

Poor old Sue claimed that nothing ever stopped her — until, one day, she took on a helicopter.

Now I’m all alone …

Do I really hear a drone?


Inspired by this post from Colin McQueen

Sucking the colour from a puffin’s bill

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Waking up this morning with an earworm in my head,
Sucking the colour from a puffin’s bill,
Waking from a dream wondering why on earth I’d said
“Sucking the colour from a puffin’s bill.”
I was sitting on a train — Puffing Billy was its name —
When rising from my seat as I leapt up to my feet
Out the window then I flew as an arrow straight and true
All the while sucking colour from a puffin’s bill.

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