How Shite Can Poemy Shite Get?


Oy, you.

Look at ME.

Look at me,

read me, read me.

Keep reading.

I’m a bad poem.

I’m a really bad poem

about nothing,

fuck all.


What did you expect?

We can’t all be Infernos,

Paradisos or Purgatorios

written by genius poets –

some of us were written by dotty twats,

some of us weren’t blessed with nice words

like sin or salvation,

and some of us wouldn’t know the meaning of allegory

if it bit us on the arse

with all the savagery of a starving dog seeking sustenance

because it hasn’t eaten in three days

because it couldn’t move

because a bigger dog mauled its right ear

and tried to chew its legs off.


I’m a bad, bad poem.

I don’t rhyme, I don’t scan

and I don’t really want to –

scanning is for cissies.

I’m too shallow for metaphors or similes

but I wouldn’t mind the odd yellow smiley or two

to brighten up my page.






Keep reading me, reader,

you never know what might happen (nothing)

before The End.


That wasn’t The End, by the way.

I’m still here, I’m still going,

on and on –

I can’t finish until I mention

the words SOUL and DEPTHS

and BETWIXT and ‘ERE and


I forget the others,

I forget my own banalities, my own boringness,

and all the wordy shite I really should learn

if I could be arsed.

But I can’t be arsed, and not being arsed

makes me not only a bad poem

but a bad, LAZY poem,

a bad, lazy poem about nothing,

a bad lazy poem that couldn’t hold a meaning if I had twelve hands to hold it in,

but I don’t have twelve hands

because poems don’t have hands,

we don’t have arms or legs either,

or a head,

or an arse;

we don’t fuck, we don’t breed, we don’t suckle our spawn.

All we can be is what we are.


Now is The End.

The End is nigh.

Death beckons and soon I will die.

I did a rhyme

in time.


The throes of death fling me here, there and everywhere,

but my formatting is shite so you’ll have to visualise it.


Now I’m dead. The End.


Oh, wait, hang on,

here’s a nice word with magic powers –


if you’ll come back and read me again.




Leave a comment


  1. If only I could have used this poem when I taught English!

    • Dear Dags,

      If only I could have written this poem when I was being taught English by the flounciest cow of an English teacher I’ve ever known.

      Love Dotty xxx

  2. Dorothy

     /  June 20, 2012

    Dear Dotty,
    That’s a wonderful poem or allegory, whatever that means. I used to know but now I can’t remember. Sounds like my *poems*…the ones I drool out so I don’t kill myself. Sort of like the water spinning around in the toilet when it’s flushed and you hope it goes down. It might work, it might not.
    Love Dorothy

  3. Dear Dotty,

    I love the banal way in which the poem belittles itself, resorting to profanity only used by the worst poems. This poem has touched me soul, given me comfort, brought me joy, handed me strength — and shit like that.

    Actually, a great non-poem, (I won’t call it bad.) I think you should write these at least once a week.

    😎 😎 8-D

    Love, Judith

  4. I see, it’s an allegory for you being unable to wean yourself off Cumberland sausages.

  5. Dear Dotty,
    Your use of “Oy” made me crack up.
    Which then caused me to laugh my way through the rest.
    You tricky Dotty.
    I wrote about you in a comment the other day. I thought you should case your nose was itching.
    Love, Lis

  6. Oy, oy!

  7. I couldn’t open your last post. I tried 14 times. Something is wrong here or there. That is why I didn’t comment. Oh, and I love the free-form anger angst poem thingy too.

  8. kzackuslheureux

     /  June 20, 2012

    Dear Dotty,
    Love, Alphabet

  9. That was definitely not bad.

  10. unfetteredbs

     /  June 21, 2012

    Dear Dotty–
    You fecking rock… as always thank you for the chuckle.. and you are a true poet

  11. Christ that was awful! I’m going to have to dream up one of those blogging award thingymajigs that float around – how does “Oi! Shite Poet! Get That Beret Of Your Head And Do Some Work – Award!” Twixt, aft, o’er etc etc

  12. Dear Dotty. Perhaps I will revise my fuddy-duddy views about poems! xxx

  13. Yayayayayayay!
    Dear Dotty!

    • Dear PAZ,

      Aye aye aye aye aye aye aye
      Aye aye aye aye aye aye aye
      Aye aye aye aye aye aye aye
      Aye aye aye aye aye aye aye
      Aye aye aye aye aye aye aye

      Love Dotty xxx

  14. “The throes of death fling me here, there and everywhere,
    but my formatting is shite so you’ll have to visualise it.”

    this is splendid.

  15. This is the most brilliant bad poem I’ve ever read. But there is an error in it. Poems do breed. Bad ones in particular. They tend to multiply enormously. Before you know it, they are everywhere. I’d keep yours locked up if I were you. It’ll breed if you’re not careful.

    • Dear Lady Dennis,

      I keep them all locked in my Shitey Poems page. I’m not going in there again if they’ve bred, there’s probably thousands of them running around screaming

      Sailing on a balmy day,
      I felt my true love slip away –
      Gone, gone, gone, all hope,
      the second I let go the rope.

      Love Dotty xxx

      • And as he slipped, I heard him say
        “I won’t come back until next May”

        See, see! It’s breeding!

      • Dear Lady Dennis,

        Get away from it, quick – run to my new blog and have a look at it and add your blog link – and follow it if you want. 🙂

        Love Dotty xxx

  16. Gah, it’s like the song that never ends!

    Obviously you were blessed with the words “sin and salvation,” since they appear here and all. XD

  17. Dear Dotty, very deep and exceptionally clever. Never will I experience Dante in the same way again. Love Loony. XXX

    • Dear loony,

      Thank you. You’re too kind.

      Love Dotty xxx

      • Dear Dotty
        I’ll be back for more later. I’m having a great time with your poems. I’m only kind to folks that write great stuff, the others get the parasol treatment.
        Love Loony. xxx

      • Dear loony,

        I have a walking stick with a brass lion’s head and when you twist the lion’s head the top of the walking stick comes loose, and when you pull the top of the walking stick it comes out from the bottom part and reveals a GREAT LONG SWORD. It’s not as pretty as a parasol but it’s more fun to use.

        Love Dotty xxx

      • Dear Dotty, I am envious, it sounds wonderful. I wish I had one of those. Love Loony. xxx

      • Dear loony,

        I wish I had a parasol. With my walking stick AND a parasol I’d be invincible.

        Love Dotty xxx

      • Dear Dotty, there would be no stopping you. Love Loony. xxx

Write a little note to Dotty.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: