There once was a dog who could write.
She did so most every night.
The shaggy dog stories she told
Were not very bold
And didn’t have much of a bite.
There once was a dog who could write.
She did so most every night.
The shaggy dog stories she told
Were not very bold
And didn’t have much of a bite.
Filed under 2019, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
There once was a writer extraordinaire
For the less talented he did not care.
Then one day
His ghost writer gave him away
And credit with his mom he had to share.
Filed under 2019, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
There once was a writer from Saskatchewan /
Who wasn’t sure he could still catch one /
He gave a good chase /
In a world of bodice and lace /
But his writing, like his love life, had come undone.
Filed under 2018, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
There once was a woman from Tangier /
Who had a wolf on her head, it appears. /
It would not go away /
Not even on Thanksgiving Day. /
He said, “By Christmas, I’ll have eaten you, my dear.”
Filed under 2018, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
There once was a short poet from Philly, /
who went by the name of Big Willy. /
In his verse he would curse, /
get bawdy or worse /
spewing forth his magnum opus willy-nilly.
Filed under 2018, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
There once was writer from Nepal, /
whose writing exceeded them all. /
His output was prodigious, /
some even turgid-ous, /
and all on the men’s room stall.
Filed under 2018, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
There once was a writer from Murmansk /
Who thought he’d give erotica a chance. /
So he wrote about a gnome /
Who roamed far from home /
Adventuring with his three-legged stance.
Filed under 2018, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
There once was a man so wise /
he read a book on disguise. /
And to this very day /
when he wants to slip away /
glasses and a mustache he applies. /
Filed under 2018, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
There once was writer of acknowledgements /
Who was in a pickle over compliments. /
To make them clear and sincere /
And not sound in arrears /
Or as if she were paying emoluments.
Filed under 2018, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author

There once was a purveyor of F-bombs /
Who dropped them like words of a psalm. /
One day on a streak /
He went well passed his peak /
Now his voice squeaks with lavender charm.