Dr. Fogg & Sir Daniel presents..

Archive for the ‘Dr. Fogg’s poetry’ Category

The Masters Dying.

In Dr. Fogg's poetry on August 15, 2010 at 12:14 am

“Quick, quick, send for Doctor Dick,
the Masters dying the Masters sick.”
The chambermaid raced through the massive hall,
Pantry maids, Butlers, heeded the call.

The Kitchen, hub of all things gossipy,
preferring tit bits to the latest recipe.
Soon heard the news that Master was poorly,
Old cook said, “we’ll miss him sorely.”

The stable boy rode like a man possessed,
on the Butlers instructions he rode his best.
“Take Master’s stallion he is the fastest,
and don’t be a’dallying or twill be your lastest.”

Doctor Dick was rising, to morning a’new,
hearing outside such an awful to do.
Stable boy banging his old oak door,
“Doctor oh Doctor come quick I implore.”

The Doctor harnessed the pony and trap,
grabbing his bag and medical cap.
Picking up various balms and lotions,
leeches, pills, and palliative Potions.

Tearing through the little town,
villagers waking and looking around.
The stable boy shouted “the Masters dying,
follow us now if you think I’m a’lying.”

The carpenter heard them to his despair,
he was making the Master a Chippendale chair.
“Were changing the plans he said to son Robin,
bugger the chair, it’ll now be a coffin”.

Back at the hall, all were a’rushin,
boiling hot water from saucepans a’gushin.
Getting clean sheets so the Master looks good,
building up fires with plenty of wood.

“He’s comin he’s comin” the under maid screeched,
“right through the main gate, I can hear horses feets.”
The Doctor pulled up, the pony a’sweating,
the doorman said “it’s too late I’m a bettin.”

Up the grand stairs the Doctor did race,
wondering just what he was going to face.
In darkened room, Master lay in his bed,
“we think he’s a goner” the housekeeper said.

The Doctor demanded the curtains be open,
“all you people must go I’m a hopin.”
”I have to examine this poor dying man,
it looks pretty bleak but I’ll do what I can.”

Twenty or more now outside the room,
old Dick began his exam with impending doom.
Looking for symptoms to give relief,
but preparing to give the staff news of grief.

From inside the room came a terrible sound,
a fart so enormous it echoed around.
The Doctor staggered out, saying.” t’is my suggestion,
the Masters just suffering severe indigestion.”

Dr Fogg.©


Oh Danny Boy.

In Dr. Fogg's poetry on August 14, 2010 at 10:46 pm

Please whisper this.

I’d like to tell you about my dog,
a Jack Russell brown and white.
He’s got a brave heart and that’s for sure
for such a little mite,

But he’s got a little problem,
so I’m whispering this to you.
Because he’s got huge ears!
and we don’t know what to do.

He’s still a little puppy,
and might grow into them.
But it really seems unlikely,
yet he’s such a little gem.


It’s not so much the size,
but the fact that they stick up.
If he hears me telling you,
he’ll be one disgusted pup.

Danny is his name you see,
I’m afraid we worry so.
That people in the place we live,
might name the pup Dumbo.

Some people with kind hearts,
have collected locally.
To send our Dan to the USA,
for an “Earanotomy”.

Dr Fogg.©

Hubble Bubble And What?

In Dr. Fogg's poetry on August 14, 2010 at 10:36 pm

“Hubble bubble toil and….
Oh I forget what’s next.”
The old witch is pushed away.
The high priestess most vexed.

“Trouble” the priestess bellows.
The old witch mutters “ I’m 500 years old
And what with Alzheimer’s, the rain,
and this appalling cold.”

“Silence” the priestess barks, “ ill do it!”
“ Is he in heaven or in Hell?”
“No No” the assembled coven shout
“ That’s the pimpernel.”

“Well!” the Priestess shouts,
“Does anyone remember.”?
“By the time we get this done.”
We’ll find it is November!”

Her familiar cat falls of his chair.
Clutching sides in laughter.
The priestesses withering stare.
Bodes ill, for his fish meal after.

“Can we go now” whines one participant.
“Friends is on TV.”
The priestess slumps dejected.
“GO, it’s all the same to me.”

Dr Fogg©

Beware The Expert.

In Dr. Fogg's poetry on August 14, 2010 at 9:12 pm


The world is full of people,
who tell us what to do.
Who tell us what is best for us,
But I just say screw you.

Hydrogenated fat is good,
Butter makes you ill.
Too much salt will finish you,
Fatty food will kill.

Eating meat is dangerous,
Smoking clogs the veins.
Cream is just a no no,
drink will fry your brain.

But give em just a few more years,
And they will change their view.
Research has shown bla bla bla bla,
But I just say screw you.

Take this global warming,
I don’t give a cuss.
If it gets a little warmer,
I’m not going to fuss.

 I don’t want to grow old,
All wrinkly and wet.
So fatty food and salt and booze,
I’ll take all I can get.


                          Dr Fogg©

Rampant Sieve

In Dr. Fogg's poetry on August 11, 2010 at 8:22 pm

Rampant Sieve

Consider the mindless task of sieving flour
Shake shake shake hour after hour
It wastes such time; I have a life to live
Then I invented Dr Fogg’s auto vibrating flour sieve.

The idea came to me in a flash
Into the bedroom I did dash
Found my wife’s rampant rabbit
Going through her draws is not my usual habit.

But I was a man inspired
Imagination fully fired
I taped it to the sieves short handle
Turned it on and watched it dangle

Then it burst right into life
I praised the Lord and then my wife
The flour went in and out it came
Somewhat embarrassing, all the same.


 Dr Fogg

Copyright ©2010. HW Harborne