Here are a collection of poems – some serious, most not-so-serious – written at one time or another by the Dashing Galoot. The poems nearest the top of the page are the most recent, generally. Some of the poems aren’t titled so that you can interpret your own meaning from the content instead.
The Dashing Galoot (an acrostic poem by guest writer Simon Doerr)
The epitome of coolness, Hilarious like none other Epic above all- Deceitful never, Awesome and deluxe, Superb and so wise, with Hordes of useful info. Ill humored not once, Never rude or snide, Great entertainment. Garnished eccentricity All words fun and smart, Laughing commonplace. Occultly mysterious, Of the great Joj, Tableau yellow and black.
Shave Me From Myself
A beard On a face, smeared In haphazard fashion Is quite dashin’
So I still stave off The desire to shave off Down to the molecule Every last follicle
But since I like to show off, My cheeks, I might mow off My facial growth. Or hair. Or both.
It would be so shocking that I used a razor, My nickname would be, “The Human Taser”
Once my engine starts sounding clattery, It’s clear frost’s assaulting my battery. I turn the ignition With silent petitions, But now it’s doing even badderly.
Perhaps my poor vehicle’s kryptonite, Was ignoring the bright check engine light. Forsaking mechanics, I try not to panic, And wish I was not a Wisconsinite.
Freedom of Breech(es)
There isn’t quite anything Like a nice hamstring, And any old galoot Knows the value of glutes, But rather than showing my huge quadriceps, I now have to follow society’s precepts.
When I wish to show off both of my legs Some dimwit comes over rudely begs That instead of leaving my viewership to chance I ought to be decent and put on some pants.
“Good sir,” I replied, “Truly nothings demeans My legs like wearing a pair of jeans!” He said, “Maybe, but anyways you’ll have to stop Before I call my good friend who’s a cop.”
“What?!” I said, “Haven’t you got any brains? Or don’t you appreciate the sight of some Hanes?” But since my good friend wouldn’t listen to reason He thought he should try to send me to preeson.
The cop said, “Sir, have you lost track of your hosiery? You seem to be doing indecent exposuring!” I said, “As a cop you must be acquainted with sirens – I’ll be the Siren and you’ll be admirin’.
I flexed what I could of my pantsless bod, Switching from left to right vascular quad, But the policeman called it bologna, So now I must always wear my pantalones.
Music soaring First time exploring First date breathtaking All kinds of making All waterfalls Pretty drops then the next drop calls Pretty sure that she’ll laugh Master of that one craft Mysteries now understood Musing – beautiful head, or beautiful hood?
Cities Ever had some Naple Syrup? It’s off-brand Canadien, just like Taranto. Before I start Siena Italian tear up, Verona time crunch, so Pisa-self together – Pronto.
5:30’s far too late for financial Accounting The monotony is truly astounding Like being a dull garden hedger Or sewer dredger Or undies wedger The task I say is even edgier Is writing an accounting ledger
Who wants to be a millionaire? It makes you seem less debonaire. You may be an earner extraordinaire, But on the backburner it’s still worse than air. And all those gold diggers… I’ll stick with three figures.
My nose is melting but I’m not hot I’m sniffling up a lot of snot. While the rest of me tries not to shiver My nostrils let loose a repulsive river.
I’m surrounded by dull mediocrities All trying to be the new Socrates I need to get out of philosophy Before my brain starts to atrophy