Tuesday, 2 July 2019

Sherlock Gets a Dog

My very talented friend CJ Hooper is a master of improvised poetry. He's been sending me copies of his Urban Horror Fairytales poems as he come up with them. One was about Sherlock Holmes which it inspired me to have a go at a simple poem myself.

Not something that comes easily to me, so unlike CJ coming up with a little gem on the spot, this took me a few hours to get it to rhyme and pom-tiddly-pom properly. And also make sure that it stays true to the source material, which is very important.

Sherlock Gets a Dog

Holmes was at home with an armful of coke
When news of the Baskerville devil-dog broke
Some lordship's been nobbled and drowned in a bog
Chased to his death by a fuck-off great dog

He packed off the doctor on the five forty-eight
"Watson, you got this; I know you'll do great!"
At last, thought the doctor, my own spin-off series
I'll diagnose crimes with my medical theories

Alighting at Dartmoor, the suspects came fast
A butler, a neighbour, a man with a past
And up on a tor, amid tombs dark and damp
Lurked a strange bearded fellow - the Grimpen Mire tramp

The hobo's a were-dog, so did Watson surmise
But no, it was Holmes, in a fucking disguise
 "You got it all wrong, John, you great steaming clot
But I've got it sussed so let's round up the lot"

In a coke-induced rush, Holmes concluded the mystery
A case of inheritance-envy and history
The villain exposed did a bunk 'cross the marsh
But was jobbed by his own dog - ironic but harsh

"And then I shot the hound," said Holmes, back on his sofa
Watson wrote up the notes, another case over
That the poor pooch should die, he thought was a pity
For like Watson himself, Holmes had treated him shitty