Tuesday, 13th December 2011
Spectator readers have gone where seasoned pros Alice Oswald and John Kinsella feared to
tread: by writing a poem about the present ascent of money. The entries for the last online poetry competition were of a typically witty standard, many thanks for submitting them. Particular
praise goes to the poems written by Basil Ransome Davis, Sam Gwynn and Didi Mae Hand. But the winner of the prized bottle of Pol Roger is Felix Bungay for this amusing verse on Britain’s
present financial ills:
'Our monetary system isn’t sound. It’s built on very shaky ground.
Now as it all collapses, “blame capitalism” scream the chattering classes.
But
free markets aren’t to blame, when central bankers run the game.
Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. Don’t forget the Community Reinvestment Act.
Government has caused
our ills, and sent us all the rising bills.
Bankers bailed out with taxpayer’s money, we’d all cry if it weren’t so funny.
As interest rates are cut and
cut, inflation soars, we’re in a rut.
But Mervyn King just doesn’t learn. He’s printing money as Greece burns.
Eurozone goes down the drain, as its leaders
watch in vain.
The solution to our troubles? No more fiat credit bubbles!'
Holidays are coming, as the saying goes, so why not pass an idle or two penning a poem for the next competition. The subject is Christmas and the New Year. Pastiches of Betjeman and Eliot are
most welcome, as are more reverent compositions. The rules are the same as ever: entries should be left in the comments section below and the epic form is discouraged. All that is left to do is
wish you good luck in pursuit of the Pol Roger; oh yes, and peace and goodwill to all men.
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Christine Bloom
December 14th, 2011 3:06am Report this commentOur Eclectic Christmas
It’s not easy making Christmas
with an atheist and a Jew,
while another dabbles in Buddhism,
his sister tries out Hindu.
But they all join a lapsed Catholic
to decorate the Christmas tree
with happy memories
collected and christened
with love.
A bit of this, a bit of that,
a mix of homemade glitz,
and dime store treasure,
macaroni stars,
a fuzzy cat,
a toy soldier doing splits.
Baby’s first Christmas,
a stained glass Rudolph,
a paper candy cane,
a shiny little bell.
There’s even a place for a musical crèche
that plays O Little Town of Bethlehem.
Looking down with a smile
from above it all
our golden angel
presides.
Christine Bloom
gloria watts
December 17th, 2011 3:37pm Report this commentHi Chris
A nice Christmas poem, it sounds like fun in your house.
Gloria
Honoria Connolly
December 27th, 2011 1:07pm Report this comment'Twas the night before Christmas
As I ran through the house
I could hear Mother shouting
"Dad you're a louse!
I asked you three months since to repaint this room"
And so saying she lunged at him
waving a broom.
My Father cowered and begged her to pardon
his tardiness, laziness - then ran to the garden.
He flung the shed into mad dissarray
Then brandishing paint pots came running my way.
He flung me a brush and as one we set to,
And whilst Mother berated, how the time flew!
And on Christmas day morn
All covered in paint,
we raised up our glasses and in voices still faint,
suggested a toast to paintpots and fear,
And a very Merry Christmas,
And a Happy New Year!
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