Lucy Vickery

Nonsensical | 16 June 2016

In Competition No. 2952 you were invited to submit nonsense verse of up to 16 lines on the subject of the EU referendum. So, as if you hadn’t had quite enough nonsense for one referendum — on stilts or otherwise — here’s another helping; though hopefully one that will make you smile rather than snarl. The winners pocket £25 apiece and Bill Greenwell snaffles £30.

When mithimade is allbijove
Beneath a grayling moon
Then hoey is the borigove
And wethers are in spoon
 
When dunkum smit is gallowade
Between the moggs and rees
Ah join the giselous parade
That bothams up the crease
 
How priti are the villiers
Out whitting in the dales!
How teehee utlier the furze
And dahlia the mails!
 
Now tebbitly the daltreys sound
To icke a trimble margin
Now pole the deling kippers round
That all may be faragin
Bill Greenwell
 
’Twas brexit and the merkyl foes
Did corbinate ’gainst lyb and labe.
All quipsy were the borisgoves
And the eukalips outgrabe.
He took his spressie sword in hand;
Longtime with brussel brouts he fought;
On refugees by the kalaytrees
He snirked in puffish plot.
And hast though slain the Kamberon?
O brexit joy, O gabrous gains!
For now we’ll close the chunni gate
And screep the euric chains.
’Twas brexit and the merkyl moaned
In tadish tant and uffish shout,
And while the Osbo grieved his loss
The flabrous brits danced out.
Frank McDonald
 
Jiggery pokery,
Inners and outers;
Mirrors and smokery,
Shouters and doubters.
 
Numbery dumbery,
Pick-your-own figures;
Zeroey summery,
Fudgers and riggers.
 
Puffery addery,
Texters and posters;
Battlebus gaddery,
Shysters and showsters.
 
Batey debatery,
Dingers and dongers;
Oh so light-weightery
Pingers and pongers.
W.J. Webster
 
The Eeyore reefer-rending woes
are multiplicious: neither toes
nor fingers will suffice to clot
this tarradiddliwobbly plot.
What rancid govishness, what bosh
of boorish doodle-dribbled tosh
can madify this horrifee
beyond the shores of Parody?
But Eeyorins are muffly too,
not compomens (like me, like you)
and not the sortlish commeel types
we’d want as chattipalli types.
We haver, luffish, feary-brink,
a blobblish floteabit or sink;
no votely folk would think to bless
the Prome who uprearraised this mess.
D.A. Prince
 
Said the Loris to the Bhorris: ‘Shall we dance a manic Morris
As we vote Remain in Britain’s referendum?’
‘No!’ the Bhorris told the Loris.















































































Already a subscriber? Log in

Keep reading with a free trial

Subscribe and get your first month of online and app access for free. After that it’s just £1 a week.

There’s no commitment, you can cancel any time.

Or

Unlock more articles

REGISTER

Comments

Don't miss out

Join the conversation with other Spectator readers. Subscribe to leave a comment.

Already a subscriber? Log in