In Competition No. 2929 you were invited to submit an acrostic poem containing some predictions for the next decade, in which the first letters of the lines read NOSTRADAMUS.
Although the forecast was bleak — no surprise there — a welcome smattering of more left-field prophecies made me sit up and take notice: Richard Dawkins finds God; A and Z amicably switch; Durham’s new bishop wins Miss UK; the Chilcot report is met with universal approval.
Commiserations to near-winners Sam Gwynn, G.M. Southgate, Brian Allgar, Katie Mallett and Alan Millard.
Those that just beat them to it are printed below and earn £15 each; the bonus fiver belongs to Bill Greenwell.
Neuter genders are declared at birth;
Oceans empty, seasides are extended;
Skinny’s out. A whistle welcomes girth,
The fat are fêted; diets are suspended.
Religions blend: one God becomes another.
As graveyards overflow, cremation’s law.
Dictatorships decide who was your mother.
All email melts (what no man can restore).
Mammon is a gameshow. Churches fail.
Undead, the Queen outlives the Prince of Wales.
Sofa bargains hog the Easter sales.
Bill Greenwell
Norfolk is washed away in freak high tide;
Obesity’s the national badge of pride;
Storms and El Nino flatten half of Wales;
Train lines in France are blocked by giant snails;
Russia starts all-out war on state librarians;
America bans nuts and vegetarians;
Drought wipes the humble olive off the earth
And decimates the struggling euro’s worth;
Mosquitoes grow immune to pesticide
(Uzbekistan’s the only place to hide.)
Sunspots turn frenzied and the Earth is fried.
D.A. Prince
New flags, new faiths tell less truth than we need.
Oppression wears the mantle of goodwill.
Serenity succumbs as cities bleed.
Theology becomes our cheapest thrill.
Radiant hope attends the darkest deed.
Assassins pray for yet more gods to kill.
Division and subtraction rule the day;
Addition has no space to multiply.
Mendacity and greed keep truth at bay
Until the springs of arrogance run dry.
Sages who speak in riddles still hold sway.
Chris O’Carroll
News from future world events:
Osama has risen,
Something Trump has said makes sense,
Tony Blair’s in prison.
Roy’s lads reach the knockout stage;
Arsène squares the circle.
Dalai Lama’s jealous rage
As Putin marries Merkel.
Murdoch spins and pulls the strings,
Ups the ante, runs the rings:
Some things are eternal.
Basil Ransome-Davies
Nets will intertwine to make
One vast, all-comprehending trawl
Some will strive but none shall break
The mesh that will entangle all.
Replacing human wit and skill
Automata the more progress:
Diabolic schemes will fill
A vacuum formed by idleness.
Most fearsome of the fates I see,
Unimaginably dark,
Shall be this last catastrophe: —
W.J. Webster
New measures will be found to stamp out crime.
On newly furbished railways, every train
Shall, guided by computers, run on time.
The NHS will start to work again.
Robots will service all our worldly needs.
Airports will ban those endless fenced-off queues.
Dictators will repent of all their deeds,
And Amazon will pay their fiscal dues.
Most of each summer, Britain will stay dry
Under a carbon-neutral friendly sky.
Scots will get independence. Pigs will fly.
Brian Murdoch
Never is the new now.
Oval is the new round.
Surrender is the new how.
Tossed away, the new found.
Running is the new walk,
Argument the new talk,
Daytime is the new night,
Anthems are the new psalm,
Murky is the new bright,
Urgent is the new calm.
Somehow all this serves us right.
Robert Schechter
Not much certain in the stars:
Order, chaos, earthly wars,
Summer snows and winter drought
Turning climates inside out.
Refugees a grave addendum,
Ayes or Noes for referendum.
Death picks off some rich and mighty,
April sees a Queen turn ninety.
Monthly moons and not one blue,
Unsurpassed space station view
Shows our world its self anew.
Alanna Blake
No. 2932: Doublespeak
We’ve done this for prose but not for poetry, so let’s have up to 16 lines of verse that are the fruit of a collaboration between two well-known poets, living or dead (please specify). Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 20 January.
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