Noel Petty Lord Lundy lived for decades yet, His eyes still obstinately wet. He lived through wars and slumps and such And didn’t like them very much. One day, though, he was called to share The nuptials of a Royal Pair. There in the Abbey with his peers, Lundy broke down in joyous tears. It was a gift: the Press went wild — GRANDEE IN TOUCH WITH INNER CHILD! This New Age fashion grew with force And dry-eyed males were deemed quite coarse. He died, redeemed, in tears of bliss, A single stone declaring this: ‘Lundy, the weeping earl, lies here. Traveller, pause and shed a tear.’
Bill Arragan Charles Augustus Fortescue Continued all his Life to do Those Things that he believed were Right. Alas! His unquenched Appetite For Greasy Morsels made him fat; One day, he burst, and that was that. Detectives searching for Remains Found nothing but some rancid Stains.
This Moral should be understood: However Nice or Kind or Good You are, try never to indulge In Food that makes you Bloat and Bulge, And clogs your Arteries and Veins, For Bodies wax when Reason wanes. While Mutton-Fat is not a Sin, Obesity will do you in.
Alanna Blake You will recall young Sarah Byng Who would not learn to read a thing. Illiterate, but yet no fool, She found, escaping from that bull, That girls might gain some useful knowledge Without the bounds of school or college. She trawled through Wikipedia Then conquered social media. The cognoscenti all agog Would follow Sarah’s daily blog. Nor must my tale omit to mention How Sal secured her future pension: Identifying techies’ gaps And marketing ingenious apps.
For girls concerned with getting on The need for books has long since gone.
Rob Stuart ‘The Devil take you, Algernon, For what you’ve managed with that gun! You missed your sister, mild and sweet, By six or even seven feet! What utterly appalling aim! How can a father bear the shame?’ At this the boy essayed again And put a bullet in her brain. ‘Bravo!’ said Father, ‘Good for you! Now pop a cap in Mother too. Let’s wipe out all the household scum Before the Black Marias come.’ And later on in court that day A learned judge was heard to say ‘To Strangeways with this wretched pair!’ For all I know they’re both still there.
Bill Greenwell Lord Lundy, who was lachrymose, And scarcely ever Blew his Nose, Was readying to Set to Sea To rule the Convict Colony, When on the Quay, he kicked a stone And very nearly Cracked a Bone. While Lundy had a Frightful Blub, The Servant of a Soccer Club, Who chanced to see the Stone take Flight Signed Lundy up, and overnight His Weeping kept the Crowds enthralled. When their ‘Lord Luzza’, sent off, bawled, The fans, a most Surprising Mob, Cheered every single sorry sob. ‘A millionaire?’ the old Duke growled, At which Lord Lundy simply howled.
D.A. Prince But boys grow up. Godolphin saw If blacking boots is what he’s for Then Life is nasty, brutish, short And not as good as he’d once thought. He eyed his comrades, read some Marx, And pondered work was not all larks But deeply serious. More, their chains Could be cast off and down the drains.
More pay! Equality! He roared And terrified the Savoy Board. A boot-boy strike? The hotel quailed. The rich and well-shod wept and wailed. Godolphin won; he seized the day, Knew Workers’ Power was the way. He spread Red Flag Philosophy And now he runs the TUC.
Stephen Spender wrote a poem celebrating pylons as symbols of progress. Your next challenge is to submit a poem in praise of another modern-day blot on the landscape. Please email entries of up to 16 lines to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 3 June.
Comments