Spectator Competition: Our kid

In Competition 3367 you were invited to write a formal poem about the Brothers Gallagher (Noel and Liam). This comp was set before we had quite reached Oasis saturation point; possibly we’re beyond that now. There were more entries than usual and they were roughly equally split between those that expressed great joy at the reunion and those that weren’t even remotely bothered. A shout-out to Brian Murdoch, Bob Newman and Edmund Carver – and the winners below get £25.

When minstrel knyghtes forst gan maken melodye,

Two brother knyghtes, each of grete envyé,

Sire Noel, eldeste, meek, a gentil knyghte,

Sire Liam, yonge, a cur who loved a fyghte,

Abusioned lutes in every shire’s ende,

Of Engelond, where’er they wende,

To slaght hir rank ballads: yet alacke, one nighte,

Sire Noel struck his brother with grete mighte.

Upon his noggin with a lute ful brute,

And thus did breake hir bonde, and put hir noyse on mute.

For fifteen winters, bitter were hir layes,

Moping and moaning in grete drunken daze,

Till that Sire Noel took his brother by the honde,

And quoth, ‘Methinks there’s coin in our old bonde.’

And thus they played whil erst hir stryf was shorn,

For who could fighte with Wonderwall reborn?

Ralph Goldswain

‘What did you do on the day, Dad?’

The time of JFK?

Or when Apollo hit the Moon?

‘No – New Oasis Day!’

’Cause history’s been made this week:

Hotels can stay afloat.

The Gallaghers have saved the world,

Before they’ve sung a note!

They’re Jack-the-lads from Manchester;

Their hobby is to swear.

They love to strut in anoraks

And cultivate their hair.

Their fans say they’re the Beatles Plus,

While others hold their ears.

It doesn’t matter, though: they’re back –

Definitely? Maybe years!

Nicholas Lee

O scowling sourpuss lager gods, Oasis,

Thou feuding fraternal frontmen, Britpop lads,

O surly Noel and Liam of rockstar status,

Give us thy gigs at Wembley, you’ll earn scads,

Outdo fair Tay-Tay, don’t look back in anger,

Wild spirits, O Mancunian bards, bad boys,

O Morning Glory, belt us out a banger,

Give us thy Wonderwall, revive thy noise.