For Competition 3415 you were invited to submit a lost poem by a well-known poet which makes us see him or her in a new light.
There is space only to commiserate with unlucky losers Elizabeth Kay, Alex Steelsmith, Sophie Hannah, Ralph Goldswain and D.A. Prince. The winners below take the £25 John Lewis vouchers.
I am an atheistic chap. I like to trash the psalter,
And lay some tins of Spam across each silly harvest altar.
On every reredos I carve graffiti with my Stanley.
God is dead and anyhow the Devil is more manly.
The architecture of a church is frankly rather fussy,
But in I go, because the verger’s daughter is a hussy.
We start with some communion wine (a boozer is our Tiffany),
And after every evensong we have a fresh Epiphany.
They say I am the poet of suburban rail or housing,
But honestly I find free verse in Filey more arousing –
The ad-men pay me pots of dosh to write their stupid jingles.
I spend it on White Lightning and on different tubes of Pringles.
They handed me the Laureate when it was in the offing –
You have to write some royal tripe, and do some titfer-doffing,
But when the Windsor Hand is opened for you, better bite it.
The spin-off cash comes rolling in the moment you are knighted.
Bill Greenwell/John Betjeman
I love kittens, fluffy, cheery,
Scorn the creepy, dark and eerie,
Give me pink bows made of velvet,
Rainbows, sprinkles, I implore,
Unicorns, their gold wings shining,
Frilly pillows for reclining,
Floral swings with roses twining, vining;
Wild for cottagecore.
Here’s to tea-lights in December,
Being a boy band fan-club member,
Pour me bubbles and remember;
Leave your Goth crap at the door.
I crave sparkly disco ponies,
Baking cupcakes with my cronies,
ogling fashion at the Tonys,
Poe, macabre? Nevermore!
Janine Beacham/Edgar Allan Poe
The wind blaws weet frae Aberdeen,
It comes down skelpin, gleg, and keen,
Chills yowe and tup.
I’ve no idea what those words mean.
I make them up.
My rhyming brings in muckle dough
If I use words folk dinnae know,
But sound like Scots.
They think it’s all authentic, though
I’ve made up lots.
But now I have to slake my drouth
For betterment, and move down south,
Where it’s less cool.
I think perhaps I’ll try Bournemouth
Or maybe Poole.
Brian Murdoch/Robert Burns
I don’t remember Adlestrop
And why? For I was never there,
Aware that rural idylls sell
I used the railway map, I fear.
I found that lines on willow-herb
And meadowsweet, when written down
Would satisfy my readers, while
I never ventured out of town.
Yes, London’s where I like to be,
A sideline helps to make ends meet,
I run a high-class massage place
Discreetly housed in Jermyn Street.
I’ve never heard a blackbird sing,
I praise the sound with hollow words,
And Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire?
Enough, I’ll leave them to the birds.
Sylvia Fairley/Edward Thomas
I watched his inspiration burn,
I watched it through that autumn night,
I saw, thus fired, his genius turn
From red to gold to searing white,
And well I knew that when it came,
The lucid tenor of the day
Would loose three hundred line, aflame,
To scald my lesser works away
And so a mariner I found,
A Porlock man, who’d left the seas,
Paid him to call and wait around
And talk of bills and tithes and fees;
Poor Sam – he keenly felt that loss,
Just fifty lines – a codicil;
Yet still he has his albatross,
And I still have my daffodils.
Nick Syrett/William Wordsworth
My Lady, let me now confess
A wrong for which I make redress
Since sadly, if the truth be told,
’Twas I who was more coy than bold.
Had I the choice, I would be chaste,
Yet, urged by thee to act in haste,
Thou bade me satisfy thy need
By acting with unseemly speed.
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near
Filled thee, not me, with dread and fear,
I chose to tarry, unlike thee
Whose lust demanded urgency.
But, thinking men might deem me lame
And wanting not to suffer shame,
I claimed thy coyness were a crime
When I, not thee, didst play for time.
Alan Millard/Andrew Marvell
No. 3418: Trivial pursuits
You are invited to provide a pompous leading article on a trivial subject (150 words maximum). Please email entries to competition@spectator.co.uk by midday on 24 September.
Comments