Lucy Vickery

Spectator competition winners: Jeremy Corbyn’s sonnet for Diane

Spectator competition winners: Jeremy Corbyn’s sonnet for Diane
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The invitation to submit poems written by the Labour party leader was initially inspired by the recent publication by Shoestring Press of an anthology of Poems for Jeremy Corbyn. But another excellent reason to set this challenge is that Mr Corbyn does actually write poems: ‘I do write quite a bit of poetry myself,’ he told an audience at the Arcola Theatre in Dalston.

The entries came in thick and fast and the standard was terrific. Honourable mentions go in particular to Brian Murdoch, Paul Carpenter, John Whitworth, Rip Bulkeley and Josh Ekroy.

The winners below are rewarded with £20 each.

David Silverman

Shall I compare thee to Theresa May?

Thou art more lovely and more socialist:

More Corbynista thou than fashionista;

More fair art thou to me, in every way.

Stay by my side and be my Frida Kahlo;

Oh, come and be my red under the bed,

Or, in th’immortal words of Gary Barlow

Stay with me, girl, we’ll rule the world instead.

Join Strictly — give it everything you’ve got!

Your grace would put Ann Widdecombe to

      shame —

Go for it! Put the Trot into foxtrot,

The sex into Home Secs — are you not game?

Though traitors sneer, I’ll always be your fan:

We’ll keep the red flag flying here, Diane.

Bill Greenwell

if you listen to the usual rumours

spread by the old Tory blues

you shouldn’t eat pitta & hummus

      not even in sensible shoes

hummus is wrong to be seen with

      on platforms, it isn’t too kosher

‘the garbanzo is a bad bean’: myth

      you read in a Way Forward brochure

if you’ve had conversations with hummus

      & lent your best name to its cause

it’s as if you are carrying tumours

      & slavering out of your jaws

so support hummus today my friend

      though they lay it on with a trowel

when they denounce us, we do not offend

      while they’re using the wrong vowel

Max Ross

I’m Jeremy Corbyn, my hero is Robin

Though people believe I’m a hood;

But take it for sure that I’ll side with the poor

And all my intentions are good.

I challenge the rich as a saint does a witch,

And a city man suffers my jeers,

While rebels who strive for the freedom to live

Are the heroes who merit my cheers.

I am Jeremy plain who asserts his disdain

For the grandees who trample us down;

And of course I abhor every mention of war

For to fight is the way of a clown.

There are bits of the beast in a bishop and priest,

And religion is long out of fashion.

But strange to relate one exception I make:

An Abbott can stir up my passion.

Merryn Williams

Bliar, Bliar, burning bright,

In the pathways of the night,

How enormous is the lie

Can equal your depravity?

Spectre from a gruesome past,

You were first and now are last.

Now is now and then was then,

So please, don’t spit at nobler men.

Bliar, Bliar, thing of night,

Go to where the price is right.

Preach to others, not to me

Your gospel of depravity.

D.A. Prince

I’m one with the hopeless,

the plotless, the hapless,

the clueless, the viewless,

the low-key and sap-less.

I speak with the soft-voiced,

the muted, slow-thinking,

the muddled, deluded,

the seatless, the sinking.

I know there are bullied —

both beaten and whipped.

I wince when I hear of

their splits, the foul-lipped.

O Unity, blend us

together in bands

as brothers and sisters

and all holding hands.

George Simmers

I walked through dismal London streets

With Diane, hand in hand,

And sweetness filled our hearts, although

It was a Tory land.

For as we walked through Islington

We talked, as lovers do,

Of conference resolution

Composite 22.

Perhaps our love was too intense

And could not hope to last.

We parted. Much has happened since,

And toilsome years have passed.

Yet thinking of her now still brings

A stirring to my blood.

And that’s why I’ve promoted her

To shadow Amber Rudd.

Frank McDonald

If all the world was happy

And every pleasure free,

If rich and poor went arm in arm

I still would disagree.

If wars were all forgotten

And every kid could play,

If no one called a neighbour names

My tongue would holler ‘Nay!’

If kings went round in cotton

And beggars sported lace

I’d look around with careful eye

And see it as disgrace.

And though it may surprise you

To witness my success,

The reason for my rise to fame

Is never saying ‘yes’.

Your next challenge is to submit a resignation letter from God (150 words maximum). Please email entries to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 9 November.