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.
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