Bill Greenwell The Love Song of F. Ingvar Kamprad Now that you’ve unpacked my heart And checked that it’s complete, It’s time for passion. You may start By folding. Do not cheat.
Should you decide I suit your style — Convenient, well-packed — You might like this, well worth your while: My replica, exact.
Efficiency’s emotion squared, And repetition lust: I think you’ll find we’re well-prepared: I know you will adjust.
Come with me, heading one way round Love’s labyrinthine spree, With tea-lights twinkling, napkins found, And meatballs for our tea.
Chris O’Carroll The Love Song of Donald J. Trump The prowess you display, Vlad, I desire. At your crime-boss charisma I have failed. I am too weak, yet strongly I admire Your manliness. My heart you have impaled.
I wish I had the body to pull off Those hunky bare-chest poses you have nailed. You shed your shirt, my humble hat I doff And feel my heart swell, proud to be impaled. While you are iron-fisted and serene In power, I have floundered, flamed and flailed. Touch me, Vlad, make me icy, hard and lean Like you whose ruthless thrust my heart impaled.
You’re no apprentice in this power game. You’re tough, no loser, but a great prevailer. I won’t get my fair chance to make my name Until I’m more like Vlad, my heart’s impaler.
David Silverman (with apologies to Bon Jetjeman) The Love Song of William Archibald Spooner Cleverly Bark! Oh Cleverly Bark! I love to say Plingles with Cleverly Bark. The height of her sack-band, Her smerve and her sash, Her verve and her solly Wring me out in a brash. She makes Greffi and Jilly-Bean King Look like amateurs — Her praises I’ll sing in tactylic detrameters: Oh Cleverly Bark, my sweet Cleverly Bark, After the Dennis we tive in the drarque! We sink in the drummer-house, rest leery whims With a reeky Chioja, a pugful of Jim’s; Dovey-lovey, our stround grokes derfect in the park And now I’m swetrothed to beat Cleverly Bark.
Max Ross The Love Song of Oscar Wilde I do not wear an earthly coat For earthly coats bring shame, But here I can announce the love That dared not speak its name.
I loved a Lord and foolishly Believed love conquers all. I dined with panthers but forgot That even great men fall.
The ‘De profundis’ I composed Wore sentiments of sorrow; I lingered in the painful past Ignoring my tomorrow.
Tomorrow came and brought the joy That heaven’s laws allow. I have that nameless love again: He sits beside me now.
Philip Roe The Love Story of Jeremy Clarkson My love is an elegant model But she’s cold and she won’t even start. I lift her bonnet back out of the way And try to look into her heart.
Oh! Why does she whine when we’re going And go chattering on when we stop? Is it water she needs, or a new set of leads? Or should I be lifting her top? She requires frequent changes of gear Whenever we go into town.
Is her belt a bit tight? Is the timing not right? Or should I be stripping her down?
Get it wrong and she’ll not go again. Give up and forever I’ll dream Of the double-declutching we might have enjoyed, The emission of spirit and steam.
Alanna Blake The Love Song of Winston S. Churchill Let us go now, me and you, Which in this case makes three not two; Let us follow, through the mindless fog And exhaust-polluted air, my Black Dog Sniffing at lamp-posts for answers. There will be no time beside the river In that undiscovered country Where ignorant leaders clash beside Gaping graves of the living dead.
I am on my own but not alone Your heart is grown to precious stone. Bring me my arrows, bring me my spear, Bring me brandy. We will fight on the beach, Excalibur will rise from Thames Reach.
In the Cabinet appeasers come and go, They dare not call for me, I know.
Your next challenge is to provide a (longer) sequel to the six-word story ‘For sale: baby shoes, never worn’, which may or may not have been written by Ernest Hemingway. Email entries of up to 150 words to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 28 February.
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