In Competition No. 3075 you were invited to submit poems by Donald Trump.
The Beautiful Poetry of Donald Trump, which is the brainchild of Rob Sears, represents the fruits of Mr Sears’s efforts to find evidence of the President’s sensitive, poetic side in his tweets and transcripts. The verses in the book are stitched together from Trump’s own words, and promise to reveal ‘a hitherto hidden Donald, who may surprise and delight both students and critics alike’.
There were some excellent candidates for volume two in an entry in which haikus were especially popular —‘Terrible! Just found/Obama had my wires tapped./-McCarthyism!’ (John O’Byrne) — and which saw our poet-President draw widely on influences from Robert Frost and Walt Whitman to Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Joyce Kilmer (A.R. Duncan Jones: ‘I think that I shall never see/ A poem lovelier than Me’). And there was a spot of Longfellow too. Here’s Joe Houlihan:
By the door of Mar-a-Lago,
By his busty model daughter,
With the sun to keep his wig warm,
With the bien pensants all moaning,
The winners earn £30 each. Bill Greenwell takes £35.
Two roads, believe me, I must tell you, sincerely,
Only a loser would travel both of them really:
That would be frankly stupid, with stupid vision,
That was not a huge, not a huge decision.
I mean, they were practically the same,
Same as each other, different only in name:
A lot of people told me, you know, turn back.
But basically they were both the same track.
Both of them had phenomenal leaves, so nice,
Which by the way were not black, no dice:
What clowns would even think to return —
Only major major phonies, not my concern.
Very scary. I will tell you, in my second term,
About two vast ways, as my people confirm,
Diverging, in some sad, pathetic wood.
In all fairness, my choice was very very good.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love the way you talk. Incredible.
Tremendous. You use all the perfect words.
I love that you have got that big, big button
Because you’re President and they are not.
I love your large, large brain. I love the fact
That you’re so rich. That shows you’re really smart.
And also being rich means having money.
And money is a thing to buy stuff with.
I love your good-sized hands — and something else.
I love your daughter. Man is she a looker!
That rack! That face! She’s hot. I’d like to date her.
She’d probably date me if I asked. She likes me.
I’d write more, but I’m running out of space.
I love little pussy
(Not fake news! So true!)
And whenever I grab her
The rest all shout #MeToo.
Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the sparrow, with my bow and arrow,
Which of course he could not have done
If Robin had only had a gun.
There was crooked man
As crooked as can be
But nowhere near as crooked
As crooked Hillary.
Little Boy Blue
Come blow your recorder!
The cow’s in the meadow, the immigrants
Will soon be flooding in across our southern border.
In Xanadu did I decree a tower with a TRUMP marquee.
‘Good fences make good neighbours.’ See?
I think these woods belong to me.
In realms of gold, I guarantee
I’ve travelled more than Keats. Had we but world enough — I disagree
with that: just grab ’em where they pee.
I will arise. What’s Innisfree?
I placed a jar in Tennessee —they voted for me totally.
A poem shouldn’t mean but be.
Noah D. Plum
My voters all agree that I’m a very stable genius,
Well-balanced, even-tempered, with a truly huge IQ,
And though my lying enemies pretend I’m teenie weenious,
I’ve testimonials that prove my pecker’s massive too.
Believe me, I’m the brainiest of presidential giants;
I’m twice as smart as Washington, or Lincoln, or Obama.
My brilliant mind can see right through the hoax of climate science,
And yet I’m modest and polite, a diplomatic charmer.
I’m tolerant and welcoming, although there’s one exception:
I can’t abide those Mexicans, those criminals and papists,
And that is why I’m planning my gargantuan erection
To fulfil my oath of office and protect you from them rapists.
I use the very best of words, my speeches minted newly.
I bet you didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘avenious’?
It’s ‘nerveless’, like the leaves of certain plants —and like yours truly,
The greatest President of all, a very stable genius!
No. 3078: o come let us adore zhim
You are invited to submit a politically correct Christmas carol. Please email entries (up to 16 lines) to firstname.lastname@example.org by 30 November. The early deadline is because of the Christmas production schedule.