Lucy Vickery

Two hander

In Competition No. 2871 you were invited to submit a dialogue in verse between man and God. The tone of the discourse was far from cordial, ranging from boredom and -disinterest to outright hostility. Here’s Alanna Blake’s disgruntled deity: ‘I’m old and growing deaf and very tired/ These are my final words: I have retired.’ Loss of faith, it seems, works both ways.

Honourable mentions go to Peter Goulding and Emma Mascarenhas. The winners below earn £25 each. W.J. Webster gets £30.

Forgive me, God, but might I know
What on Earth you do these days?
If you’re at work it doesn’t show
Even in mysterious ways.
You never make a prophet now
Or even send a modern text;
In parlous times you must see how
This leaves your creatures much perplexed.
There’s pious claim and counter-claim
By those who say they do your will:
But who acts truly in your name?
On that we wait for guidance still.
 
O, little man, presumptuous speck,
I have a Universe to tend.
The Earth is yours to save or wreck;
I only know how it will end.
W.J. Webster




 
I’m a resident of Thanet on a small and troubled planet.
I’ve two kids, a mortgage and a two-car garage.
I am anti-immigration and this creeping Euro nation
Makes me feel that our Messiah is Nigel Farage.
He’s a very British fellow, so convivial and mellow,
Who sounds just the kind of chap to rescue Blighty.
But the word is that he’s barmy, so before I join his army
I am seeking the advice of the Almighty.
 
I am glad to welcome mortals using cybernetic portals
To access omniscient counsel, safe and sure.
My purview is microscopic, though it’s rarely that the topic
Will turn out to be the


Poujadiste du jour,
But in trying to oblige I’ll adumbrate my views on Nigel
Without fear or favour, prejudice or rancour,
And in answer to your praying all my superpowers are saying
That this charlie is, at heart, a total banker.



























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