COMPETITION 6: NEW LAUREATE
You were asked for a woman’s-eye view on any royal event great or small. Executions featured strongly, though not always “lightly,” only one making it to the final cut. Many of you saw an opportunity for some saving of the royal sherry by having the present Monarch write her own. But, disappointingly, none of the entries sounded as though they might have come from our newly-installed Ms. Duffy. ( Can she be considered to have arrived until she has “featured” in Lighten Up Online? )
The Royal Jelly goes to Mae Scanlan, splendidly reverential despite tongue being stuck far enough into cheek to require surgery. All the others appearing below receive a regal wave, while the remaining participants are regretfully requested to leave the room backwards on this occasion but to return, please, for future audiences.
The Royal Pedigree
The schools are shutting down today,
The government is closing.
The shops are locked, and so will stay.
It's not what you're supposing.
There's been no threat of germ nor bomb,
No terror from the skies.
The mood is high, the city's calm,
Awaiting a surprise.
The Queen, at quarter after one,
Will make a proclamation:
She's crossed two canines, just for fun --
A dorgi's joined the nation.
The world is full of woe and strife,
And, as the mideast boils,
A little dorgi comes to life.
Thank heaven for the royals!
One's Right Royal Week
Monday is One’s washing day, One’s robes upon the line.
Phillip turns the mangle. One hopes the sun will shine.
See the PM, Tuesday; the dullest of the lot.
(One gets depressed for Britain. Is he the best we’ve got?)
Dust my crowns on Wednesday, orb and sceptre too.
Privy Council, Thursday. What a tiresome crew!
Open buildings, Friday, with nice gold-plated keys;
chat to boring do-gooders and plant a lot of trees.
A day at home on Saturday. There’s Racing on TV.
Then bloody Duchy biscuits with Charles for Sunday tea.
Imran T Parrek
Presentation of the Royal Card
The Royal Train, the Royal Flight,
The Royal Fleet of Limousines;
How gracefully they showed the right
Prerogative of Kings and Queens.
How high their carbon footprints when
'Like Royalty' was standard praise;
We subjects knew our place back then
While they drove past to cheers and waves.
Time takes his flight; he, too, is fleet,
And after Disestablishment
Some form of travel more discreet
And greener is the State's intent.
Today with ceremony scant
(Brown envelope, a lack of fuss)
Her Majesty receives this grant:
Her card for travelling by bus.
D A Prince
The Dissolution of the Monasteries
The state of play in 1540 has us at a loss;
The men of Tudor England aren't worth a bloody toss.
We've had our share of ne'er-do-wells and layabouts and drunks;
If someone's closing monasteries, send us all the monks.
A monk will gladly do his share of chores and never whinge,
Not straying to the racetrack or his local for a binge.
And modest, too -- he'd never brag of all his sterling habits,
So if you're shutting abbeys down, then save us all the abbots!
The King may want the assets, and he's welcome to the land,
But decent men are hard to find, one has to understand.
Perhaps he thinks this day and age no worse than any others,
But here we are, reduced to seeking husbands of our Brothers!
It's true, there's some who wouldn't find a monk a perfect match;
Some gals won't view a chap who's vowed to silence as a catch.
However, quiet bookish blokes trump blusterers and liars,
So shutter up the friaries and let us have the friars!
Same Time Next Year
I've timed the turkey perfectly
We're tucking in with yuletide glee
On track as far as I can see
For us to watch The Queen.
Don't eat the pud then. Pull a cracker.
Mind that wine ! You want Jim Hacker ?
Gran, you're sitting on the zapper -
Switch on for The Queen.
It's five past three. I'm ready now.
We've missed the first bit anyhow
Oh, don't make such a bloody row
I can't quite hear The Queen.
You're not a royalist. But hey
We all know what she's going to say
There'll be the highlights anyway
To say we've seen The Queen.
“Let them eat cake,”
Was a dreadful mistake,
When the peasants were pleading for bread.
But much worse, by far,
Was the fashion faux pas
On the day that they cut off her head.
‘Pon the feared guillotine,
The sartorial queen
Didn’t take her black dress to her grave.
Instead, she wore white,
An incongruous sight
That the peasantry never forgave.
COMPETITION 7 : “Thank you so much for the lovely …”
You have sent a modern high-tech Christmas present to a well known poet, past or present. You are asked to reveal the thank-you letter which you received -- while not forgetting to indicate who it came from, please. (Maximum 16 lines)