Already a subscriber? Log in
Did Petrarch find the sonnet was a pig,
Like trying to track the flight-path of a bat,
Or second-guessing a domestic cat?
My feeling is he often flipped his wig
And danced a desperate, frustrated jig
While shouting, as he trampled on his hat,
‘It’s only fourteen lines, but love a rat —
It’s worse than swallowing a rotten fig!’
At other times the sonneteer would lie
Hugging a pillow, face tomato-red,
And curse with each self-dramatising sob
‘This ABBA gubbins makes me want to die!’
Then suddenly he’d leap out of his bed
And find a rival poet’s verse to rob.
Basil Ransome-Davies
God help me, I’ve become a bloated pig,
An ugly goat, a slobbering old bat.
Where once I had the sleekness of a cat
I shuffle with a paunch. I wear a wig.
There was a time that I could dance a jig
Like Fred Astaire in evening-dress and hat,
But now I creep in corners, like a rat,
And those I once called friends don’t care a fig.
I’m something of a freak, I cannot lie;
My chins are many and my nose so red
That when I’m near a looking-glass I sob.
I often think it would be nice to die
Free of life’s tortures in a feather bed
When winters beat and batter, mug and rob.
Frank McDonald
They dined that evening on a roasted pig,
As ‘round the room bright badinage they’d bat.
One lady praised her precious Persian cat,
Another ridiculed her husband’s wig.
A trio played a well-known lively jig,
An Irishman cavorted with a hat;
And absolutely no one smelled a rat,
As each enjoyed a compote made of fig.
This friendly fellowship, it gave the lie
To what was taking place. And then, Code Red!
Confused and startled, some began to sob,
Who quickly realised that they would die.
The night Titanic found her icy bed,
How many people of their lives she’d rob!
Mae Scanlan
My name is Tom. When young I stole a pig
And fled from harm more swiftly than a bat
Whose cave has been invaded by a cat.
We held a feast where father, in his wig,
Piped all his tunes (three hornpipes and a jig)
And mother wore her Sunday frock and hat.
No table scraps were left for mouse or rat
Except a piece of apple and a fig.
Next day the farmer came. I tried a lie
To no avail. He beat me black and red,
And everyone who heard me howl and sob
Assumed that I was surely going to die.
I now am old and wise and, from my bed,
I tell my children’s children not to rob.
J. Garth Taylor
‘This heinous crime I deem preposterous, pig!
To sell your worthless ring and not to bat
An eyelid having fleeced this owl and cat…’
Here paused the judge to readjust his wig
Whereon the guilty pig began to jig
About, now fearful of the beak’s black hat!
The judge resumed, ‘You’re just a thieving rat
And, ringless, look like Adam minus fig-
Leaf — starkers, naked as a barefaced lie!
Small wonder that your chubby cheeks glow red,
It cuts no ice with me to see you sob,
The sentence of the court is that you die
And with these words I put the case to bed:
To charge this pair a shilling was to rob!’
Alan Millard
My father eructated like a pig.
My mother was the local mad old bat.
My brother’s thing was torturing the cat.
My Auntie Gladys wore a pubic wig.
My sister mooned the neighbours for a jig,
Then pulled her pants up and passed round the
hat,
While Uncle Bruno carried a dead rat.
My god, it stank. He didn’t give a fig.
But that was normal living then — no lie.
We broke the law, were always in the red
And made successive social workers sob
Disheartened tears when told ‘piss off and die’.
Myself, I guzzled vodka while in bed
And dreamed of the next rich git I would rob.
G.M. Davis
No. 2749: Jubilee lines
You are invited to submit a poem, written by a poet laureate from the past, to mark the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee (16 lines maximum). Please email entries, where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 21 May (the shorter deadline is because of a Jubilee double issue).
Also in Society
Also by Lucy Vickery
Latest
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in