Jubilant Voices (Poetry Form 84: Chant Royal)

It is a day of national celebration

Of circumstance and pomp and pageantry

We all will come together as a nation

To celebrate the Diamond Jubilee

To be our sovereign for sixty years!

Her Majesty, of course, deserves our cheers

We come together to enjoy this day

There’s bunting over every street. Hooray!

At all the ships along the Thames we stare

We do not mind how much we’ve had to pay,

So pleased that in this special day we share.

I never did so well in education

I didn’t go to university.

I haven’t really got an explanation

But academia was not for me.

But now I need a job and it appears

I am unqualified, and in arrears

The people at the jobcentre all say

On benefits I can’t just sit and play

I’ve got to work for nothing on ‘workfare’.

They tell me what to do. I say ‘OK’.

So pleased that in this special day I share.

There’s so much unemployment and inflation

The country is a shambles, honestly

From all this stress, we need a nice vacation

Something to take your minds off it, you see!

Ignore your empty cupboards, dry your tears,

And drink her health in heavily taxed beers!

In olden times, the ancient Romans, they

Would call this ‘Bread and Circuses’: a way

To stop you thinking ‘this is so unfair!’

The celebrations make you want to stay,

So pleased that in this special day you share.

I find it hard to master my frustration

I just don’t know why everyone can’t see

They seem indignant at my indignation

They think that in this country we are free

The most oppressed, the immigrants and queers

Are dancing in the streets despite the jeers

They seem to think the Queen loves them today,

As they love her. Such trust she will betray!

Instead of partying, we should prepare

For revolution! Havoc! Join the fray!

So pleased that in this special day we share.

This outpouring of love and adoration

All of this fuss and nonsense, just for me!

I’d rather spend my time in contemplation

For once, not be the Queen, but simply… be.

I know I haven’t got long and the fears

Are growing as my final hour nears

I know I cannot ask them if I may

Just sit and have a nice cup of Earl Grey

And boycott this ridiculous affair.

No, I can never, ever disobey.

So pleased that in this special day I share.

It’s nearly done, This opulent display

Of privilege, this royal cabaret

But those of us who question it, beware

They do not like to hear us saying ‘nay’

So pleased that in this special day we share.

Obligatory Jubilee Poem (Poetry Form 83: Rhyme Royal)

Today, I’ve hardly thought about the Queen.
I’ve cooked, and read, and walked and watch TV,
Cop shows and mysteries have graced my screen.
I’ve so far dodged the Diamond Jubilee.
It’s very nice, I’m sure, but not for me.
“Congratulations on not being dead!”?
I don’t see why this can’t remain unsaid.

I could join in the street parades and cheers,
Bake cupcakes iced in red and white and blue,
The Queen’s been on the throne for sixty years!
Well, it’s a job for life, she always knew
She’d not get sacked. She’s not like me or you.
And though it seems indelicate to mention,
No-one expects the Queen to draw her pension.

If she had had to fight for her position,
If she was not the Queen because of birth,
There’d been an interview, or an audition.
She’d had to show the country what she’s worth
If she had shown us grit and wit and mirth,
For sixty years, well then she could expect
The likes of me to show her some respect.

I’ve hardly thought about the Queen today.
I really hope that she enjoys the fun.
But seriously, all I want to say
Is Liz, what is it that you think you’ve done?
Got married, and produced at least one son?
Forgive me, Ma’am, this isn’t said in hate,
But what the fuck is that to celebrate?

There Are Mean Teachers (Poetry Form 82: Bref Double)

The bref double consists of three quatrains (four-line stanzas) followed by a final couplet. There is a rhyme scheme in there, but with quite a few unrhymed lines, too. I’ve also indulged in an enjambment-y rhyme at the end.

This is another one for the lads (see poem 81).

Some grown-ups like to work in schools
Because they think that kids are great
But others, I regret to say,
Are there because they love the power.

Some teachers think that doing sums
And always keeping all the rules
Are more important than ideas
That it’s a waste of time to play.

Grown-ups who think like this are fools…
But you can’t tell your teacher that!
When you’re grown up you’ll have the tools
To never talk to kids that way

Some teachers can be stupid, cruel.
So laugh at them. You’ll be OK.

Three Boys (Poetry Form 81: Quatern)

This is yesterday’s poem. It couldn’t get written then, because it was too busy happening.
It’s for Cai, Ethan and Foley, and it’s a quatern.

One six, one seven, one eight years old
Experience the festival
The tastes, the sights, the sounds, the smells,
Intrepidly they try them all.

The rain begins to fall upon
One six, one seven, one eight years old.
They shelter in a treasure trove
Of stories, overwhelmed with choice.

A cafe or a barbecue?
A taxi ride? Expensive food?
One six, one seven, one eight years old.
Discover nothing’s set in stone.

A house and garden full of treats,
A piano and a giant dog,
Descended on with gusto by
One six, one seven, one eight years old.

PRIDE (Poetry Form 80: Acrostic)

Here’s a very cynical acrostic. I don’t always feel like this about it.

Political, well, once upon a time,
Rights fought for, sometimes won, sometimes denied,
Identities once thought to be a crime
Drinking and dancing till the fervour died –
Erosion of the thing we once called Pride.

Sorry About This (Poetry Form 79: Spenserian Stanza)

Not only is this poem self referential
It’s also over forty minutes late.
I’m not asleep yet which is providential,
Or I’d have two tomorrow, which I’d hate.
I hope that nobody has had to wait
To read this poem – please don’t make a scene
It may stay in an incompleted state
Just like Spenser’s great work The Faerie Queene
Which is the only place these stanzas have been seen.

I don’t know if that’s true. There may be more.
Perhaps all Spenser’s poems were like this
It’s not a form that I have seen before,
Nor is it one that fills me up with bliss,
I feel that I am now taking the piss:
I shouldn’t let this poem go to waste
Oh well, at least the rhymes are not amiss.
I’ve typed this out exhausted and in haste.
It’s not quite 1 am: against the clock I’ve raced.

Snake (Poetry Form 78: Diamanté)

This is less a poetry form and more a beginner’s writing exercise, as it is very prescriptive, but extremely easy.

First you take a noun and a synonym or antonym for that noun. These are your first and seventh (last) lines.
Then take 2 adjectives to describe each word. These are your second and sixth lines. Likewise 3 “ing” words each for lines three and five. Line four is two adjectives describing the first noun, and two describing the last. I chose snake, as in any old snake, and serpent, in the biblical sense. I so chose all S words, but that’s not necessary.
You’d have to be a much better poet than I am to get anything really powerful out of this form.

Snake
Swift silent
Slithering, sneaking, slipping
Scaly, smooth, sibilant, sinful
Seeking, staring, seducing
Slick, sly
Serpent.

Honesty (Poetry Form 77: Unrhymed Limerick)

Ah, the Unrhymed limerick! Bastion of double entendre and innuendo.
This form relies on the reader or listener guessing an obvious or bawdy rhyme, and then substituting an innocuous but unrhymed ending. This isn’t perfect, as traditionally the first two lines should also be unrhymed, but it’s a lot harder than it looks! (eh? eh?)

Some folks aren’t too quick on the uptake
For they think I cause trouble and muckrake
They say I’m too upfront
When I call you a …character
But I’m just being honest, for crying out loud!

Sad Bee (Poetry Form 75: Ottava Rima)

A bit of utter nonsense, prompted by my delicately named twitterfriend @cunthorse, who wanted a poem about cheering up a sad bee.

This is ottava rima. It’s also ridiculous.

Be happy, poor despondent honey bee!
The sun is out and all the flowers are waiting
Why crawl halfheartedly around my knee
When you could be easily be pollinating?
The summer’s here! Don’t be a misery!
What’s happened here to make you so self hating?
Your life’s as sweet as honey, why not taste it?
By hanging round down here you’ll only waste it!

I should be be happy in the sun, you say.
I’d rather sit down here alone and lurk.
I go for nectar every bloody day
It isn’t joyful frolicking, it’s work!
No unions, no overtime, no pay
The queen will kill us if we’re seen to shirk!
I’m not depressed, I’m cross, so keep your distance.
I am a one-bee communist resistance!