Eratosphere - Specc Comp Occasional

Competition: Occasional verse
LUCY VICKERY
SATURDAY, 19TH NOVEMBER 2011
In Competition No. 2722 you were invited to supply an all-purpose poem for state occasions. ‘What a strange competition,’ writes Elizabeth Llewellyn-Smith, ‘when the prize must inevitably go to Wendy Cope for her existing poem under the same title! Who is going to beat that one?’ Good point, Miss Llewellyn-Smith; Wendy Cope’s wry and witty poem does indeed set the bar high. In the event, most of you chose to play it straight, though there were a few notable exceptions. The winners earn £25 each. The bonus fiver is Brian Murdoch’s.

Lo!/Hail!/Arise!/Rejoice!/Kneel!/ Wonder!/Weep!
Let loyal crowds their loyal vigil keep
Along the route to our nation’s great shrine,
And let the sun be dimmed/ splendidly shine
In British skies, the weather heaven-sent,
For this (four syllables) sublime event!
Nor should the serried ranks forbear to cheer,
In honour of our great (insert name here),
As Britain lauds/remembers/mourns the fame
Of our beloved (title, rank and name).
We shall not see a day like this again
Nor share such memories/joy/nuptials/ pain,
Though generations fall and rise anew,
S/he will not be forgotten! (Will this do?)
Inscribe in gold this day of mighty deed!
(Delete, adapt or fill in words at need).
Brian Murdoch

We welcome/dread this glad/sad day of news
And duly from the following options choose:
Disaster, triumph, hope, despair, love, hate,
Birth, marriage, death, fair fortune or foul fate
Of monarch, saint or sinner, friend or foe
At home, abroad, in space, wherever so;
And, having from this list of options chosen,
Mark the day with hearts aglow or frozen;
He/she, they/this, now warrants, more or less,
For good or ill in failure or success
Hard/easy gained or given, soon or late,
Due dues on this occasion of the State;
So let us crown, for better or for worse
Our great/grim day with this Occasional Verse
Which may or may not speak to all or none
Of who or what was either lost or won.
Alan Millard

They’ve made me ‘Poet Laureate’, so I suppose I’m meant
to conjure up a piece for this spectacular event.
I’ll write a non-specific rhyme and that will always do
for any state occasion, never mind the ‘what’ or ‘who’.
Go, people, get your bunting out (except if someone’s died).
Let’s give the world a huge display of British national pride.
It will say ‘Made in China’ on commemorative stuff
but as it won’t be used for long, who’s bothered if it’s duff?
Wow! This is easy-peasy; now I’ve earned mysherry barrel.
The nation does expect. Let’s hope they say, ‘Fantastic, Carol.’
The ‘job’ demands I write auspicious poetry or verse
for all these pomp and circumstance affairs. It could be worse —
At least I haven’t needed to incorporate a name;
this general purpose poem fits the whole Firm just the same.
Jayne Osborn

As we travel in procession
Dressed in silks and rich brocade
May the nation’s celebrations
(Fanfare, feast and serenade)
Suit this fine occasion sweetly,
Act as harbingers of pleasure,
Of plenitude, and happy mood
Beyond what anyone may measure.

Let us join ourselves together,
Raise our voices to the rafters:
Pray the present will be pleasant
As the happy-ever-afters.
History and health combine
And may we always contemplate
The proper cause of our applause
In this right and royal state.
Bill Greenwell

Let us as one in grandeur celebrate
These memorable moments of our state;
With gravity observe those ancient rites
That held us strong through all our darkest nights.
Let us proceed with pomp and veneration
To show the earth the substance of our nation,
Her joys, her sorrows, and with humble mien
Pay homage to her majesty, the Queen.
From Britain’s towns and shires we congregate
Reflecting on the deeds that made us great,
Presenting to both old and youthful eyes
The evidence of former sacrifice
That led us here through tragedy and war
To be the noble people that we are.
And let us in our ceremonial way
Pour splendour on this memorable day.
Frank McDonald

Wider union, happy triumphs,
May we celebrate today,
Hail to thee Britannic mother,
Bless your children as they pray.

In these days we must remember
Warriors in heart and soul;
But we welcome diverse nations
Sons of toil from pole to pole.

Now we gather for the speeches,
And the politicians’ words,
Free of thought but full of fervour,
Beating ploughshares out of swords.

Next our voices rising higher
Express our hopes for better days.
Bless us all Britannic mother
As we sing thy love and praise.
Margaret Howell