New Statesman -- updated poem -- October 3 deadline
 

No 4294
By Gordon Gwilliams
Take a well-known poem and update it, somewhat in the voice of the poet, on some aspect of contemporary life.
Max 14 lines by 3 October comp@newstatesman.co.uk

*Removed to avoid 'prior publication'*

Same as Rob

Our Tone

Let Tony tremble. What, that waste of words,
That bag of wind, that pot-pourri of turds!
Satire is wasted on a thing so horrid,
Such width of mouth, such exigence of forehead.
And yet it might seem seemly to rehearse
His venal criminality in verse.
He went to war. For why? He thought it sweet
When children cheered him into Downing Street.
Those cheers would sound still sweeter in Baghdad.
And so he went to war. He was not mad,
Just vain and sly. His project was to please.
If lies were needed he could lie with ease.
And now, deposed, dishonoured king of kitsch,
He licks the bottoms of the super rich.

On Last Looking into Hefner’s Playboy

Much have I traveled where no man grows old,
where surgically shaped women lie and preen
round sunny L. A. poolsides. As a teen,
I knew the narcissistic playbook cold,
and through my youth and midlife blithely trolled,
heedless of the geriatric scene.
Never thinking years would dull the sheen
of buxom Barbies in the center-fold,
I now feel like a scanner of dark skies
who looks for newborn starlets but finds porn;
or shriveled Hef himself, whose bloodshot eyes
see sirens in retreat—and charm outworn,
all lust a bust, hangs limp in his demise,
breathless, upon the Disney Matterhorn.

Would something that appeared in Light Quarterly a few years ago be eligible, and would I need to disclose it?

Yes it would and no you wouldn't. IMO.

Addicted to the Twitter

I have been one addicted to the Twitter.
I have clicked on the link—and left the link.
I have outclicked the tweeny Bieber litter.

I have now followed every friend I think.
I have retweeted tweets that I resent
or replied back—with LOL or with a ;) .

I have paused long to read a news event
When instantly a revolution’s birth
Came trending at me fast with all that meant,

But only while it trended high in worth;
And even then while reading on the shitter,
An unexpected trend for all the Earth

Revealed that #MYKIDRAUHLISNOTAQUITTER.
I have been one addicted to the Twitter


Edited:

L10: Changed "with" to "in"

Edna St Vincent Millay’s Sonnet XLIII
 

(which begins "What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,")

What slips my hips have split, and where, and why,
I can’t recall, and also what I ate
That raised my poundage to its present weight;
I read the scale, and then exhale a sigh.
From Frigidaire, I grab a turkey thigh;
My hunger pangs, I simply must abate.
I’ll start to diet on some future date;
This smells so good, I’ll give it just a try.

In bleak midwinter, I’m a big old broad
Three times divorced, and living all alone.
I recollect my sultry days of yore
And gnaw the thigh down to its very bone;
Back then, I turned the fellers’ heads, by God,
Then raid the fridge for just a little more.

That first line kills me. The rest is pretty good too.