Speccie: Night Music
 

The 'In a Jam' competition was won by Bazza who is on a roll at present. Chris O'Carroll took £25 and Bill Greenwell and Gail White just missed out. This week's comptition is good, in my opinion.

No. 2665: Night music
You are invited to submit a lullaby suitable for a modern child (16 lines maximum). Entries should be submitted, by email where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 15 September.

Who says I can't do leftie outrage?

Lullaby

Sleep tight, little mite,
Your Daddy’s at the bank.
He gets a 1000K for pay,
And, let me tell you, that ain’t hay.
Your life will be a holiday
And he’s the one to thank.

Sleep sound underground,
Your Mummy’s off her head.
Her fella’s given her a whack.
They’re sniffing glue, they’re smoking crack,
And Daddy isn’t coming back.
It’s better being dead.

Bummertime,
and the world is uneasy.
Fish are dying,
unemployment is high.
Oh, your daddy’s poor
but at least we’re not homeless,
So hush little baby,
don't you cry.

One of these mornings
you’re gonna go to college,
you’re gonna pay off loans
until kingdom come,
But till that morning
there ain't nothing gonna stress you,
So hush little baby
here’s a valium.

Hush my baby, don’t you cry my honey,
Daddy's in the boardroom making money,
Mamma’s at the spa doing Pilates,
Sister’s with her boyfriend being naughty,
Grandpa’s in a nursing home with granny,
but here I am, your dear old cyber-nanny.

LULLABY

Rock-a-bye baby,
have a good nap,
rest without knowing
the world's gone to crap.

Our currency's worthless,
the planet's too hot,
our leaders are clueless
and terrorists plot.

No hope for the future,
we're dug in too deep,
but rock-a-bye baby,
tonight you may sleep.

A Mother's Song
 

It doesn't matter when you sleep, but sleep.
The lights and noise ignite this life you keep.
It doesn't matter where you go, but stay,
and let me hope and think that you're okay.
It doesn't matter who you're with tonight,
or that this high has limited your sight.
It matters if you're frightened, or alone.
It matters that you won't pick up your phone.
It matters that I know you might not wake,
that "friends" might let you die for their own sake.
Your music, lights, your alcohol, your crack...
It matters that you know you can come back.

Stephenie, that is beautiful. If it doesn't win then that will be because it is too good for us. And if it doesn't win, try a proper poetry magazine.

Drills and amusements!
 

Much too good for the Speccie. Don't you dare send it there, Steph.

Wow. Thank you John and Steve. I'm pleased that you both like it. After reading Bazza's latest pieces, I considered this a rather banal little ditty, so I'm humbled by your responses.
Steph

It's breathtaking, Stephenie!