Pretend you are Andrew Motion, Poet Laureate of the UK, and compose an epithalamium in honor of the marriage of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker-Bowles!

Think of the orphans left by the Tsunami,
yet Camilla Parker Bowles will not be called mammy

by William nor Harry. What else can she grope for,
Princess Consort is the best she can hope for.

Though thousands die in an Iraq town
In England, the bedroom wall comes down

uniting Charles and dear Camilla,
at last they’re free to share one pilla

The Church of England might be frustrated
But they at least will be consecrated.

England’s bells will ring in joy
We'll pray she does not birth a boy.

What they see in each other is quite a mystery
from self, from sense, from history


[This message has been edited by Florence Campi (edited February 11, 2005).]

Epithalamium for Charles and Camilla

For Chuck and Cam, this is your Epithalamium.
Because dear Prince, you couldn't marry Mum,
you're going to marry someone similar.
At last, you'll be wedded to Camilla!

Christopher T. George

[Deleted--I started feeling bad about having so cheerfully crucified someone, especially during Lent.]


[This message has been edited by Julie Stoner (edited February 12, 2005).]

Well done Charlie, it’s not before time
you sorted it out, and made her thine.
The situation’s really got out of hand,
so bug*er the Abbey, and a Coldstream band.

Just whisk her off, down the Town Hall
a few quick words, and a telephone call
to your Mum to tell the deed is done.
Then back to Highgate for a bit of fun.

King Charles III has a odd sort of ring,
but Queen Camilla can be no such thing.
Don’t worry your Consort’s a first class wife,
and the Queen will outlive you, I’d bet my life.




[This message has been edited by Liam O'Connor (edited February 11, 2005).]

History, Race Horses and Royal Marriages

It’s said that history repeats itself
But it seems that’s not quite true;
Camilla will marry her Prince of Wales,
which Alice couldn’t quite do.

She got the shaft when he married Di
Or didn’t, at least in those days.
But they’re doing it now and the Queen be damned
Who will bless them anyways.

But Charle’s not the fool he oft seems to be
Though kings never need be elected;
He checked out the polls ere saying ‘I do’
To be sure not too many objected.

But Anglicans are as Anglicans do
So he’ll marry his little divorcee
But he may find she’s not been broke to the saddle
When he tries to reign his new horsie.

She may never be queen, consorting about
This facsimile among England’s Jewels;
But there will be one fact never in doubt:
There’ll still be one subject she rules.



[This message has been edited by Jerry Glenn Hartwig (edited February 11, 2005).]

Epithalamion

Camilla Parker Bowles
marries the Prince of Wales,
the last bucket of coals
to warm the least of males.

Charlie's Angels

He didn't love Diana.
He married her just the same.
Oh what a sorry man a
famous future king became!

He truly loved Camilla!
Thank God Diana died!
And now it is God's will a
famous consort be his bride.

This is much too nasty. I actually bear CPB no animosity. But the stateliness of the limerick seems suitable to the occasion...

There'll be no throne for the witch
who kinked the royal hitch.
The prince and the land
are both second-hand,
so she can't be queen, just queen-bitch.

O let the tumpets blare a royal blast.
Prince Charles shall wed a Parker-Bowles! At last
the fate that Britain's upstart church will meet
will cause the world to marvel. In the street,
no riots will be mounted. Heads will roll,
but roll with laughter. For the Prince will stroll,
one day, into Westminster Abbey, where
they'll place a crown upon his thinning hair.
And, in that moment, Charles will be not just
the King; he'll be chief priest. And when the dust
has settled, in that Kingdom over there,
the world will see that none in Britain care.
The Church born when another King was wed
unto another strumpet will be dead.