[John Whitworth]

No. 2827: Dear Santa

You are invited to submit a Christmas list, in verse, in the style of the poet of your choice (16 lines maximum). Please email entries, where possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 2 December. Please note the earlier-than-usual deadline, which is because of our seasonal production schedule.

[RCL]

Quick—
1st—Draft

#2013

My dear Prodigious Elf
That time of year is near
To hope You’ll gift my self
With what I’d like—this year:

A feeder for my birds
Especially the Hummers—
Wingéd little bards
Choirs of my Summers.

On Wizards of the Word
Bestow the Wit to Weave—
Worthy Webs from Word-Hoards
Measures of Mankind's beliefs.

And help Her realize
How Chill a Life can be
Without the—brilliant—Smiles
She rarely shines on me.

Emily Dickinson

[Rob Stuart]

I do not wish for aught because the Lord
Hath always my heart’s stocking fill’d with cheer.
His love is life’s foundation and reward.
This paragon of gifts He gives all year.

Get thee behind me Santa, do not tempt
Ungratefulnesse in those whom God hath bless’d-
By the Almighty’s grace am I exempt
From death. In Heav'n shall I ever rest.

He moulded me this Earth to live upon,
And though I share it there is room enow.
O’er beasts He granted me dominion-
The platypus, the ferret and the cow.

The lighthouse of His tendernesse doth keep
My sinneful boat from ploughing into rocks.
All else is by these bounties render’d cheap-
But then again I wouldn’t mind some socks.

[Jayne Osborn]

That's brilliant, Rob!

I just read it out to my husband (he's never heard of George Herbert) but that doesn't matter; we both cracked up when I got to "Get thee behind me Santa", and again at the punchline.

This one's going to take some beating!

Jayne

PS. I like the slight changes - it's even better now.

[Rob Stuart]

Bless you Jayne.

[John Whitworth]

Who was it told us Santa was an anagram of Satan? And now for something completely different.

Dear Santa

O Fatso in the scarlet suit,
Send me a Patagonian flute,
A conjurer's collapsing hat,
A crystal bowl of passion fruit,

Lord Byron's favourite cricket bat,
(Lord, how I've always wanted that!),
A wedge of gorgonzola cheese,
A black-and-white performing rat,

An old straw hive of honey bees,
Three clockwork snails, complete with keys,
A jar of aromatic nard,
Most sovereign against disease,

An Ethiop's camelopard,
The skull of Søren Kierkegaard,
Of learned Søren Kierkegaard,
Sincerely, Robert Frost the bard.

If anyone can do that Danish o with a line through it in Soren I'd be most grateful. Danish? Swedish?

[Sylvia Fairley]

And Brian's too. Very clever. I think you do Lewis Carrol even better than he did!

[John Whitworth]

Who is Sylvia? Who is she? She's a honey, all agree.

[Brian Allgar]

Splendid, John. Perhaps it's a pity about the singular/plural rhymes in the last stanza. What about something like:

xxLast - I love those early-comers - send a girl of thirteen summers,
xxEre the curse of Death the Drummer's sent her ashes to a flask.
xxThis is all I have to ask

As for Sylvia Fairley, she is of course a distinguished name in the competition world. I suggested that she join the Sphere, on the grounds that "If you can't beat them, get them to join you."

[John Whitworth]

Brian, that last line is great. I'll pinch it. Ta ever so. I was mucking aroun with that for ages. I was reckoning 'bummer send' was OK, though of course the rhyme is not exact. But Poe doesn't always get his rhymes right.

Dammit! early-comers is good too. He did too, like many Victorians. And more people nowadays than you would think.