[Nigel Mace]

“The condition of ‘election fever’,
or electio febris, as experts”
(he blushes) “pace Gove, rather prefer,
can be most painful and occurs in spurts.

Opinion is, however, still much torn
on whether the affliction is acute -
(the virus spreading once May's sham poll's born) -
or chronic when June's outcome’s past dispute
and settles, like miasma of foul airs,
to choke folk’s now surrendered polity
and smother fairness in public affairs
with fair-wind only for the quality.

The remedy,” he beams, “is simply this -
‘No X for May!' Sweet as a Glasgow kiss.”

[Ann Drysdale]

Vote cheerio my deario

I am a jobbing poet, one
not known for being practical
but I can see how much depends
on good folk voting “tactical”.
It might demand a sacrifice
but surely there’s no doubt
that cheerio my deario
would get the lady out.

Don’t wring your hands and mutter
that a single voice won’t matter.
Come out and play your Xbox,
put the former in the latter.
Of course we’ll get Theresa
if our opposition’s lacking;
it’s cheerio my deario
that sends the lady packing.

The end is drawing nearer
and we have it in our sights
for cheerio my deario
could set the world to rights.
There’ll be dancing in the breaking dawn
that cannot come to soon
when it’s cheerio my deario
upon the ninth of June

(exclamation point - and thanks to don marquis)

[Jerome Betts]

Viva Ms Tacticality!

First Past The Post suits dinosaurs,
The two big outfits' droning bores.

So, yes, Ann, please do play your part
Upsetting T.M's apple-cart
As with your neatly-pencilled cross
You show the forked-tongued one who's boss.

We need an anti-Tory front
To sabotage her Brexit stunt.

Oh, from the Isle of Wight to Arran,
Vote for the LDs of Tim Farron
And leave the Crosby lies refuted
With May the shoe-collector . . . booted.

[Ann Drysdale]

Alas, Jerome, the time is out of joint,
whereon, I fear, you may have missed my point.
I mentioned "opposition", as you know,
but look! I spelled it with a little "o".
My cry is not to shun the two "king rats"
but to be smart and check your local stats,
using your vote to give the loudest shout
to those best placed to kick the Tories out.

(But thanks - your contribution made me see
that I must tweak my Flyte accordingly.)
.

[Jerome Betts]

Dear Ann, that times are truly fraught
Witness the Tory juggernaut
Crewed by a set of toxic blisters
Far worse than naïve Corbynistas.
Agreed, support the non-Con voice
In seats where it's the better choice,
So were I in some Midland place
With Labour second in the race
I might well even vote the rose
(A clothes-peg firmly on my nose.)

[John Whitworth]

What do I see in the old crystal ball?
Those fool Corbynistas are left with f*ck all.
Likewise the Lib’rals, the Welsh and the Scots.
The regrettable Tories will triumph by lots.
I’m sorry I won’t be around on that day.
I’ll be out there in Trumpland, the US of A
When grov’lling remoaners are finally toast.
No worries, my luvvies. I voted by post.
These verses are dogg’rel. Their rhythms are sh*te.
But their general prognosis is probably right.

[Nigel Mace]

Ann - of all the wise savants, a distressed lady might consult,
The regenerated cockroach seems a masterly result;
With antennae all aquiver, to tell flatulence from air,
So the bat-shit for May’s ‘Brexit’ is a surfeit to compare
With all deadly plagues before it
And the doggerel penned for it
Is an order of ordure past repair.

If you seek a dodgy ducker, May’s flight from the CPS
Makes most bankers look flat-footed, as they plan their own egress
From a London turned provincial, flogged to oligarchs whose purse
Funded last election’s buses, now more like the party’s hearse.
So… despite her cruel passion,
As a high-end heel for fashion,
Having collars felt by coppers could be worse.

She a leader for whom leadership means leaving out debate,
A parliamentary would-be Queen, in drag as Henry eight,
For she finds the Commons common, but would lord it in the Lords,
With tautologies quite sneering, and non-answers like records.
When Scotland’s MPs make her squirm
She fears their voters will confirm -
It’s her snap-poll snaps the Union afterwards.

While her kingdom's still united, let’s concoct a deadly plot
And combine the sense of millions to show millionaires what’s what,
For the ‘Brexiteers’, quite brainless, are spread over every seat,
So keep our voting tactical and we’ll hand them their defeat.
‘Euromania’s’ still the saner;
Let June show that May is vainer
And her Tory ‘Faragistas’ are effete.

[Douglas G. Brown]

'Tis April, but there's talk of booting May;
Though she's convinced that she'll survive the day
That's scheduled to occur in early June.
Will she prevail, or will her party swoon?

I have no clue, but I can still remember
How Yankeeland was Trumped in cold November
And though we now are warming up to summer
The Leftists here persist in whining "bummer".

Be you a cynic or a true believer,
Elections can create a torrid fever
Which contradicts all logic, rhyme, and reason;
But human folly's never out of season.

[Graham King]

Is it of 'General's alone the Muse dare speak?
What of the 'Council' band we chose last week?
I think that when democracy's in view,
The nearer is the clearer - and more true.
The paths we pace and roads we drive each day
Reflect neglect or duty; bills we pay.
More readily we bring accounts to roost
Of local folk whom to their posts we boost
Than of elected government far off,
However high and mighty (ahem, cough).
Let not Theresa or arbeiter Ruth
Defraud you of this basic civic truth:
Electing of a councillor is best
Done for their deeds, not party-boss behest.
So Bah! to Brexit - even Indy, too -
In lieu of bins; and pests who leave dog-poo;
And swimming-baths; and shops that empty lie,
While homes need building now - not by-and-by,
Our raters, planners, zoners make the call:
Quotidian the impacts of Town Hall.
And only those who show their worth near home
I'll rate as worthy to more widely roam,
To exercise dominion of state;
Let poo-bahs profitable prove, not prate.