[Jayne Osborn]

Clarification: After some slight confusion recently, I can confirm that the address for competition entries is, and will remain, comps@theoldie.co.uk


Let's hope we fare better with this one than with the last competition.

Jayne

From Tessa Castro:

Competition No. 157

Lots of public figures seem to be making apologies these day, for what they've said or not said. So a poem, please, called 'The Apology'. Maximum 16 lines.

Entries to 'Competition 157' by post (The Oldie, 65 Newman Street, London W1T 3EG), email (comps@theoldie.co.uk) or fax (020 7436 8804) by 16th November.
Don't forget to include your postal address.

[John Whitworth]

Yes, we didn't do too well, did we? Here's an old thing of mine.

The Apology

Tony Blair, who apologised for the Irish Potato Famine and the International Slave Trade, drafted the Queen’s apology to the Pope, though for what I cannot say.

I’m so sorry, oh so sorry, I’m so very, very sorry.
No-one else could feel the pain I do.
There’s no language I can borrow for the sharpness of my sorrow
For the sorry thing I did to you.

Oh I wish I hadn’t done it. No I never should have done it,
But I did it and I can’t say more.
I deplore it and I rue it and I wish I could undo it
Which I think is what I said before.

You’re so caring, you’re so clever, if you ever, ever, ever
Could endeavour to forgive me, then
What a wonder would our life be, how harmonious and strife-free,
For I’ll never be as bad again!

Well of course, my little treasure, my remorse is beyond measure,
And I’m sorrier than I can say.
And, my ickle-pickle poppet, should you just contrive to drop it
I’ll be sorry till my dying day.

[Jerome Betts]

An Apology

For what the other lot call lies
I really must apologise?

Oh, very well then, I regret
The burden of the monstrous debt
That’s put the country on the rack
And turned the tide of progress back.

The ins and outs of why and how
I fixed the Footsie and the Dow
Are matters that I chose to veil
By pruning half the paper trail?

True, those on whom this most impacts
Just can’t be trusted with the facts
But always wickedly distort
Each red-top rumour and report.

So, yes, I say, no shades of doubt,
I’m sorry . . . that I got found out.

[Jayne Osborn]

Am I sorry for what I did? Yes, of course.
I’m full of contrition, regret and remorse.
I’ve asked myself, Why? but I cannot explain;
with hindsight I know I had nothing to gain.

I’m chastened and penitent, suffering grief,
reproaching myself with renewed disbelief.
I’m licking my wounds and still nursing the pain.
I deserve the rebukes, the looks of disdain.

My conscience is stricken; I have to atone,
do penance and grovel. The fault is my own.
I rue that day now. Had I gone quite insane?
It’s poetic justice: I cannot complain.

They say that confession is good for the soul,
but humble repentance has taken its toll.
I’m sadder but wiser; from this ascertain
--it’s quite safe to say I won’t do it again!

[Brian Allgar]

Entertaining, one and all. But - Jerome apart - there seems to be a marked absence of what is being apologized for!

And isn't this a bit close to the NS semi-apology competition? Aside from the fact that it's verse, which I suppose makes all the difference.

[Jayne Osborn]

You think I'm going to admit to my 'crime', Brian?

Joking aside, there's no mention of saying what the apology is for - which I think is much more fun than having to 'come clean' and explain. We can all speculate about each other's misdemeanours instead!

Jayne

[Brian Allgar]

(I think this one should be dedicated to Chris O'Carroll, for reasons that he will understand)

They say I said some things, I don’t remember,
But if I said them, well, I guess I’m sorry,
And if I didn’t, there’s no need to worry -
They’ll all have been forgotten come November.

Maybe I spoke of bees within my bonnet?
That ‘forty-seven percent’ still rings a bell.
I may have talked of something else as well,
Although I can’t quite put my finger on it.

They say I said some other things I shouldn’t,
But let’s be fair, it’s several days ago.
I’d happily apologize, you know,
If I could just remember, which I couldn’t.

But I’ll be fine when shove ... err ... comes to push,
And you elect me to the gravy-train,
For presidents don’t really need a brain -
Just look at Ronald Reagan, or at Bush.