[Brendan Beary]

Bishop:
Get good at losing early on,
And you'll not miss things once they're gone.
I treat this as an art I've mastered --
I'm even over you, you bastard.

[Roger Slater]

Trees (Kilmer)

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
But God, as far as I can tell,
Unlike me, can’t rhyme that well.

[Roger Slater]

Au Lecteur (Baudelaire)

Of all the foul things you could mention,
pestilence, war and dissension,
it's easy to see that the demon Ennui
is the worst. Or at least in contention.

[Roger Slater]

Brendan, your Bishop may be a winner.

[Brendan Beary]

Glad you like it, Roger, though clearly the competition is going to be fierce.

One more before I force myself to give it up:

Shelley:
A giant statue used to stand;
It's toppled now. There's naught but sand
In each direction one may look.
(Worst charter tour I ever took.)

[Orwn Acra]

Khan

An artificial pleasure dome,
a fountain chugging through the rock,
a chordophonic damsel's home,
a secret to the — knock knock.

[Jerome Betts]

Orwn, this was a LOL for me on a bleak morning. I hope Lucy accepts your extra-textual punch-line!

[Brian Allgar]

"... book of New Statesman winning entries (from way back)"

Hah! You call that way back? I once actually got into such a book (by the skin of my teeth) back in the '70s, when the NS competition was run by Julian Barnes, in those days still a mere stripling. Now that's what I call 'way back'.

As for pseodonyms, "Brian Allgar" is not very promising material, but I've managed to come up with a few anagrams - though they've never actually won anything - including "Blair Raglan (no relation to either)".

[Roger Slater]

My Candle

My candle burns at both ends.
It's lovely, yet I frown,
For though I do enjoy the light
I cannot put it down.

[Roger Slater]

Leaves of Grass

A child asks, "What is the grass?
"The handkerchief of the Lord?"
I say, "It helps the time to pass.
Go smoke some if you’re bored."