Pastiche Poems #2

Prisma-Somerset Bruton1

A pastiche, created in PRISMA, of a painting of my own of Bruton, Somerset, England


Following on from my opening outline of Pastiche Poetry (see my blog of two days ago titled ‘Pastiche Poetry’ ), and my blog of yesterday (  Pastiche Poetry #1 ),  here are more of my own efforts (you may call them concoctions or confections if you’d rather) which I have based on the well-known opening lines of six different poets  . . .


Leisure, W.H.Davies …

What is this life
If full of care
We must still put up
With Tony Blair.

A Red Red Rose, Robert Burns …

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That blossoms in the summer;
I think of her without her clothes,
Prickly, but a stunner.

The Lady of Shalott, Alfred Lord Tennyson …

On either side the river lie 
Long fields of barley and of rye;
Oh tell me why, Yes tell me why,
This bloody river’s running dry.

Song to Celia II, Ben Jonson …

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
I’ve had enough of diet coke
I want a glass of blood red wine.

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time, Robert Herrick …

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
It’s time to settle down and wed,
You’ll find it satisfying.

Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, Thomas Gray …

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
It’s time to tell you Mister Thomas Gray
To quit this grandiose hyperbole.



Ten Political CLERIHEWS


A Clerihew is a comic verse consisting of two couplets and a specific rhyming scheme, aabb, invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley (1875-1956) at the age of 16. The poem is about/deals with a person/character within the first rhyme. In most cases, the first line names a person, and the second line ends with something that rhymes with the name of the person. (From: ‘Shadow Poetry’)

Original by Edmund Clerihew Bentley:

Sir Christopher Wren
Said, “I am going to dine with some men.
If anyone calls
Say I am designing St. Paul’s.”

Ten Political CLERIHEWS


Mr Speaker, John Bercow,
Is a Tory, although,
Who’d ever have guessed it?
He didn’t vote Brexit!


Jeremy Corbyn,
Like poor Anne Boleyn,
Will soon get the chop
Just for being a flop.


Dear Teresa May
Is having her say.
She says ‘Brexit means Brexit’
As we head for the exit.


Dave Cameron, ex P.M.
Will never forgive them.
He’s now feeling grim
‘Cos the voters misled him.


Ex-deputy Nick Clegg
Has started to beg,
“I don’t like the sack,
Please give my job back”


Ex-PM, Tony Blair,
He gave us a scare
When he said he’d bring sherry,
We thought he meant Cherie


Scots lassie, Nicola Sturgeon,
Might soon need a surgeon.
She won’t feel OK
When her voters say ‘UK’.


In the States Donald Trump
He has won at the stump
We’d prefer Abra’am Lincoln
Or even Hillary Clinton.


And Angela Merkel
Plans a reversal
Fearing voters won’t back her
And might well just sack her


Our lovely Queen, Elizabeth the Second,
Was perhaps our worst royal cook, I reckoned.
Until I remembered Alfred the Great
And those cakes that he once did cremate.