Dear Harry and Meghan
I hear she’s let you down.
The proper Poet Laureate
Hasn’t done a poem.
I hope you know I offered
I’d love to write for you
It won’t be nothing fancy
But I’ll see what I can do.
I’ll try to get it rhyming
Proper poetry
There will be some advantage
Of having one from me.
Wouldn’t it be lovely
If others wrote one too.
We’ll shower you both
With poetry. It will be beautiful.
Send links to your Royal Wedding poems. I’ll reblog them on Andrew Green’s Poems.
I work part time these days and don’t earn a lot from poetry so a little extra income would be welcome. I live very near Windsor Castle, Her Majesty’s weekend home so would be up for the Poet Laureate job if they would have me. I wrote to the Queen a while back but haven’t had a reply yet. Hope there’ll be one soon. This was my letter.
Dear Queen Elizabeth,
Just a note to say
When next you need a Laureate,
Please consider me.
I write a lot of poetry
So how hard can it be?
In terms of productivity
You could do worse than me.
I’d mark the big occasions
And mark each special day.
Be it births, or deaths,
Or marriages; the special jubilees.
Providing something rhymes with it
You’ll be OK with me.
The better poets turn it down
Get up themselves and sniffy.
I’ll just…
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Well I offered to be Poet Laureate often enough but they never took me up! Now the inevitable has happened Carol Ann Duffy hasn’t come up with a poem. Seems they’re throwing it open to us amateurs so here’s my big chance, maybe yours?
From today’s Sunday Times.
Your chance to be the royal bard
The silence of Britain’s poet laureate should not discourage readers of The Sunday Times from offering their own tribute to Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.
We invite you to submit your verse to be considered for publication on the day after the wedding which is being held on May 19.
The first poet laureate, John Dryden, was recompensed for his role with a yearly pension of £200 and “a butt of Canary wine”. All we can promise our winning entrant is the glory of appearing in The Sunday Times, subject to the editor’s decision.
Poems may rhyme or not; they may be long or short. Our only request is that they reach us by Tuesday, May 15.
Please send them to royalpoems@sunday-times.co.uk or by post to Royal Poems Competition, The Sunday Times, 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF.
You’ll have heard about the wedding
For us there’s no getting away
For weeks the bunting’s been flying
The flags are flapping away.
There’s commonwealth, there’s horses
The usual Windsor displays.
But the real big one to pull them all in
Will be the wedding day.
Some hiring out their houses
Some have people to stay
It’ll be a historic occasion
Whatever else you say.
We know about road closures
And where to see the bride
Where they’ll put the big screens
The route to stand beside.
The whole things on our door step.
We’ll kind of get sucked in.
I’m supposed to write a poem for it
So guess I better begin.
God bless the child, they’ve called him Louis.
It’s tough to rhyme; we can’t do ‘gooey’.
We have to try, he’s fifth in line;
The Poet Laureate’s pushed for time.
So here’s a short and simple verse
To celebrate the new Royal birth.
Three cheers, hip, hip; hip, hip hurray
A baby born St. George’s Day.
He shares his birthday with the bard
We’ll write a poem though it’s hard.
Hurray, hurray another Prince
We don’t mind his name sounds French.
Carol Ann Duffy have you written a verse
To celebrate the new Royal birth?
It’s hard I know for a child with no name
A tough life in the poetry game.
It’s a tough old job but you took the shilling
Have to show up and look half willing.
We often have jobs that we don’t love
We struggle, get by, just do enough.
You’re busy perhaps with the wedding one?
Big jobs or small they have to be done.
I’d knock something out before the name
They might give him one that’s hard to rhyme.
You know I hope I’m willing to help?
I’m no great poet but can knock out verse
I’ll do my best with a line or two
But won’t be the same as one from you.
Give three cheers for doggerel
The lowest form of verse.
At least it keeps us off the streets.
We could be doing worse.
There is no rhyme or reason
For writing stuff like this.
If you want proper poetry
Best give this a miss.
I’d love to be a poet
But doggrel’s kind of good
You simply write the way you want
And not the way you should.
You just keep writing nonsense
Whatever may present
It doesn’t have to mean that much
Just kind of make some sense.
They say that poetry changes things
That words can make a difference
But people seem to like this stuff
Is that a fair defence?
Nothing ever changes much
What ever we may do
So just churn out the rubbish stuff
Whatever pleases you.
There’ll be no revolution
And revolutions hurt
So just pretend; do make belief
And maybe get the shirt.
There is no point to any of this
It just goes on and on
Poetry comes of passion
But doggrel don’t need none.
Give three cheers for doggerel
The lowest form of verse
There’s not much point in any of this
But we could be doing worse.
You lost your job
We call it churn
The market fell
It took a turn.
You did your bit
We know it’s sad
But cheaper labour
To be had.
You took your turn
You did your bit
Too bad the little man
Gets hit.
Your time is up
So that’s your lot
You’re out of here
Soon be forgot.
via Churn
The Daily Prompt
Sing a song of sneezing
The Queen has got a cold
Four and twenty tissues
For a royal cold!
Could be even worse news
Phillip has it too.
Two red royal noses
Whatever will we do?
Phillip’s in his counting house,
Counting out his money;
The queen is taking remedies;
Lemon hot with honey.
The maid is in the garden
Hanging out the clothes,
When down comes the Queen’s cold
And reddens up her nose.
They send for Phillip’s doctor,
To get them well again;
He treats them right royally
And sets them right again.
So all’s well in the country
There’s not much in the news
Just a sniffy royal nose
Bunged up in the mews.
There’s a flag over Windsor Castle
To show if the Queen’s in or out.
The Union Jack flies if she’s not in
Her very own flag if she is.
It’s hard for the common people
To know how hard royal life can be
For to haul up a flag
When you go out or come in
Is really an an awful drag.
Imagine the situation
If the Royals go out
For the day, but see,
Out their car’s rear window,
That the flag is still flapping away.
“Bloody hell” says the Queen to Phillip,
“We’ll have to turn right round.
We can’t let them think we’re in when we’re out
You’ll have to get the damn thing down.”
So they have to go back and sort out the flag
You can see what a drag that must be
If they’re out for the day
But the flag’s up its pole for everyone to see.
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