Gold Envelope Time

The Idle Poetry Competition was held in August. Turnout was impressive, and a few personal bests were recorded. Old blog posts and comments should really just be allowed to die their natural death, but one or two people were quite chuffed with their entries and wanted to know the results. Here they are; remember that the third and fourth line rhymes were camouflaged and you have to guess what they would have been.

BRONZE

The Mermaid and Newmania had a sparring match during which the Merm said of Nick Drew: "Not all of us fagged for Stephen Fry you know". Newmania responded:

The little fags were in a pickle

They wriggled in their sweaty bunk

Drew gave the prefects nuts a polish

Hoping for a splash of cologne

SILVER

The Mermaid's first attempt set the standard for the rest.

'Twas Monday and it was my luck

To find that I was late for work

I really couldn't give a cake

Because my boss is quite a pill.

But sorrow soon became my lot

When on my desk I spied a host

Of papers, so I lost the will

Completely, and gave up the drugs.

But the GOLD goes to Nick Drew, for this masterly poem of Gay Gordo, just in time for conference season:

At party conference in September

Gordon Brown his fate confronts

He must contain his throbbing brain

As he recalls some famous predecessors

He thinks of Blair who wooed the bankers

Of Kinnock and his way with words

Of Foot and Benn and such great men

From whom poured forth such steaming prose

The party faithful sing of succour

For members of the working class

The song was writ by some bright wit

Who knew not elbow from his thigh

But haunting Brown’s the thought of loss

A snap election might fortell

Let him lose sleep, the brooding creep

And may he after rest in Kircaldy