In Competition No. 3275, you were invited to follow the format and formula of Lewis Carroll’s ‘The Mad Gardener’s Song’ and supply a poem entitled ‘The Deluded Politician’. The same challenge was set 15 or so years ago, and on that occasion Tony Blair hogged the limelight. This time around, you were rather more spoiled for choice.

Here’s a snippet from Hugh King:

He thought he saw ahead of him
A glittering career,
But soon his mediocrity
Became entirely clear,
And he, a crass celebrity,
Cried ‘Get me out of here’

Entries were uniformly excellent and it was painful whittling it down to just the five below, who take £30 each.

He thought he saw a bison with
A teapot made of Spode;
He looked again and found it was
the Ministerial Code.
‘Who cares if I break that,’ he said,
‘Propriety be blowed.’

He thought he saw a wallaby
Discharge a blunderbuss;
He looked again and found it was
The speeches of Liz Truss.
‘A lot of blunders there,’ he said,
‘What has become of us?’

He thought he saw a coracle
Made out of marzipan;
He looked again and found it was
Suella Braverman.
‘I’d better implement,’ he said,
‘My new invasion plan.’
Nicholas Hodgson

She thought she saw an octopus
A-pedalling on a bike:
She looked again and found it was
The Bank Rate Interest hike.
I’d ask them what it means, she said,
If trains were not on strike.

She thought she saw a kangaroo
Being wheeled out in a pram:
She looked again and saw it was
A pot of strawberry jam.
That’s great! she said, It looks like me!
Post it on Instagram!

She thought she saw some salad leaf,
Romaine or Little Gem.
She looked again and found it was
A pithy apophthegm.
Quick! Take a snap! That’s me! she cried.
Delivering as PM!
D.A. Prince

He thought he saw his team at work
Absorbed in blue sky thinking;
He turned away and didn’t hear
The sound of glasses clinking.
‘Well, veni, vidi, folks,’ he said,
‘And caught nobody drinking.’

He thought that bluster glossed with charm
Had always served him well;
He didn’t see such blustre would
Be bound to lose its spell.
‘Through trust,’ he said, ‘I stand or fall.’
And so it was he fell.

It was one thing to tell a lie,
Denying what was true,
But making others lie for him
Was never wise to do.
‘That is the final straw,’ most said:
For him the short one, too.
W.J. Webster

He thought he saw his lookalike
among some Midget Gems.
He looked again and found it was
just Singapore-on-Thames.
‘They wear their trousers long,’ he said,
‘I’ll index-link my hems.’

He thought he saw his Brexit yield
a cheaper ten-year bond.
He looked again and found it was
a pole-bound Boris blonde.
‘Her sunny uplands shine!’ he said,
‘Remainers must respond.’

He thought he saw his Cabinet
Escape the frying pan.
He looked again and found it was
Suella Braverman.
‘Rwanda is too near,’ she said,
‘I favour Yucatan.’
Nick MacKinnon

He thought he saw the Stolen Land
That should be his domain.
He looked again, and found it was
A country called Ukraine.
‘But it was Russian once,’ he sneered,
‘And shall be once again.’

He thought he saw a Lightning Strike,
A battle quickly won.
He looked again; six months had passed,
And still it wasn’t done.
‘My soldiers rape and kill?’ he smirked;
‘At least they’re having fun.’

He thought he saw a Winning Move,
And cut the world’s supplies.
He looked again, and saw it was
The starving children’s cries.
‘I’ll launch a nuclear war,’ he snarled,
‘So everybody dies.’
Sylvia O. Smith

No. 3278: first-class citizen

A letter from Charles Schulz replying to a ten-year-old boy who had asked him what he thinks makes the perfect citizen prompts me to invite you to submit a reply to that question from the writer of your choice. Please email entries of up to 150 words to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 30 November.

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