In Competition No. 3290, you were invited to recast the Lord’s Prayer as a sonnet.

The late Frank Kermode reckoned that any schoolboy can write a sonnet, but this challenge was a deceptively simple one; as Nick MacKinnon observed: ‘the Lord’s Prayer is very efficient’.

Nonetheless, it drew a large and witty haul, in which some competitors chose to put more of their own spin on the original than others, making a pleasingly varied entry. Jennifer Zhou, Ann Drysdale, John Wood, George Simmers, David Silverman, Lachlan Rurlander and Simon May stood out, but the £20 prize goes to the seven below.

Our Father, Sister, Mother – gender-free
celestial deity, by all extolled,
it’s said one day you’ll visit us to see
if we conduct our lives as we’ve been told.
We pray for daily victuals – cost of living
has left us in a fine financial mess.
We’re certain that you’ll always be forgiving,
should we, mere weak and mortal souls, transgress.
We’ll follow in your steps: exonerate
our undeserving foes at any cost,
then spurn the things that tempt and fascinate
and tell the slimy Devil to get lost.
We’ll praise your sexual ambiguity
this day and into perpetuity.

Sylvia Fairley

Dear Parent, in the skies above sequestered,
How high we rate your great denomination!
Your perfect state? It really can’t be bested,
So bring it on – your Laws are inspiration.
Obey, say we, in these benighted groves,
As in Eternity; and round the clock
Give us some sustenance, non-Hovis loaves.
Excuse us too, when we are in the dock,
For we’ll excuse those foes who try to hurt us.
Don’t let us fall for baubles, special deals –
And save us from whatever might subvert us.
Here’s to your royal muscle: it appeals,
As does your aura. God, your thunder’s classic.
It’s everlasting, end of. Love the hassock.

Bill Greenwell

Our Father, who does up in heaven dwell,
hallowed thy name; the Lord, Jehovah, God,
thy kingdom come; love, peace, make all things well,
thy will be done; could You give those the nod?
Grant us, as we through daily routines plod,
our bread, forgiving all the sins we do,
as we forgive each hateful, witless clod
who makes us suffer. Don’t, we beg of You,
throw us temptations – only one or two.
Deliver us from evil, we implore,
for You, in one almighty triple coup,
win kingdom, power and glory evermore.
O Lord, if you could look down now and then,
please help us poor sods out a bit. Amen.

Janine Beacham

Our great parental transcendental power,
Your very name our words proclaim sublime.
Your kingdom come, descending from your tower,
You take your place, we pray, in space and time,
Supernal and eternal as in heaven,
Your will decreed and realised. Heed our call,
That we be fed the daily bread we leaven.
Forgive us each for every breach, as all
Who have transgressed us have been blessed – not met
With vengeful, hardened hearts, but pardoned. Lure us
Away from vice and vile enticement; let
No sin attract us. For your actus purus,
By time unworn, forever born again,
Will always reign and never wane. Amen.

Alex Steelsmith

Hey Pater! The esteemed Nirvana King!
We venerate our Parent-in-the-Sky!
But might it be expedient to try
An Us/You framework upgrade kind of thing?
If you can keep our noses nicely spruce,
Your wish – in general terms – is our command:
The deal is, we’ll (reluctantly) excuse
The ne’er-do-wells who trample on our land,
And stick to stipulations you’ve addressed,
If you’ll absolve our peccadillos, please?
Respectfully, we make one last request:
In keeping with Her Holiness, Thérèse,
Could you ensure, diurnally, we get
A serving each of turnip tartiflette?

Richard Spencer

Big Guy upstairs, beyond the clouds of white,
where Peter checks credentials at his gate;
down here we folk who see your wondrous light
request your influence on Earth. Don’t wait!
From house to house, from street to street we’ve spread
your word, no matter if the ears are shut
we preached to. They’ll be toast when they are dead,
while we say, ‘Told you so!’ and smugly tut.
Just help us with our daily needs, like food,
strong ale and spirits, shelter and a cell.
To those who diss us – ‘You’re forgiven, dude!’
But likewise pardon us to sidestep Hell.
So listen up, Big Guy, inside your den
of everlastingness, stay cool. Amen!

Paul A. Freeman

Progenitor (gender unspecified),
Which art (who is?) in some celestial place,
May your name (which is unidentified)
Be holy (probably always the case).
Please see to it that everything we do
Here on the earth (and what is done up there)
Is equally acceptable to you,
And do make sure we get our daily fare.
Forgive us if we get it wrong sometimes,
Let us be nice when others with us mess.
Don’t tempt us into large or petty crimes,
And save us from all sorts of nastiness.
Your glory and your power should not go flat,
And we will always say amen to that.

Brian Murdoch

No. 3293: yawning gap

You are invited to provide an extract from the autobiography of a well-known public figure (please specify) which manages to make a very interesting life sound extraordinarily dull. Please email entries of up to 150 words to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 29 March.