In Competition No. 3207 you were invited to submit a verse obituary of Silvio Berlusconi. The Italian former prime minister who, despite sex scandals and court battles, managed three stints as PM, died last month aged 86. His more startling gaffes included suggesting that Abruzzo earthquake survivors see their situation as ‘a weekend of camping’ and describing Obama as ‘young, handsome and tanned’. The winners, printed below, pocket £30 each.

Singular Silvio, Italy’s serial populist leader and
prime-ministerial
Demagogue basked in the glow of funereal
dignity, peacefully lying in state,
Though one could picture him post-existentially
barking at archangels unreverentially,
Somewhere near Limbo but unpenitentially
keeping things raucous and carnivalesque.

Now’s not the time for a crisp analytical, slightly
judgmental or modestly critical
Tone when assessing the more-than-political
ramifications of Silvio’s fate;
Try not to mention his cynical pandering, bullying,
bribing and scurrilous slandering,
Or to opine if you found his philandering often
disturbing and sometimes grotesque.

Strive not to dwell on his gross incivility, carnal
excesses and want of humility
And, though perhaps with a sense of futility, make
no allusion to Rome very Late;
Never mind scandals that made him seem weaselly,
dubious power plays carried out sleazily,
Facelifts and transplants of hair that can easily
make a man look a bit mannikin-esque.

This is the time when we ought to exclusively
focus on singing his praises effusively,
Not letting facts and his record intrusively keep us
from deeming some shred of him great;
Now’s not the moment to vent psychologically,
pen a philippic or rant pedagogically,
Or to be joking that, etymologically,
Berlusconismo is linked to burlesque.

Alex Steelsmith

Let’s have a dirge for Silvio Berlusconi
Born with a streak of passion in his hair,
A magnate from the land of macaroni.

He might have earned the title Al Caponi
For being Italy’s famous racketeer.
Let’s have a dirge for Silvio Berlusconi.

Always as playful as a Shetland pony
He romped through many a torrid love affair,
A magnate from the land of macaroni.

He little gained for being Putin’s crony,
His comrade and a fellow millionaire.
Let’s have a dirge for Silvio Berlusconi.

Doubtless, at last he found success is phoney
And fame as unsubstantial as the air.
Let’s have a dirge for Silvio Berlusconi,
A magnate from the land of macaroni.

Frank McDonald

Tax frauds, bribing, what a stack
of allegations – got the sack.
Bunga, bunga. Pausa lunga
then, good God, they brought him back.

Basement parties, all the rage,
signorinas, underage.
Bunga, bunga. Pausa lunga,
back he came to take the stage.

Little doubt corruption pays,
but then the parting of the ways.
Bunga, bunga. Pausa lunga,
back again – oh, happy days!

Now, in whatever hell he’ll burn
it’s still a matter of concern:
no Bunga, bunga, pausa lunga –
pray, this time, he won’t return.

Sylvia Fairley

Who was Silvio, who was he,
This Signor Berlusconi?
A major politician, or
Maybe a burlesque only?

It seems that he would get involved
In any kind of party,
A true Italian, out of the
Commedia dell’arte.

He thought that he was Harlequin
But he grew rich and louche,
And ended up as Pantaloon
Mixed up with Scaramouche.

Well, peace be on his re-thatched head,
And no self-righteous frowns!
Not only Italy elects
Crooks, charlatans or clowns.

Brian Murdoch

How doth the bunga-bunga boy
Invite the girls to play?
What favours may the boy enjoy,
What unattired display?

How doth the Mussolini fan-
Club president explain
That he, though strong, is not a man
Who flexes to cause pain.

How doth the cruise-ship crooner grow
To be a sports tycoon
On whom the Muses can bestow
A catchy football tune?

How doth the tarnished Silvio
Enliven Italy?
Tax dodges with a hot sideshow
And lukewarm penalty.

Chris O’Carroll

No. 3210: Who’s afraid of AI?

You are invited to submit a horror story on the theme of artificial intelligence. Please email entries of up to 150 words to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 26 July.