Election Poems

Anyone else care to share election poetry? :)

My mind has been decided.
There’s but one single choice.
My politics - and fate - were sealed
When I heard her honeyed voice.

What good debating policy
When her smiles cut like scythes?
I’d do her whim to just pin down
The colour of her eyes.

The alternatives are tempting
As a past-its-prime blue cheese.
See, one’s befriended bombers
And this one’s filled with bees.

I really shouldn’t do it,
But d___ the consequences.
I’ve no defense of my support, but then -
She’s bypassed my defenses.

She’s painting the whole town red
And I know that I should care
But she’s always had her claws in me –
Our Princess, the Lord Mayor.

Printed on low quality paper, the ink smudged to near illegibility, these tiny slips of paper are making their way through letterboxes and under doors all over London. Whoever the anonymous poet is, the Ministry of Public Decency is now out for their blood.

Against Elections: A Polemic

Slowcake’s campaign has begun –
“To every soul its station!”
A gentleman, a paragon,
A balm to our frustration –

A herald of meritocracy,
Keeping London straight & level.
And yet behind a man we never see
Stands a smug cabal of devils.

Mark this fraud and mark it well,
Deny this damned infernal reign!
Lest we find ourselves halfway to Hell
On the Moloch Station train.

Next we have Her Highness’ cry:
“Make London Magnificent For Me!”
The elision of crown and state is nigh:
Who dares oppose our royalty?

No bad word about her can be said,
For neither love nor money -
At least, not if I want to keep my head,
And avoid becoming honey.

Behind her looks and regal bearing
Lies a much more monstrous aura.
How can you see London faring
Under the steerage of our Royal Horror?

And finally, our own Contrarian,
Chanting “Pull yourselves together!”
Seems he’s now an authoritarian,
As inconstant as the weather

And just as full of lukewarm air,
Empty promises and bluster.
You know deep down there’s nothing there
But the urge to filibuster!

So: a ghost, a monster or a man
With no principles to stand on –
The Mayoral Office is down the pan,
And soon so will be all London.

(Yay! I’m delighted there’s another one of these threads. Great stuff, Ginneon - I’m still undecided so went for the nonpartisan &quotsod it all!&quot approach. Please excuse the wonky meter & I hope this thread gets filled up!)
edited by Barse on 6/20/2018