Charlie Ottley
Every summer drives up and down Britain in doublet and hose adding a lyrical touch to wedding speeches, anniversary parties and thoroughly dull corporate events.
He鈥檚 also been rent-a-bard for a variety of news programmes, and was recruited last year to be the alternative Poet Laureate for the wedding of Charles and Camilla, broadcasting live outside the Town Hall in Windsor, in tights. He has just published Cautionary Verses & Ruthless Rhymes for Modern Times, published by Constable & Robinson.
The mushroom season has returned
But mostly we鈥檒l get badly burned
Either as the banknotes ruffle
For a pinch of precious truffle
Or East and deeper underground
The shape is lost but not the sound
For down beneath the gentle hills
The winds of change blow (Kim Jong) ills
Meanwhile and I鈥檇 say good on her!
An ageless diva called Madonna
Has opted to adopt a child
The orphan on whom fate has smiled
Is, not intending to be bitchy
The best case yet of 鈥渞ags to Ritchie鈥
Yes whether he is keen to go
I鈥檓 sure the lad won鈥檛 lack for dough
From metaphors concerning bread
Let鈥檚 take the real thing instead
Yes baking鈥檚 not without its risks
Now needles, glass and plastic disks
Have been retrieved from certain loaves
They鈥檙e warning that it well behoves
Consumers to inspect their slice
And one more soupson of advice鈥
Because of some vindictive oaf
Be careful when you pinch a loaf!
The desert wind begins to hiss
Yes does my bomb look big in this?
The heat, the sound, the rush of air
A sight to make a fakir stare
The future鈥檚 dim and rather dour
If we pursue atomic power
It鈥檚 costly, dangerous and will
Bring certain risks, take Chernobyl
Yet even if one doesn鈥檛 factor
A leaky tank or cracked reactor
It must be something of an error
To give those folks who deal in terror
Another flush of sitting ducks
鈥楥ause when the wind blows鈥t sucks!
鈥淲hy Mr Holmes, we鈥檙e in a pickle!
The tide of man鈥檚 down to a trickle
I sense the most severe of bastings,
A rout, a veritable Hastings.
I didn鈥檛 quite predict a riot
But really Holmes, it鈥檚 jolly quiet;
Christmas looms, no sound of tills
As Harrods and John Lewis fills,
No eager shoppers keen to prize
The last one in a certain size.
It鈥檚 silent in department stores
They鈥檝e locked the large, rotating doors
The palace even lacks a sentry鈥︹
鈥淲atson, shush! It鈥檚 elementary:
The city folk are simply going.
Rushing for the nearest Boeing
Jumping trains and jamming roads
Abandoning their safe abodes
To find a place that鈥檚 out of reach
Like Nevil Shute, they鈥檙e on the beach!鈥
So lets all get ourselves down under
Necking tinnies 鈥榯il we chunder
Waiting for the sound of thunder
For The Horsemen鈥檚 hollow canter
Listening to kiwi banter
Brash and rash and bold and blunt
Put a tune on, take a Punt
Down the hatch and don鈥檛 ask why
Here鈥檚 mud, (or arrows) in yer eye
Let鈥檚 get in line and do a jig
The hairs are falling from my wig
They鈥檝e rearranged the deck chairs twice
Beside the sea, let鈥檚 have an ice
And kick back in the sand, it鈥檚 鈥淢ana鈥
Or maybe that鈥檚 the marajuana
More idle gossip, strum and song
Yo dude, I think I heard the gong!
