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June 29, 2008


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Mark Jones

Once upon a morning dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over some new and curious civil-liberty-eroding Labour law,
While I nodded, clearly yawning, suddenly there came a calling,
The telephone in early morning, calling, ringing, more and more.
"Tis some idiot", I muttered, "the telephone I will ignore —
Only this and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew able; I snatched the telephone from the cradle,
"Sir", said I, "or Madam truly your forgiveness I implore;
But it was to sleep that I was clinging, and so loudly you came ringing,
And so galling that you came calling, calling at ungodly hour."
The silence thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.

And while I stood their gently crapping, then there came a tapping, tapping at my chamber door.
Open here I flung the shutter when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped Gordon Brown of the saintly days of yore;
Inside he came as bold as brass; a PR stunt; a pointless farce;
Then with face like a smacked arse, he perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Tony Blair, just there upon my chamber door —
Perched, and squatted, and nothing more.

"Prophet", said I, "thing of evil! — ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
What's going on with petrol prices, food shortages and housing crisis,
Terror suspects, knife crime, tell me truly I implore —
Is there any hope at all — tell me — tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Gordon "Nevermore."

And the Gordon, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Tony Blair just above my chamber door;
And his one remaining working eye has all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws down the shadow of his wonky jaw;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating, voting on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore!

Bryan Alexander

Ha! Nicely done.

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