Poems / poetry / verse

Bump thread. I have few poems I am proud of, and even fewer that I’m both proud of and willing to share publicly. That would be the goal, but not ready yet.

By way of background to this poem - I am neither a royalist nor a republican (contrast most of this forum who seem to be, with many good reasons, republican). I am monarchgnostic, I don’t look around the world and see many heads of state to envy. I wrote it on the morning of the coronation for a challenge, and submitted it to Private Eye in the hope they’d publish it for the anniversary of Charles’ coronation. I received a curt but polite rejection from “Ed.”, which was pleasing to be acknowledged at least. In any case, safe space and all:

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A Poem for a King: Charles the third, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of His other Realms and Territories King, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith. Morning Preparations in anticipation of His Crowning Glory.

6 May 2023

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little King Charles, his toes do a dance
as the curtain-draw-backer prepares in advance
to let the royal day anoint the kingly bed
to let the sunshine bless wee willy winky’s head

~

in the royal halls outside the courtesans a’muster
(no one tell the King please that the London sky’s lacklustre)
the royal penis tucker jubilantly practices his moves
folding and unfolding bulging coronation trews

~

the ancient gilded carriage has been newly recommissioned
the sweatless royal brow must be freshly air conditioned
for the short but kingly trip through the park and down the mall
bedecked with flags and plebs and subjects, a thousand soldiers standing tall

~

the king likes soldier-dipping in his runny boiled eggs
crustless please equerry, but don’t chop off their heads
English breakfast tea and Dundee marmalade
Now’s not the time to ponder on the luckless parlourmaid
who was put out upon her arse with the rest of Clarence House
despite years of loyal service and a sheer but buttoned blouse

~

the coronation shoes have been nicely broken in
an honour to have worn them for a trusted royal kin
woollen socks selected from the best sheep in the realm
little comforts tricks and tips so as not to overwhelm

~

climbing up the carriage steps before the palace gates
a hush falls down a silence comes as little England waits
republicans don’t understand there is no rank hypocrisy
if that were so, they stand confused, accused of anthropopathy

~

long live the King let all the peasants cry
pay your true allegiance to your kingly Majesty
and to your heirs and successors according to law
they must pledge their endless toil heretohence and heretofore

~

little King Charles, his toes do a dance
as the carriage-horse-whipper prepares to advance
seventy long years it’s not been said aloud
long live the king, please do your mummy proud.

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