There was a smallish but wide-ranging set of entries generated by this opportunity to reflect on old or new media in the footsteps of George Crabbe, from full-blown pastiche of his post-Augustan pentameters and punctuation to Dear Sir letter-writers’ problems with phones and fat fingers, as well as the demise of newsprint and titles, though also new opportunities in the shape of greeting cards. Regarding truth in the present state of the world . . . as Alan Millichip observed, ,Unchallenged lies are quickly seen as fact;/Giving the honest little time to act. With thanks to all who chanced their lines, below, in no particular order are the results of the December competition.
Steven Kent: Press Passes
Our long time local paper's closing down,
The news of which we just became aware.
Who'll tell us all who's who, what's what in town,
Whose pie or pumpkin won the county fair?
One hundred thirty years is quite a stint,
But sadly now our story's out of print.
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D. A. Prince: Crabbed Lines
The Poets’ Corner is a dusty spot
too often filled with what is best forgot.
So should we pity those who spend their time
earnestly edging every thought with rhyme
and leaden metre in their hope the Press
will glorify their badly-scanned distress?
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Philip Kitcher: The Rusty Rhymer’s Last Resort
We are recruiting unambitious bards
To scribble verses for our greeting cards.
If hired, your duty’s to deliver weekly
Some poems that are maximally treacly.
There are constraints: you are required to squash
Your clichéd lines of sentimental tosh
Into a space an artist then can use
To ornament the text with curlicues.
Use many adjectives; avoid the verb.
Write nothing that might possibly perturb.
Familiarity is sure to breed
The reassurances your readers need.
First principle: observe a strict taboo –
Be hackneyed; never venture something new.
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Mike Mesterton-Gibbons: Eds Will Roll
The age of newsprint trembles on the block.
Some eds will roll, as smartphones run amok.
You can't print news as fast as it unfolds.
So morning papers tell no news – just olds!
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Marshall Begel: Know! Knot again!
Intelligent people like you, who know better,
are prone to mistakes in a phone-written letter.
You’re shocked with regert after clocking on 'send'
uponn noticing letters you did not imntend.
Your smart repartee nd spectacular zingers
are neutered by ignorant-sounding fat fingers.
So switch too the easy gnu voice-recognition
with words from Britannica's latest addition!
Butt many Miss stakes can elude you're detection
in messages written myth auto correction.
If you’re seeking freedom from meddling, then
restrict your composing to paper and pen.
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Julia Griffin: Crabbed Lines
In this, another time of party-rage,
It seems we've pass’d the daily paper stage,
So now our Pique, the urge to curse and damn,
Deflects to TikTok and to Instagram;
A daily swarm, half slanders, half repeats,
Come flying forth, and mortals term them TWEETS.
The News-Sheets primp in vain: behold the ghost
Of noble George’s eponym, the Post;
The Thunderer of London now we see
A victim to the Murdoch empery;
While e'en The Guardian soon may be a husk,
By Bankruptcy consum'd, or Elon Musk.
The Poet now, whom publishers forget,
Is forc'd to jostle on the Internet:
How few those scribblers privileg'd to shine
On the bless'd site of Lighten Up Online!
