While leafing through a copy of Carroll’s nonsense verse I was struck by the alarming similarity between modern political discourse and nonsense. Perhaps that’s unfair; there is some meaning to be drawn out of nonsense verse.
Had Carroll or Lear thought to say “Strong and Stable,” or “For the Many, Not the Few”, they would have reached their apotheosis. Inspired somewhat by this realisation I jotted down a pithy attempt. I wonder if anyone can beat it.
The sophists stood and still they stand,
Upon the podium,
And in the background played the band,
A soft melodium,
And this was odd, because it was,
A Strong and Stable hum.
As Paxman grilled them (over coals),
On a crickling fire,
“What do you mean, ‘Strong and Stable’?”
May made a funeral pyre,
And climbed upon it with a match,
(the rest is rather dire).
Tim Farron; wet, as wet can be,
Corbyn as dry as dry,
Dianne was adding two and two
And somehow reaching five,
The merry circus rambled on,
A charivari jive.
Theresa and the IFS
Were walking to the bank,
They wept like anything to see,
A deficit so rank,
“If this were only cleared away,”
“The Lord would be to thank!”
“If seven maids with seven mops,
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,” Theresa said,
That they would get it clear?”
“I doubt it,” Said the IFS,
And shed a bitter tear.
Jeremy was promising,
A rather lovely deal:
“Free everything for everyone,
Come’n get your free meal!
Nationalise the gravy train,
Money’s no longer real”
“Hamas just need a talking to,
ISIS, a friendly chat
If we try to understand, (and
give them all a free flat)
They won’t try to kill us,
It’s as simple as that!”
“So nationalise everything,
The trees, the grass, the sky,
Nanny knows best, behave yourself
And don’t be asking why
Or you’ll need re-education,
(in a special hemp school-tie)”
The Scots were shouting (but unheard)
‘Bout their independence
“O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
One for eternal membrance!
When we were rid of the British,
In European transcendence.”
All the while Tim was sweating,
(They’d asked about the gays)
“I don’t know why you keep asking”
Is all poor Timmy says,
“How is it at all relevant,”
Says Farron (who prays)
“To this erection, I mean ELECTION!,”
To his PR dismays.
But that flobrujous chant we hear
“Make June the end of May”,
That’s just the same as any year,
Not just election day.
Months pass like that (it’s rather queer)
But that is just the way.
Why must we live in constant fear,
The sky is turning grey.
Perhaps it will be all alright,
If Theresa takes the wheel,
And try, try, and try as she might,
To get an EU deal,
O, it would be a funny fight,
If only it weren’t real.