When in disgrace with polls and Party eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
Troubling Machu Pichu with my bootless cries,
And Lucy cannot comfort me, sweet mate.
Wishing me like to Tony, rich in hope,
Could surf like him, like him with pecs possess’d,
Resenting Howard’s part, and Minchin’s role,
When that great wealth I have now helps me least:
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despairing,
Julie, I think on thee, and Joe’s great weight,
With Coalition friends like Barnaby rejoicing,
Bronwyn, Wilson, all confident of late,
Your joint capacity such comfort brings
I smile to know you’ll make a mess of things.

Comments

Mercurius, 14/01/10, Patricia, very finely poised!

ewe2, 17/01/10, @patricia Thanks for the sonnet! I was worried no one would do one
.
Mercurius, 17/01/10, Yes, the sonnet had…class, he said elitistly. Patricia’s sonnet was the BEST iambic pentameter in the history of verse!

Talk Turkey, 28/11/2010, PatriciaWA your sonnets are wondrous, one might think the Bard himself had penned them! This is a little gem. Political verse is a challenge, it needs to be done fast usually, generally has a short use-by date, but it does set in a sort of time capsule the way things felt at the time. PatriciaWA’s Mal Poems are perfect examples. Oh patois, I love the last two lines. The last line – ten single syllables – is hilariously mellifluous, with the stresses exactly comme il faut!

“Your joint capacity such comfort brings
I smile to know you’ll make a mess of things.”