Notes on National’s Election Campaign, in Poem Form

Because English is nothing is not Shakespearean
by Lyndon Hood

english_shakespeare_folio

Next Generation Roads Of National Significance

Cuckoo Song
Traditional English

Nationyl’s bitumen-ing
As they du du
Seed groweth
River floweth
Then ‘dozer drives thru
Highway ensu

Analysts examend road
How much yt cost u
Decryd yts
Cost benifyts

Whych Nats issu
Big fuk u tu
Car numbyrs gru
And cee oh tu

Tis cuccu nu
Tis cuccu
We’re so scru
Tis cuccu nu

***

‘Presentable and competent’ – National MPs [initially] on Ardern

Sonnet MMXVII
Bill “Shakespeare” English

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art less widely liked, by just a bit;
But popularity is not the way,
To prove for Government you are quite fit.

You smile (so I maintain) all the time,
You lack (I haven’t checked) in policy,
Your grasp of its detail is unrefined;
You haven’t even run a Ministry.

I could go on, but now instead I pause,
And listen to the things that I have said:
Will they persuade the people, or give cause
For those that like, to like you more instead?

My criticism, accidentally,
Of you, is also always of John Key.

***

‘Some have fewer human rights’ – Bennett promises harsh crackdown on drug-dealing gang members

This is just to say
William English William

I have commenced a vicious crackdown
on the thing
that was on
the talkback

and which
you were probably
making
a plan for that might work probably better but which didn’t involve destroying basic civil rights and boasting about it

Forgive me
it was desperate
so reflexive
and so cold

***

Steven Joyce refuses to apologise for attack on Labour’s fiscal plan

From The Love Song of Trivial Disproofrock
S. W. English

Mentre ch’io forma fui d’ossa e di polpe
che la madre mi diè, l’opere mie
non furon leonine, ma di volpe.
Li accorgimenti e le coperte vie
io seppi tutte, e sì menai lor arte,
ch’al fine de la terra il suono uscie.

[…]

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Am I right?” and, “Am I right?”
Time to stay awake for half the night,
As the media fix me in their sights —
(They will say: “He made up Labour’s fiscal hole!”)
My confidence, my statements firmly put and strong,
My walking back on them without admitting I was wrong —
(They will say: “Can he count? Is he a troll?”)
Do I dare
Admit the truth?
In a minute there is time
For assertions and aspersions where a minute finds disproof.

For I have used them all already: have made use
Of ways to turn their strong points to a curse,
I have lectured on their life, chapter and verse;
Painted them, implying with half-lying truth
Incompetent, malicious, perhaps worse.
So how did this not work?

In the room the pundits turn on me
Bang goes that election strategy.

********
***