Monday, 7 October 2013


This is a recreative poem I wrote for Creative Writing. The original poem is 'Mrs Sisyphus' by Carol Ann Duffy.

That’s him attempting to charm that group, the brute.
I’d call him a man – he’s more like a smile in a suit.
When he first started out, we thought it was cute,
but now his speeches convince us to hoot.
I’ll help them out when they’re swinging the boot.

Think of the cat, he says,
what use is a cat, I spat,
when we can’t have a chat
about Larry the cat getting fat.
You’re a twat.
Folk flock from every inch of the map
to admire these chaps,
yet they’re full of crap.
A load of old bollocks: deserving a slap.
They're pretending to scrap
with Old Uncle Sam.
England’s vessel is failing to tack.
But when he gets back
he expects a clap.
And what does he say!
Mustn’t snap –
sharp as a whip,
harsher than grit,
mustn’t snap!

But now I’m beginning to quit,
feeling like Noah’s wife did
when he stressed and strained to build his ship;
The Captain is starting to slip;
He’s steadily losing his grip
and yet he continues to gloat.
While, beside the deepening murk of the brown Thames,
he is giving his all to keep England afloat.

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