A poem for .. the National Party
New Zealand's unofficial poet laureate Victor Billot pens topical verse every Sunday. This week: an extraordinary week for the National Party.
Toad’s Fall; and the Rise of Crusher
All hail! Sad tidings O countrymen and womyn!
Or tidings of such dank complexion, we stare witless.
In the cold grey of dawn, a dead raven
tumbl’d earthwards from the heavens,
claws clutching a parchment of bitter import.
O woe! O gnashing of teeth!
Lord Toad is fallen.
Toad the Brief! Lord of the Bay!
We salute your concise efforts nonetheless.
Ere since the lopping of Simon the Unfortunate,
it was written in the stars in bloody hand:
from treachery, no good can be enjoined.
Our allies scatter’d and undone:
the Witch of the Northern Boag
chained and raving in the House of Bedlam;
Michael d’Outhouse, chest deep
in the Slough of Muck, many leagues hence;
Youngling Hamish of the Southern March
in quest of opportunities in the private sector.
Even Nikki, fairest elf of all, has depart’d her post
at the shadowed gates of Sauron’s Tower.
Lost! All is lost!
Yet even as we stumble in the fog of defeat,
the earth trembleth under distant hooves.
Sound the bugles! Crash the drums!
On her legendary winged steed Oravida
approacheth Lady Judith the Merciless,
flanked by her doughty lieutenants
Friar Gerry and Seymour of Remmers.
In these extraordinary years,
hope is never friendless;
and battle will be joined once more!
In the vanguard, Baron Luxon follows,
his half smile widening by a measure
as doth the waxing moon;
his loyalty pledged to whoever,
for the time being, at least.
*Made with the support of Creative New Zealand *
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