Satirical verse: A recommendation

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My book of jocular verse (sprinkled with comic-prose pieces) is now well and truly finished, and I have embarked on a hunt for an agent (and, ultimately, publisher). I fear, however, that the endeavour might prove somewhat frustrating: certain agents, it would appear, expect clients to be recommended by somebody. In other words, publishers want writers to be recommended by agents, and agents want writers to be recommended by … somebody. Does this somebody expect writers to be recommended by somebody else? Hence the satire below.

 

Copyright © Anna Nolan, 2020

 

All of them are godlike creatures

Seeking quite ground-breaking features –

All those folk who publish books:

It’s much harder than it looks,

 

So for impact one must brace,

And one’s book must be plain ace;

One thus polishes and tinkers,

Trying hard to shed one’s blinkers,

 

Then, at long last, the book’s ready:

It’s a feeling that is heady,

But one must, and without fail,

Go pursue the holy grail:

 

Oh, to see the book in print

And, perhaps, to make a mint!

Now, what do those Masters want?

First of all,  it’s Arial font,

 

Fifty pages. Spacing? Double,

A synopsis – that’s no trouble,

But make sure it’s just one page;

Otherwise, they’ll disengage.

 

Now, the letter, and that’s it:

You are ready to submit!

Then you notice (you’ve been slow):

“Agents only” – what a blow!

 

Agents are deities, too:

They’ll be wanting something new;

What is it that they demand?

Times New Roman will be grand,

 

Spacing? One line and a half,

Then they want a paragraph

Which is paramount and which

Is your elevator pitch.

 

A synopsis has to be

Rather longer; your CV

Must, of course, be tailor-made,

Or you’ll never make the grade.

 

It’s three chapters they are after;

Though you a good re-drafter,

You express yourself in verse –

It has gone from bad to worse.

 

Then you see (to top it all)

A decree that makes you bawl:

“We’ll consider your creation –

After a recommendation.”

 

But who from? To whom to turn?

You can’t hide your great concern.

It transpires they prefer

Someone who’s a connoisseur,

 

But you work in solitude:

You feel well and truly s…..d,

Mercifully, you then find

Someone who’s a mastermind

 

In your local pub-quiz team;

They might help you with your scheme.

You enquire, your heart racing,

“Are you happy with my spacing?”

 

“Spacing? Why? It’s all the same;

What’s at stake is my good name.”

“But I cannot understand:

I just want a helping hand.”

 

“This is what they all would say,

But I might just rue the day;

Now, imagine this scenario:

Not unlike an impresario,

 

“I do offer you my backing,

But the Agent finds you lacking!

It would not be very nice;

Listen to this sound advice:

 

“You must find a man who would

Come to me and vouch you’re good.”

You’re distraught but say, “I see,

“So who might this person be?”

 

“I would like a weighty beast:

A policeman or a priest.”

“I know neither but could nab

Garry from the taxicab …”

 

And so, on and on it goes,

Which, quite evidently, shows

How this, most amazing, nation

Values a recommendation.

 

Humorous verse: Valentine’s Day

Copyright © Anna Nolan, 2020

 

Unless you are in a pair,

It’s a rather sad affair:

All these hearts and fluffy stuff

Make today’s occasion tough;

 

It’s a fest of coupledom,

Glorified on Love.com;

But reflect on it a tad,

It is really not that bad;

 

First, there is a perk of note:

A control of one’s remote,

Which is sole and absolute;

You may wish to switch to mute,

 

You may channel-surf at will,

You may gorge on sport and chill,

Watch a thriller or a weepie

Or delight in something creepy.

 

You may also, on a whim,

Fly to Tonga for a swim,

Go skydiving in Dubai

With no need for a goodbye,

 

Or hang gliding in Japan

Without flouting any ban;

You may even, if you wish,

Dedicate yourself to fish.

 

You could dye your hair bright-red

Or play solitaire in bed,

Relocate to the Bahamas

Or – just veg in your pyjamas.

 

Trust me, you will do just fine

Sans a special Valentine,

And, besides, there’s every chance

Of tomorrow’s hot romance.

 

Then you’ll really have a blast,

But, when several years have passed,

Some of you may feel undone,

Musing, freedom was quite fun!

Satirical verse: Eco warrior

Copyright © Anna Nolan, 2019

 

Most important of your missions?

Cutting CO2 emissions;

Your ideals are exalted:

Global warming must be halted.

 

Therefore, in your eco war,

You will fly to Singapore

For a summit aiming to

Figure out just what to do.

 

Boeing really is the best:

It has wings and all the rest

And will, in no time at all,

Fly you anywhere long haul.

 

(Intercontinental jaunts

Are not what, quite frankly, daunts

Eco warriors of your kind,

With grave matters on their mind.)

 

On return (you’ve just touched down),

There are rallies round your town,

So you jump into your car;

Walk a mile? That’s way too far!

 

Then there’s* sit-ins, so that you

Can affix yourself with glue

To the pavement – with the call:

“Save the Planet, one and all!”

 

Thus you toil, without a break,

So you do deserve a steak,

Thick and juicy – just the thing:

All this iron boosts your zing.

 

You do feel some guilt (a smidge)

Looking at your walk-in fridge;

You would ditch it if you could,

But it serves a greater good.

 

As for your wood-burner – it

Looks so cosy when it’s lit,

So you settle with your plate,

Quite contented, feeling great,

 

For, with pride within your heart,

You believe you’ve played a part

In (though this might seem quite strange)

Just averting climate change.

 

*Well, it should be there are, of course, but if the lovely natives freely indulge in the likes of there’s us, so can an alien – particularly on the grounds of poetic scanning (though poetic may be stretching it a tad in verses such as this).

 

Verse: Flowers

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Copyright © Anna Nolan, 2019

 

Snowdrops, delicate and pale,

Carpet the entire vale

As the winter, now apace,

Loosens its robust embrace.

 

Milder weather drawing near,

Crocuses will soon appear –

Purple, lilac, orange, white,

They are an enchanting sight;

 

And when daffs erupt, we’ll all

Watch their gleeful dance – in thrall;

May means bluebells, and their hue,

Often called electric blue,

 

Will entrance you, make you swoon

As they drape their fine festoon

Right across sun-dappled glades,

Where they vie with verdant blades.

 

Later, summer blooms galore

Will delight you even more,

Their sweet scent (beyond compare)

Wafting gently in the air.

 

All this riot, day by day,

Simply takes one’s breath away;

It’s a wildly joyous fest:

Mother Nature at her best!