I’m off to perform What I Learned From Johnny Bevan in the Palace of Westminster tonight. This poem felt appropriate, it’s about a spad (a political “special adviser” shooting his mouth off at a party.) It’s only got the vowel ‘a’ in it.
Univocal lipogram in a
At a flash bacchanal
cash fans yak.
Blaggards and brash gas Arabs,
scant-clad WAGs and naff Granada drama stars
as banal as pyjamas
all blah blah blah class A fast
and stab at warm prawn snacks,
Parma ham and gravlax,
as a jazz band taps jazz standards
and sad paps snap all that naff razzmatazz.
And what’s that?
Sam Snark – a SPAD.
A Lab SPAD!
A Lab SPAD that charms fat cats and blaggards?
Ach Karl Marx’s aghast!
Sam’s Alan Maran’s bag man
and scandal stalks Alan Maran –
all slapdash laws, dark cabals and back hands,
carnal acts, cash shags and data shams,
Afghan wars and VAT scams.
And as scandal rags lack facts,
Alan Maran stands and stands and stands and stands.
Back at that ball, Sam Snark fast talks a fat cat.
What! That’s Stan McNab
past gangland grandad
a bad, bad man.
Ha ha ha – Stan! Nah. Ha ha ha.
Marx – Pah – that’s crap, Sam raps
Crap! Crap! crap!
Alan’s mantra’s Lab’s Plan A was bad.
Hark, Sam’s hand clamps Stan’s arm
Hand Alan a bank draft, Stan
and Alan can pass a lax tax act. Yah?
and Stan and Sam lap Cava.
Alas! Raj Slapp, a scandal rag stalwart stands at that braggart’s back
and Sam’s chat’s as flagrant as an Anthrax attack.
Raj scrawls Sam’s tall talk
taps at Whatsapp.
paragraphs and paragraphs that slam Alan Maran
warts and all.
Thanks man! Raj slaps Sam’s back.
That’s a splash!
Ah that’s bad!
A sax cha-cha-chas
as Sam stands haggard, ash.
And a scandal rag armada attacks.
Hacks trash Alan Maran. SACK! SACK! SACK!
Alan’s grand gaff’s all sad ballads.
At Sam’s stark flat
Sam hangs slack.