Internet Poster Children

[Inspired by Queen guitarist Brian May's long-standing passion for blogging and annoyance at MySpace, this poem imagines him refusing to be hounded off the web.]


Vicious gangs of cyber-bullies,
Happy-slapping virtual hoodies,
Lurking in the HTML
To make my online heaven hell.
They laugh at me on MySpace
But they'd never do it to my face.
And I choose to ignore them
On the Queen discussion forum.
They made a WeeMee of me
With hair obscenely curly.
Covered a wooden spoon with pubes
And said it was me in a film on YouTube.

Internet poster children,
I ought to track them down and kill them.
But I won't let technology
Become my mortal enemy.
Internet poster children,
Let them eat spam, and bug Robbie Williams.
As dear dead Freddie used to say:
No-one makes a monkey out of Brian May.

Suffer Terry Wogan

[Inspired by the rumour - now sadly denied - that Morrissey was to write the UK's entry to this year's Eurovision Song Contest, here's imagining the type of song he might have performed.]

Luxembourg, so much to answer for.
Did you save face
When you withdrew your place
And the Irish conquered in '94?
I hope you're singing now
Oh I do hope you're singing now.
As you sneer down your nose
At the glittery clothes
Of the udders that milk
This shiny cash cow.

Frankly Mr Wogan, this position you hold,
It pays your way but it corrodes my soul.
I'm afraid to say that your jokes
Just aren't funny anymore.
And your slick toupee can't detract from the fact
You're an awful crushing bore.

Sandie Shaw, the woman I adore,
You pulled my heart's string
When I first heard you sing
Back in '67 when you wiped the floor.
Are you watching me now?
I do hope you're watching me now.
You returned my love
When you sang Hand in Glove.
Now I aim to reclaim your Eurovision crown.

Oh Terry it was really nothing
When Jemini took to the stage.
And shamefully secured
A dismal nul points score
While the monsters of Europe
Just jeered in our face.
But they won't be laughing now
No they won't be laughing now.
As we storm the Finnish city
With this jingoistic ditty
And Bigmouth takes his glorious bow.

As Nice As Kylie

[A heartfelt poetic tribute to pint-sized international treasure Miss Minogue.]

Why can't everybody be
As sweet and nice as Kylie?
Even when she's tired and ill
She still stays pert and smiley.
Love rat boyfriends come and go
But Kylie's never bitter;
She steadies herself with a feathery hat
And hides her tears with glitter.

An Antipodean angel
Wearing tiny Gucci wings.
Whole stadiums reverberate
In rapture when she sings.
The kind of girl you'd trust to watch
Your bag while you used the toilet.
And if she got wind of a terrorist plot
She'd do her best to foil it.

Why can't everybody be
As down-to-earth as Kylie?
This pop princess won't do pretentious
Sets for smug Jo Whiley.
If Kylie ruled the world
There'd be no war or suicide bombs.
Just billions of people moving,
Dancing and grooving to her songs.