I'm clearly lagging on this story, as I have only now discovered that The Standard published a poem by Paul Marsden MP earlier this week. As it was taken from Marsden's web site and read out in the House of Commons, I think we can take it that it's intended for public consumption. It is entitled 'She came in the night', and here it is in full:
She came in the night,
Dark hair, alive billowing as a trapped kite
Marching forward, confident and right,
Her hips swaying and her red lips tight
Then that smile so devastating in its might,
Tongue rippling across teeth so white.
Breasts rising as I feel the urge to bite.
Eyes stalking its prey, she's relishing the fight.
Who would mess with this amazing sight?
In awe of womanhood so sexual and bright,
A wondrous sweet smell exacerbates my plight,
Arching her back, stretched to its full height,
I am captured forever, dazzled by feminine light.
As she came in the night.
I prefer a more Skeltonian metre. I call this poem 'Paul Marsden MP':
His poetry's a fright.
The man can't write.
In skilful diction he is light,
And emotionally trite.