Spectator competition winners: When I grow up I want to be…

The performance poet Megan Beech was so incensed by the abuse heaped by Twitter trolls on her idol Mary Beard that she wrote a poem called ‘When I Grow Up I Want to Be Mary Beard’ (‘an academic and a classy lady to boot’). With this in mind, I invited you to provide a poem with the same title but substituting your own choice for Professor Beard. Another classicist, the esteemed Peter Jones, was the object of W.J. Webster’s affection. Otherwise it was an eclectic entry that ranged from the Dalai Lama to Donald Trump. Commendations to Alan Millard, Douglas G. Brown and Paul Carpenter, who wants to be Rod Liddle when he grows up. The winners earn £25 each.

D.A. Prince I think I’d like to be the Dalai Lama — someone whose purpose is to make life calmer beyond the Twitter-world’s fake news and drama, conspiracy-mad theories of Big Pharma and social media’s rôle as an alarmer; like one whose peaceful habits are as armour, as tuned into the seasons as a farmer, who sees the earth as one large diorama to be respected (therefore, not a harmer) taking life’s journey quiet as a palmer and focused on creation of good karma, gentler and less exotic than a llama, as careful of all things as an embalmer, with courtesy and kindness a disarmer — yes, there’s a model, truly grown-up, charmer.

Sylvia Fairley When I grow up I want to be Beelzebub incarnate, the fires of Hell would set me free from a semi-detached in Barnet.

I’d lead all innocents astray and fan the flames of lust; depravity’s the devil’s way; it’s healthy and robust.

I’d violate humanity, corruption would be rife, inciting the inanity of conflict and of strife.

Then strip the planet — ha! too late, there goes my fiendish fun, the world turned to a hellish state? The job’s already done.