COMPETITION

Why, indeed?

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2126 you were invited to supply a poem either beginning or ending with a given line.

Eddie, the excitable young poet in 'Bliss', goes on, 'It's so deeply true, don't you feel? Tomato soup is so dreadfully eternal.' Katherine Mansfield's friend, Aldous Huxley, also portrayed an equally excitable young poet, called Sebastian, in Time Must Have a Stop, who climaxes a poem with the deliciously youthful line, 'The incandescent copulation of the gods!' Lucky I didn't give you that, eh?

The prizewinners, printed below, take £25 each, and the bottle of the Macallan Single Malt Highland Scotch whisky goes to Martin Woodhead. Nice work all round. Thank you.

Why must it always be tomato soup?

I'm something of a stickler when I dine: Dribblings of orange or of cantaloupe Spoil not my shirt or tie, stillness port wine.

Throw at me nature's palette if you will — Raspberry-red, egg-yellow, spinach- green - Each shade I'll handle with prestigious skill, Leaving my napery intact, pristine. Why is it, then, that in the simplest task - Open a tin, tip in a pan, heat through It bubbles, spits and squirts (I fondly ask), Spraying its ineradicable hue? A corporate conspiracy obtains: And with this squalid maxim, Heinz

meanz stainz. (Martin Woodhead) Why does a piece of toast land jam-side down? (Experiments have shown this is the case.) Why does the train you chose to take to town Stop in some lonely, god-forsaken place?

Why is it that the right key in the bunch Is bound to be the last one that you try? Why does the man you fancy spill his lunch In multicoloured patterns on his tie?

What happens to the dashboard petrol gauge That goes from full to empty in a tick?

And library books — who stole that missing page That explicates the great detective's trick? What's wrong with daffs you purchased spick and span That, when you turn your back, will promptly droop?

And why, when Andy Warhol paints a can, Why must it always be tomato soup?

(G.M. Davis) Why must it always be tomato soup?

I've never found the drowned or drowning fly In cock-a-leekie, potage cantaloupe Or cream of any other foodstuff. Why Should this unique ingredient incite A suicidal tendency in flies?

Is it the colour? Red ought not invite But warn away. Maybe each fly espies A dish of oozing meat and zeroes in To taste not blood but something pre-prepared And microwaved — perhaps, as further sin, With packet provenance. Last time I dared Complain, the waiter's wide-eyed look grew wider: `She not live long — I fetch it now, the spider.'

(Andrew Gibbons) When first as babies in our little cots We cry in expectation of the moon, Already counting on our Camelots - Why must the cherry always change to prune? When love has blossomed in the spring of youth, We follow, blind, the way the dice have rolled; And as we wait for chance to lead to truth, Why is the mutton always served up cold?

We launch our little swans upon the world Where, granted just a modicum of luck, They'll open all their oysters fully pearled Why must our cygnets always score a duck?

And when at length we've fought life's long campaign, With banners furled, we raise on high our stoup, Hoping to toast ourselves with fine champagne, Why must it always be tomato soup?

(Keith Wilson) `Why must it always be tomato soup?' This was Lily's only line with the Brighton repertory group. However, every night her comic timing brought the house down And a London entrepreneur whisked her off to a theatre in town.

Lily's natural beauty and charm dazzled the producer, Yet she was clever enough to refuse many a seducer, Waiting instead for a man who valued her worthy self.

Rather than compromise, she would prefer to remain on the shelf.

One evening at Lily's stage door there was a Cambridge professor -

It was love at first sight and she let him possess her.

He was smitten, and both believed it was fate - Lily had finally met her soul-mate.

Lily gave up the stage on becoming a wife, To be a companion and mother she has dedicated her life.

In the evenings they sit reading before the fire - After 50 years together he remains her heart's desire. (Elwyn Stankiewicz)

No. 2129: Loony aunts, etc.

You are invited to supply a poem (maxi- mum 16 lines) describing the eccentricities of a real or imaginary relative. Entries to `Competition No. 2129' by 23 March.