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PURE HIGHLAND MALT

COMPETITION

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Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1744 you were in- vited to provide a poem using given rhyme- words in a given order.

The words I gave came from a sonnet by George Meredith entitled 'The World's Advance', which, for curiosity's sake, I reproduce: Judge mildly the tasked world; and disincline To brand it, for it bears a heavy pack.

You have perchance observed the inebriate's track

At night when he has quitted the inn-sign: He plays diversions on the homeward line, Still that way bent albeit his legs are slack:

A hedge may take him, but he turns not back, Nor turns this burdened world, of curving spine. 'Spiral,' the memorable Lady terms Our mind's ascent: our world's advance presents That figure on a flat; the way of worms. Cherish the promise of its good intents, And warn it, not one instinct to efface Ere Reason ripens for the vacant place.

The 'memorable Lady', just in case you didn't know, was apparently Mrs Brown- ing, or Aurora Leigh, her heroine, who coined the image. Four of you misread 'disincline' as 'disci- pline' — an interesting slip. Many earned praise this week, but your actual money (£20 each) goes to the prizewinners printed below, and Alanna Blake takes the bonus bottle of Aberlour Single Malt whisky.

The Nineties' mores sadly disincline Our little girls to join a Brownie pack. They scoff if I'm recalling how to track, Make pebble arrows or a 'Gone Home' sign.

When we explored the woods, we left a line Of markers; we were never known to slack As Brown Owl's whistle signal brought us back To practise marching: 'Shoulders back, straight spine!'

We lent a hand with fervour, learnt the terms For special knots and splices. Life presents No weightier problem, bigger can of worms, Than living up to all those sworn intents. My greatest joy, which time cannot efface — A sixer's stripes sewn proudly in their place.

(Manna Blake) Froth green correctness disincline. Eschew the pricy special pack Of washing powder. Do not track To supermarkets where the sign Gives promise of a friendly line In plastic bags. Go on, be slack, Don't take the bloody empties back Or sort the rubbish. Show some spine! With thoughtlessness — ignore their terms — Dispatch the leaflet which presents Recycling tips (best left to worms). Be damned to serious good intents, Let's ecologically efface And leave the world a browner place.

(Paddy Mullin) Sea-fishing, Sir? I'm prone to disincline.

I've always been the odd one in the pack; I'm more for following the woodland track, Though Pisces is my horoscopic sign.

Sea fever's not remotely in my line, I'm not cut out for handling the slack, I'm liable to end up on my back And give myself a dislocated spine.

I won't go sailing — not on any terms — I can't accept the challenge it presents;

I'm satisfied to fish with bread and worms

In safety, from the pier to all intents.

A childhood tragedy! can't efface: Anether boat, another time, another place.

(J. J. Webster) These dinosaur-tail ridges disincline Some of the members of our rucksacked pack To scramble up; they choose the lower track. We part, go up or down, as at a sign, So we ascend in a divided line, Forked, straggling, discontinuous and slack: A group of lice explore the monster's back, Some on its rib-cage, some along the spine. We have our goal, but nature sets the terms: The challenges eroded rOck presents, The stubborn crests on which we crawl like worms.

It doesn't give a damn for our intents. A casual storm or snowfall could efface All tokens of our presence in this place.

(Basil Ransome-Davies) Despite the rain, such as to disincline Me from a fishing trip, I thought I'd pack A rod and set Off down the river track.

Upon a bank by the 'No Mooring' sign I sat, and strung some lead upon a line.

It wasn't long before I saw the slack Grow taut, reeled in the fish, then threw it back, Deciding it had shown a lack of spine.

Preferring battles fought on equal terms, I keep a fish only when it presents A dogged courage to my dangling worms.

Perhaps I am perverse in my intents, Thwarting the law of Darwin to efface The strong, and let the weak usurp their place.

(Ben Glover) No. 1747: I talk to

A third-rate journalist visits the home of a third-rate creative artist and the interview is printed in a third-rate glossy magazine. Please supply up to 150 words of this familiar guff. Entries to: 'Competition No. 1747' by 25 September.