COMPETITION

Bouts limes

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1567 you were asked for a piece of verse with a given rhyme- scheme.

The first 12 rhyme-words I took from MacNeice's Autumn Sequel and added the last two myself, to make things more difficult. Most of you fell into the usual competition stride of iambic pentameters, but among those who risked another metre Phyllis Fountain and John Sweetman stood out. Other excellent performers were Peter Norman, M.R. Macintyre ('She'd gone, and everything was neat and lawful./How much I long for her, who was so awful!') and F. Mullen (`Wretched and sleepless, I reflect that lawful/Wedlock, with trust, is fine; without it, awful.').

There's room for six palmary winners, who get a generous £14 each. The bonus bottle of Rioja 1973 Gran Reserva, pre- sented by Becket Drake Ferrier Moseley, 57-59 Neal St, London WC2, is captured by M. B. Tanner with a poem which rises well above the level of a mere exercise.

At 'Happy Hour' she cannot raise a smile; A glass to lips is all she'll raise in pubs.

From snugs to lounges, surrogates for homes, From six to closing-time she daily roams.

At sixty her remaining touch of style Is never filling in her cheque-book stubs.

The mirror tries her where she sits accused Of ruined beauty (proven by the light); And all she hears is other people's laughter.

As shadows deepen in her own dark night, The moment comes when service is refused.

('She's had enough, you see. To serve her after She's drunk would not be right, or even lawful.') She wakes up in the morning feeling awful.

(M.B. Tanner) It must be months since last I saw a smile, For rarer far than puritans in pubs Are smiling dentures in retirement homes.

I loathe old Mrs Murgatroyd, who roams The corridors in Lady Bracknell style, And Miss La Rue, whose soggy, scarlet stubs Carpet her room — old Major Grubb accused

Her yesterday, when she began to light

Her nineteenth fag, of arson (cue for laughter, But none forthcoming). In the lounge last night Around the telly, Mr Squires refused To switch to Dallas, at least not till after It was half over. Shouldn't it be lawful To put away old folk when they're so awful?

(Peter Hadley) My dad could never fail to raise a smile In all his favourite bars and clubs and pubs And in his multiplicity of homes

Through which his restless spirit surely roams - For what my dad possessed was wit and style.

I shut my eyes and see him as he stubs Another cigarette out when accused Of dalliance by Mum. He travelled light In pharmaceuticals, deceit and laughter And died quite suddenly in Leeds one night.

Alas! A final drink he'd been refused.

He had three 'wives' with kids, we found out after.

Although his deeds were anything but lawful, Life without my dad is flat and awful. (Ba Miller)

The Pop Star readjusts his public smile; The mediamen who've hung about in pubs All day file copy and make tracks for homes They see too little of. The Pop Star roams His hotel bedroom, tries out a new style, Postures, then does a workout — till he stubs His toe against a chair — he's been accused By someone of flat singing, he made light Of it with a neat quip that earned him laughter, But now it rankles. In the jet-lagged night He worries about offers he's refused, And when this tour's done what will there be

after?

He's not that young. What can he do that's lawful And lucrative? This new song's pretty awful.

(Ginger Jelinek) My Aunt squashed my suggestion with a smile. 'I don't approve of eating out in pubs; We'll patronise one of those stately homes.' (Those dismal dumps where everybody roams Through countless rooms extolling taste and style.) She bought two tickets. 'Mustn't lose the stubs; If we re-enter we may stand accused

Of dodging payment.' Gardens bathed in light Were full of summer sounds and happy laughter; The scene within was dull and dark as night. On swept my Aunt. Too cowed to have refused, Like some poor little dog I followed after.

If only liquidating aunts was lawful!

A holiday with mine was worse than awful.

(0. Smith) Thinking of Judy's cryptic smile And how Elaine caused fights in pubs, And Sue (for all her talk of 'homes'), And Nicola, whose ghost still roams My dreams, and Arabella's style (Recorded in my cheque-book stubs), I know that I could be accused Of liking women who were 'light'.

But why not go for fun and laughter?

Why date the same chick every night?

So far I've never been refused, Big girls know quite well what I'm after.

It's riotous, but clean and lawful, While going steady must be awful.

(Jermyn Thynne)