COMPETITION

Verb. sap.

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2041 you were invited to write a poem in which the rhyme words are all either abbreviations or acronyms.

Again Harry Graham is germane. In his `Poetical Economy' (The Penguin Book of Comic and Curious Verse, that most trea- surable anthology) he sings:

When I've a syllable de trop, I cut it off, without apol.: This verbal sacrifice, I know, May irritate the schol.; But all must praise my dev'lish cunn.

Who realise that Time is Mon.

I was glad I had my new Cassell's Dictionary of Abbreviations on the arm of my judging throne to check Sid Field's ingenious entry, otherwise I would have scarcely believed that STOR stands for Scripps Tuna Oceanographic Research. He and the other prizewinners, printed below, win £25 each. Frank McDonald and David Barton get warm commendations. The bonus bottle of The Macallan The Malt Scotch whisky is W.J. Webster's. Aunt Bea pegged out while playing crib -

A wholly fitting last ad lib For one who said that as a WAAF She'd always been more riff than RAF, And done her bit to beat the Blitz

By downing scores of gin and Its.

Post-war she rose to Chief Exec

Of what she made a first-class Tech.

Hard, then, to read the sneering crits That masqueraded as obits, All purple pros and coded cons Tossed off by rent-a-hack anons - The kind of parasitic sods

That creep like ivy round old quads.

Name names? As Bea would say, 'Verb sap -

Play poker if you can't go nap.'

(W.J. Webster) I learned, while studying Eng Lit, What then seemed useful skills, e.g.

The proper way to use q.v., Ibid., et seq., and in loc. sit.

But this meant nothing to the Ed Who hired me for his motor mag, And when I failed to rate the Jag Above the Merc, I lost all cred.

I next wrote ads for Klenz & Co., Whose Macho soap at 20p I hyped in print and on 'IV As certain to prevent BO.

And what I'm writing now, pro tern, Is infra dig; it's so non-U It makes a mock of my IQ: Godzilla scripts for MGM. (Ray Kelley) While scoffing fatty snacks before the telly I hear an inner warning from my doc, Who bids me shun each appetising deli And ostracise the calorific choc.

Ah, youthful days! In shorts and plastic mac

I conquered hilltops on my ancient bike: Student of health — not only in the vac -

I passed Anat and Path, yet failed in Psych. The Arts? I used to pay a yearly sub To get a well-known literary mag: For music there was singing in the pub,

And cousins took me once to Cav and Pag.

Now, as I contemplate my ravaged phiz, I feel I've not done badly in the circs: Accepting life as quite a rummy biz Is one of age's few remaining perks.

(Godfrey Bullard) The terror of our street is MARC Who's always up to some wild LARC.

He isn't really all that BAD Although he often is a CAD.

Of course he always makes a DIN, Encouraged by his girlfriend WINN.

His shouts and screams and manic LAFTA Deserve an accolade from BAFTA.

He loves to play the fool and COD And hoax some poor unwitting BOD.

Of japes he has an endless STOR, But all of them within the LAW.

The streetwise gangs of boys and GALS All greet him as their prince of PALS.

(Sid Field) When Neville was an undergrad His tastes were uniformly trad. He spent no time with rougher bods Like rowdy Rockers, Teds or Mods, But studied English Lang and Lit, And read huge books he called Lit Crit.

He hoped to gain a BA (Hons) And own a house with all mod cons, And teach, perhaps, in some mod sec Or school that specialised in tech.

But no; conscripted in the RAF, He met and loved a pretty WAAF; Then he was posted off to Gib And she got hooked on Women's Lib.

And that's why he became a Rev, Know to his flock as Father Nev. (0. Smith)