COMPETITION

Rerouting

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2144 you were invited to write a poem beginning with the first line of a well-known poem, altered by a single misprint, and to continue it in a new direction.

Beachcomber discovered the wheeze. 'When the hounds of spring are on winter's braces,' he wrote, but left it at that. In one of the biggest and best entries for ages there was much to enjoy: 'Do not go gentle into that good fight' (advice to Mike Tyson from Barbara Smoker), 'If you can keep your heap when all about you/ Are losing theirs and blaming it on tax' (Michael Saxby), 'That is no country for odd men' (Bill Greenwell), 'Everyone suddenly burst out ringing,/ Shouting down their mobile phones' (Ron Rubin), and 'They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were deaf,/ Which makes it rather odd that you should be a football ref (Sebastian Robinson).

The prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bottle of the Macallan Single Malt Highland Scotch whisky goes to Paul Griffin.

Mary had a little lama, Which spat, and spat, and spat; It caused great drama in Yokohama, Where Mary had a flat.

She offered rides, and more besides, But found a lack of backers, For Japanese are hard to please And much prefer alpacas.

It posed for snaps with passing chaps, And even with a geisha, But all the time its streams of slime Were covering half of Asia.

The government fell, the yen as well, The riots grew quite scary, And all because that lama was Less than a lamb to Mary. (Paul Griffin) Go, lovely Nose, Shapely as line poetic; Never disclose What beauty owes To artifice cosmetic.

Go, marble Brow, That frowning years once crinkled; Keep secret how Photons have now Refashioned you unwrinkled.

Go, high-boned Cheek, Smooth as the teenage virgin's Whose youth you seek; And do not speak Of gratitude to surgeons. (Ray Kelley)

'0 what can oil thee, Knight at arms? Thine armour's in a shocking state; And, as you walk, you sound just like A squeaking gate.

'0 what can oil thee, Knight at arms, So rusty and so out-of-luck?

Your hinges move with many a groan And your visor's stuck.' (Gerard Benson) 'I met a fireman in the meads, Full bountiful. He held a hose, And oft he shower'd me therewith From head to toes.

'And thus I sojourn on this hill

Creaking and squeaking without cease; Any old oil might help me, guy, Or engine grease.'

The sex is calm tonight.

We're on our own, there's plenty of time For gentle foreplay and the odd love-bite. One child is on a sleepover, her first; The older son's enjoying a school trip, A week of skiing in a foreign clime.

Only the cat comes in, to sip Milk from his dish and slake his thirst. Listen! You hear his rhythmic purr A background to our movements' rise and fall That we so often swiftly have rehearsed, Begun, and ceased, and then again begun When interrupted by an urgent call — A daughter's nightmare or a stranded son. Ah, Love, can it be true?

First night for years I've been alone with you!

(Manna Blake) They tuck you up, your mum and dad, And bring you Beezers when you're sick. Your not expiring makes them glad, Till you grow up and act the prick.

See, that's how evolution works: The elders rally round the sprout, And when parental presence irks They take the loss and bow right out.

And if they beat you once or twice, So what? Their parents beat them too, And they developed mostly nice; And if you're lucky, so will you.

(Kevin McGee)