IN COMPETITION NO. 2102 you were invited to take the

first one or two lines of a well-known poem and continue in a frivolous direction.

This was the most numerous entry I have ever been faced with. No comedian minds a big house, but it does exhaust one so. I cut the patter to leave the stage free for as many of the fame- or money-hungry as it can accommodate. The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each if they went the full 12 lines, £10 if under the limit. The Macallan Single Malt Scotch whisky is Roger Till's.

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you?

Not quite — my specs were blurred with rain

And soon he vanished from the view.

COMPETITION

Studied irreverence

Jaspistos

How was it that I failed to spot A predecessor so august? Although my eyesight's not so hot, True recognition is a must.

I couldn't let it stop at that, I raced along a dozen streets, I caught him up — at last a chat: 'Good day,' he said. 'My name is Keats.'

(Roger Till) My heart leaps up when I behold A sufferer like me, Out in the metaphoric cold In twitching agony.

The odour that keeps others off For me has such allure, I echo his half-muffled cough And then produce the cure.

I flash the open pack unseen By these insensate folk Who scorn the joys of nicotine: `Let's find a place to smoke.' (Manna Blake) Home they brought her warrior dead. 'Ur,' she cried, 'that's never Fred!' Funny how a fatal blow Alters people's faces so. Well, he wouldn't heed my warning When I told him, just this morning, `Don't get into no more fights; Come home earlier at nights.'

P'raps he was a natural victim, Shorter than the blokes that kicked him.

Still, it's them I ought to thank - Now I'm free to marry Frank!

(Godfrey Bullard) In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A roadside eatery design, Where Alf, his chef and handyman, Did wonders with a frying-pan And home-made beetroot wine.

But then the Khan, his eye on gain, Resolved upon a fast-food chain To rival the Savoy and Ritz For burgers, kebabs, chicken bits; And all the nation's well-to-do Would come to mock and stay to chew What passed for style in Xanadu.

(Watson Weeks) He clasps the crag with crooked hands, Utters a prayer, and then a curse. He's lost his map; his rope's in strands; His rheumatism's getting worse. His mobile phone is on the blink; (If only he'd not made those calls!); He's parched. He tries to swig his drink.

Then, like a ton of bricks, he falls.

(Gerard Benson) When you are old and grey and full of sleep, There won't be any point in counting sheep.

Sweep thy faint strings, Musician, With thy long lean hand; But please have some tuition Before you form a band! (Ron Rubin) They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead - And here you are as right as rain and sitting up in bed.

I would have brought you flowers or fruit or something light to read.

I don't suppose this wreath and note are really what you need, I remember, I remember The house where I was born; It's yesterday that I forget, And if I've mowed the lawn. (W.J. Webster) Crossing alone the nighted ferry With the one coin for fee, The ticket-collector told me, 'Very Sorry, it's eighty p.'

`Is there a cheaper Lethe fare?'

He answered with a laugh, `I've an Apex Supersaver spare; We'll burn the unused half.'

(Nick MacKinnon) How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

I think the total stands at seventeen; But that's a figure that I hope to raise By reading an erotic magazine. (Paul Griffin)