COMPETITION

Ungiven rhymes

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1464 you were asked for a poem in which the following words, in any order, are part of the rhyme-scheme: copy, posh, agenda, nude, basin, France, but, unwilling.

This one brought even the backwoods- men up to town with their bagpipes and ukeleles. Thank you, one and all: you gave a lot of pleasure. There's no time for a Prize-giving Speech this week, only for commendations and the hand-out. The -former go to Peter Norman, 0. Smith, Richard Snailham, Peter Hadley, Nicholas Hodgson, Len Wellgerbil, and Ginger Jelinek who blew it by rhyming 'instance' with `France'. The winners below take £12 each, and the bonus bottle of gin, the gift of Mr William Topham, belongs to Gerry Hamill.

When! plan a job I ain't sloppy, I picks a detached 'ouse that's posh, I draws up a map wiv a copy For Charlie who's good wiv a cosh.

A caper that's on my agenda You can bet will be pretty well screwed, 'Cos when we've stripped that hacienda There won't be a room that ain't nude.

But if I gets disturbed when I'm casin' A joint where I think there's a chance, I scrub it, I know it's a basin Of ordure as they say in France.

Young Charlie is never unwilling To mix it if bovver comes, but He don't 'old wiv maiming or killing, He just taps 'em sharp on the nut.

(Gerry Hamill) To look at paintings I am not unwilling; I can spend hours before a Renoir nude; But in a gallery where crowds are milling And scores of works are waiting to be viewed The choice is hard between a Monet poppy, A Cezanne landscape of the South of France, A pretty student trying to do a copy, And the unresting throng of ambulants.

He by the Corot looks a careful spender; I think El Greco would have put his face in The latest tortuous work on his agenda; But, watching Poussin's 'Nymphs before a Basin', There stands a girl on whom the comment 'Gosh!'

Says all that's needed, without if or but; By her, the Poussin suddenly seems posh, Cezanne affected, Renoir simply smut. (Paul Griffin) Does it send a Stroppy

Spasm through you too — that litany of posh

Young aristos who, whenever the Lost Generation's on the agenda, Is always trotted out? Julian Grenfell, Raymond Asquith, Edward Homer. . (you can copy The rest from the mass of Memoirs they occupy so much space in). With that quintessentially English clean-cut Handsomeness, and clad in every thrilling Virtue (but Usually viewed In effigy as Heilenically nude), They alone, it seems, fought the Boche In the Flanders basin. Let's hear for a change of those humbler hundreds of thousands who, unwilling, Were also led on Death's Dance In France. (Jon Fernside) The new au pair arrived this week from France; Her figure somehow calls to mind brioches. She summed up Ferndale Road in one swift glance And, in a charming voice, pronounced it 'posh'.

She claims to cook, but favours simple grilling, Her English lessons top the day's agenda, She takes the kids to school, but is unwilling When asked to scrub the floor or black the fender.

My wife complains her clothes are clean but sloppy—

Her overall is certainly a case in Point — and she tries to do her best to copy Brigitte Bardot when cleaning my washbasin.

You wouldn't think that was suggestive, but Her handling of the taps seems to exude Sex, and the way that overall is cut! No question, underneath it she is nude. (Mortimer Spreader) I stand on my veranda, calm and nude: This is the hour of Midi lassitude, With lunch or sleep on everyone's agenda.

Below, I hear the whirring of a blender As aioli is thickened. Tempting, but I've promised to become a slimming nut And turn my body into something thrilling.

I wish the spirit were not so unwilling. . .

Beyond the empty port's blue-painted caisson The sea lies torpid in its tidal basin Like setting aspic. I pick up my copy Of Michelin's Provence. My skin is sloppy With sweat and spilled pastis. I ought to wash In my capacious bath (the hotel's posh) But where's the energy? In southern France One waits, and leaves developments to chance. (Basil Ransome-Davies) I do not yearn to own a hacienda, And oily fish are not my favourite food; So Spain ranks fairly low on my agenda — A mass of Wigan women in the nude.

The Riviera? No, I am unwilling To waste my golden hours on games of chance. Germany? No! Sausages and beer-swilling — They order these things better (much) in France.

So, what about a cruise? I have a copy Of a brochure, to Greece, the cabins POSH. (I wonder, should the Manager prove stroppy About a loan, if— No! It wouldn't wash!) China? Peru? The Amazonian basin?

I'd visit every one with pleasure — but Pie in the sky (as Fortnum said to Mason) Is far away and very hard to cut! (P. G. Smith)