COMPETITION

Fantasy Five

Jaspistos

IN Competition No. 1512 you were asked to write a narrative poem including, doors, teeth, mountains, snakes and the Queen, the five things, it has been claimed, that people dream about most often. Though I'm a prolific dreamer, I've never dreamed about the Queen; nor has someone else who wrote to tell me just that. The two best 'dream poems' I know, `Kubla Khan' and Byron's 'Darkness', each score one. The Alice books should by rights have them all: I'd count a caterpillar as a snake, but are there any mountains or teeth? Teeth are abundant in my dreams, not in the jaws of predators, but cascading out of my own mouth, often into a basin with a noise like a xylophone. When I wake I gratefully feel them still hanging in there.

The prizewinners (who get £12 apiece) separated themselves from the pack quite easily, and there were only a couple of cases of hard cheese. Roll on next week, when I can once again dispense drink.

Backstage, I'm waiting to repeat my lines, And being hunted through the wings by snakes; My mind is blank with fear; a spotlight shines, Ready to turn a beam on my mistakes. Partly through hope that better lies ahead, Partly impelled by fear I can't assuage, I force the doors that tower above my head And offer me escape on to the stage.

Into the light I stumble, and am seen By crowds on mountain slopes with bitter eyes; In front of them Her Majesty the Queen Commands me: 'Speak! A man who's silent dies!'

My teeth fall out, and rattle on the ground; Nobody laughs. The silence is profound.

(Paul Griffin) I was walking downstairs in my nightie, The one with the fringe round the hem, When a knock on the door made me fall to the floor,

For I knew, all at once, it was THEM.

THEY were banging and shouting and screaming, And someone was ringing the bell.

When a snake stuck its head from the keyhole, And I thought, 'Now I've had it. Oh hell!'

Then the Queen came in haste to assist me, And Prince Charles with his sticking-out teeth, And we flew in their plane across mountains, All snow-capped and rugged beneath.

The Duchess of York was the pilot, And we landed in Rome, fair and square, Where the Pope showed us round all the fountains,

AND I WOKE UP WITH SPRAY ON MY HAIR!

(Hazel Stanley) The massive doors swung open wide.

The Queen sat smoking a cigar: '0, slay the horrid snake,' she cried, 'That terrorises Potter's Bar, And half my kingdom shall be yours.'

A horse appeared between my thighs Which leapt o'er mountain-tops and moors And found the snake of fearsome size.

Its teeth were like a pruning saw.

I drew my sword (which by some sleight Had changed into a thing of straw) And . . . Suddenly, I'd won the fight.

The Queen and Consort said, 'What's this?

You've slain the only breeding male

Of Serpens ridenticulus.

Grand Vizier, clap this man in jail!' (Noel Petty) It was a boring dream at first.

My dentist was delivering His usual homily on teeth (Mine were of course among the worst He'd seen) and I was shivering With fear, when Nurse announced, 'Ted Heath Is waiting. Will you see him now?'

And I was hustled through the door Which opened — not on Eaton Square, As I expected, but somehow Onto a flowery alp. The roar Of waterfalls was heard. The air Was heady; as I strode along I started to become aware Of hissing snakes nearby; the sun Was burning hot; I tried a song ('God save the Queen') . . . 'Vacate the chair,' My dentist said. 'Pipe down. All done.'

(Mortimer Spreader) As I walked out I met a witch Whose teeth were quite obscenely carious: Her hair and eyes were black as pitch, Her epithets were vile and various.

Around her neck was coiled a snake Of beady eye and virulent hue: She said that she'd been asked to take It to a man who ran a zoo.

She led me through a golden door, She led me by a snow-capped mountain; She spoke about the marvellous whore Who lives beside the whisky fountain.

And then she led me down a street Where all the doors were painted green And asked me if I'd like to meet Her Gracious Majesty the Queen. (Robert Baird)

I've got to climb these mountains,

But is it really fair?

Two massive doors confront me - They block the thoroughfare.

I strain to get them open, Then face another pair!

But this time there's a notice: 'Man eating snakes. Beware.'

I can't see any hyphen So march into the lair.

My teeth begin to chatter.

I place them on a chair.

The Queen protests politely (For she is sitting there), 'Please put these teeth back quickly Or folks will start to stare.' (F. D. Gardiner)