No, I suspect you'd be shot down or grounded.

Darn! Here's one produced before Jayne brought the good news from the Wen to Esphere. Determined to produce one where that awkward word 'sheaves' can come in naturally and not be figurative. Sorry, Seree, I don't think combine harvestgers bother with baling (that's hay) or making sheaves. They just cut, thresh and spew out grain into bags.

Though wheat and barley prosper on our plains,
The sickle and the scythe have had their day.
The last who swung them long since passed away
And harvest now brings noise and diesel stains
To such vast tracts of cereals, it pains
The eye, be yields and profits what they may.
Where, all safe in, are villagers at play
Before the ploughing and the autumn rains
Or seeking nuts among the fallen leaves
With leathery skins from years of winds and suns?
Who needs a sure hand still with stooks and sheaves?
Such country life has drawn its final breath,
Lush lanes have turned to mere commuter-runs –
Thank God that phoney idyll’s died the death!

Thanks, Jayne.That 'may' was a killer for me. I can make my Lear sonnet much better. And I will.

What about 'lush eaves'? Quite Keatsian I feel.

Just a reminder in case any of you haven't read my post #88: Tessa's counsel:

"Yes, that's fine as long as the rhyming element remains. The sense wasn't specified, but may and May are fine, and abstains is OK for stains. I think that Sun's instead of suns scrapes through too."

So...no taking the P, boys and girls! None of these, not even in jest (...Brian! :p):

planes (as in cheese, air, or any other kind)
sundae (as in ice-cream)
aweigh (as in anchors)
Staines (as in the Middlesex town)
Paynes (as in the family of)
Mae (as in West)
reigns (as in what our Liz does)
sons (as in male offspring)
lush eaves (as in what John just said*)
De 'ath (as in Wilfred, all-round baddie and Oldie contributor)

Heck, I still haven't done one! Now, which topic hasn't been covered... ???)

Jayne

*edited in: Nope, John. Frayed knot!

I'm not finding 'May' a problem. How to fit in plains and sheaves uncontrivedly is wrecking my head.

Sod pulchritude. Let’s hear it for the plains,
Who, like all dogs, are surely due their day.
Unpurse your whistle-lips and put away
Your pert Pirelli-pictures, with their stains
Of secret substances. You who take pains
To pluck and press the darling buds of May,
Consider something other. Make a play
For summer roses, tempered by the rains
Of real experience, their leathern leaves
Made lovely by the touch of several suns.
Leave the green shoots and carry home the sheaves.
Little Miss Pretty fades with every breath;
Nick the silk stocking and the ladder runs
Through ankle, calf, thigh, cunny, heart and death.

Ah, sterling effort from Ann! Sod pulchritude indeed. I wanted a colon or period at the end of L12 instead of a comma, and thought perhaps the darling buds line could use a comma or two, but tastes vary. Great take on the brief.

But can it compete with the Clampetts? This has been such a fun thread. I've never tried to write one of these, and am a bit disheartened by the competition, but perhaps I'll mull it over. Don't hold your rhymes-with-death.

Ann - This one of yours is just brilliant - not least because, from that splendid opening blast, it fairly clips along throughout.

I was going to resist doing any more, but Jayne's news on the 'give' on the original rhyme words is entirely responsible for the existence of this fourth effort. The content is, of course, entirely my own fault!

‘Dr.’ HUNT’S HEALTHY CHOICES

“You’ll understand,” my doctor now explains,
“that to increase your choice, on any day
when symptoms come, and we have sent away
some sample slides, so that, comparing stains,
competing labs can offer drugs for pains
that you’ve been troubled by at least since May -
and this is where your rights come into play -
you choose, although it seems it never rains
but pours, which cheaper treatment really leaves
you feeling better. So - with choice - the sun’s
come out again!” He beams and shuffles sheaves
of out-sourced contracts, while, beneath my breath -
“if this is market choice,” my thinking runs,
“it looks as if I’ll get a private death.”

Yes. Ann will surely win. And it sounds just like Ann, just as te Keats, though not good, sounds just like Keats.

Oh, goody! Well, no one can say I haven't kept the rhyming element, except for the last word. To quote Oklahoma, I'd say that "I've gone about as far as I can go." (Needless to say, I won't be submitting this one.)

To whom it may concern: Hereby complains
One Brian Allgar. It’s like “Groundhog Day”,
Writing this stuff. There must be an easier way
To make a living. Only drink sustains
(I'll even swallow cheap champagnes like Spain’s)
While struggling with these blasted bouts-rimés.
My laptop with its flickering display
Constrains my brains to suffer mental strains.
The booze relieves; I’m rolling up my sleeves
To show my rivals, those complacent sons
Of bitches (scribbling Adams, bookish Eves),
A thing or two. Forget the whisky-breath;
I take my eager pen; away it runs,
Bold as Macbeth upon the blasted ’eath.


Ooops! I'd posted this before seeing Jayne's latest:
So...no taking the P, boys and girls! None of these, not even in jest (...Brian! :p)

Too late!