Hearty thanks again, I look forward immensely to any future Spherean gathering to which I'm invited! On a separate note, are Spectator threads now only in Deep Drills? If so, please may I be messaged a password?


Rob - Reading yours, I no longer feel I have any right to call mine surreal at all!

I don't know if all the Speccie comps will be shifted to Deep Drills, Nicholas, but I'll PM you the password anyway.

Jayne

It was an ancient mariner
Who went to Innisfree
To tame his tic of telling guests
Tall tales about the sea
But found the clay-built cabin there
Had weird young William in it,
Half-starved on legumes, honeycomb
Or lightly-roasted linnet.

Deafened by bees and lapping waves
And bean-fuelled wind at night
The tar was also forced to hear
His droning host recite
Such mystic Celtic moonshine verse
As caused him to feel ill
Enough to drown himself, that's why
A ghost now haunts Lough Gill.


Wot, no Deep Drills for The Oldie?

The Oldie doesn't seem bothered by the issues that bother the others. Or so it seems to me. I'm a big fan of course because it's the only place I win anything on these days!

We can't have every comp stashed away furtively in Deep Drills; D & A just wouldn't be the same!

As John says, The Oldie entries are safe enough here, thankfully. :)

True, Jayne, yet perhaps a simpler solution would have been to make the whole of D & A password-protected? I agree with those who think prior appearance on a forum is not in general a major problem affecting future publication, but I, and perhaps others no longer posting, would prefer not to have their early drafts plastered over the web by Google's crawlers.

It was an Ancient Mariner
Who went to Innisfree,
And in a pleasant sunny glade
Was savaged by a bee.

He snatched the crossbow from his back
And shot the creature dead.
Its angry fellows formed a cloud
That swarmed about his head.

But, lightning-swift, his arrows flew
To pierce each apian forehead.
Bean-pole in hand, the Poet sprang,
And cursed a deed so horrid:

“You pestilential Mariner,
You daft, demented sot,
My bee-loud glade is silent now -
You’ve killed the bloody lot!”

OK - you lot can do Sam, I'll go for a bit of Willy.

It was an ancient mariner who went to Innisfree
And a wee shebeen built there, of turf and spittle made
Nine guest ales does he keep there, and the Guinness, naturally,
And striped umbrellas for the noon shade.

Of course he gets no peace there, if peace means sneaking past
With no man setting foot there from lark-rise to last orders,
For lunchtimes are a bustle and each night is a blast
And much business done beyond borders.

I will arise and go there, for here by night and day
I must have an eye to the shadow on every corner
And I lurk in a doorway not to put myself in the way
Of the boot of An Garda Síochána.

It was an Ancient Mariner
who went to Innisfree.
But I must sail across our Sol
into our galaxy.

Thirty years now, I've just begun
our voyage discovery.
But still I strain against the sun
escape velocity.

I have a brilliant mind, of course
the best available
I'll do my best to run this course
with tech unprintable

Not half way out by Haley's way
dodging dangers of space.
To not return, I hope and pray
but Ra still owns this place.


SWH

Yes, I've been working on a companion piece for the other chap, Ann. But it's nothing like yours, and for the moment it's not getting anywhere. A tricky fellow, old William B.