I don't know anything about the Donner party. What is it?

(You may also get one sent to you with your cheque) Hmm, chance would be a fine thing, Jayne. Bill G and I are still waiting for ours for the 'Lying In Bed' comp from the January issue.

Jerome,
In my experience Literary Review are fast payers, and you get a complimentary magazine, The Speccie people sometimes take ages to cough up, but The Oldie aren't too bad as a rule.

I think they all work (loosely) on the notion of settling up one month in arrears, so you and Bill ought to be getting your payments any time now, I should think.

On odd occasions I've waited so long that I've forgotten I was even due to get any money - then it's a lovely surprise when a cheque pops through the letterbox! :)

(Realistically though, 25 quid isn't ever going to change my life! I just like to win ;))

Jayne

In answer to your question, Simon, for the 2010 bouts rimés contest, The Oldie published one of mine which was not light or humorous.

I'll never forget how much trouble I had, however, trying to exchange the 25 pounds for dollars. My bank ended up charging me a large fee for the transaction, nearly as much as the prize! (I see Jayne has mentioned this problem in post #40.)

Thanks, Jayne. Perhaps the cash and the Chambers will arrive tomorrow then. I see with something of a shock that £25 is now only 28.72 Euros.

John, from Wikepedia:

Another small point to mention, one and all (and Martin in particular): don't bother fretting over titles for your Oldie entries - they never use them! Nor does The Speccie. This is one of the things I love about these comps because, for the most part, I'm crap at thinking up titles for my poems.

Jayne

Thank you, Roger. Rather like the Wreck of the Nancy Brig.

John,

In the same vein, there was the 1700's wreck of a British ship on Boon Island, Maine, and the 1800's wreck of the French ship "Medusa" off the coast of Africa in the 1800s.

The first was documented in the book, "Boon Island" by Kenneth Roberts.

The second was the subject of a famous painting, Gericault's "Raft of the Medusa". I once saw a reproduction of this painting in the lobby of a Chinese restaurant. It's a great picture, but not one to inspire much confidence in the food being served.

Martin (44), I expected the same problem with a $10 cheque or check from the USA last year but at my local Barclays branch they said to my surprise 'We don't charge for converting such small amounts' and I got £6.20. Perhaps they'd had orders from Head Office to invest in a little goodwill after all the banking scandals.

Well done Barclays. I doubt I'd get that from HSBC.

Jerome,
I also expected to have a major problem cashing a $10 cheque or check from the USA last year so I just didn't bother.

Now I discover that I could have become £6.20 richer, as it turns out, but I've decided I'm happier keeping my cheque or check as a souvenir. I also kept the accompanying letter and even the envelope; the handwriting on it was too beautiful to throw it away!

Jayne

PS. John, likewise with TwatWest.

I gather from my daughter that Lloyds is good. And would have been better if it hadn't been forced by the bloody Labour Government into a tie up with disaster.

Do I gather that more than one submission is within the rules? If so I think I might also offer them this.

CHILD’S PLAY

That world of “tuppence coloureds, penny plains”
lit with great lines the darkest winter day -
so Glasgow sabbath Grans were borne away
to haunt the blasted heath, and damson’s stains
of homemade jam incarnadined the pains
of cardboard castellated murder. May
this age's children’s children live to play
past Syria's harried heights where winter rains
thunder on cardboard camps and lightning leaves
etched images of exile. May yet suns
of inspiration furnish them with sheaves
of plays to plead their case with furnace breath.
Let’s learn, the longer bloody drama runs,
more than our one half world enacts its death.

If The Oldie doesn't like titles, I can't write without finding one - albeit usually after the event.

You can enter as many as you like, Nigel. And you can use a nom de plume. William Wallace perhaps?

Yes they would. Because you have to include your real name for the cheque.

Alas, Brian - quite right. I'll correct it here but too late to do so for The Oldie. Perhaps, as a cover name, Blind Harry might be more appropriate!

The rain, thunder and lightning - apart from recalling the miserable plight of Syrian refugees - and "our one half world" also tie the reflection to the memory of childhood productions of Macbeth in a cardboard theatre.

No, they wouldn't, John, because "someone else's name" means a real person (as opposed to an acknowledged pseudonym) who receives the cheque in his name, cashes it, and hands over the dosh - or else. (Holbrook, you have been warned.)

Nigel, I'd picked up "blasted heath", "incarnadined", and "castellated murder", but I missed the reference to "In thunder, lightning, or in rain".

I'm still struggling with the last five lines, but perhaps the penny will drop sooner or late. Or have they abolished the penny?

Do you know, I never thought of that.

Oh, dear - this type of challenge is compulsive. It's such a simple, yet enticing, limit which just sits there cheekily beckoning one to have another go - like a coconut shy in a fair ground. Quite possibly with as few winning results - or maybe, more satisfyingly, like that lovely crockery smashing stall in the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen. Anyway - I promise, like any helpless recidivist - this third one will be my last.

A BOTTOM LINE

With eyes set on Iraq’s oil-sodden plains
and shielded from the honest light of day,
that man we had elected lied away,
convinced such oleaginous dark stains
rich dividends would pay. Certain no pains
he’d bear, past trifling slights in Erskine May,
he treated truth, an extra in his play,
as evanescent as some desert rains
whose vapoured drops, on voters burnt like leaves,
tempted their trust, ’neath shock and awe’s twin suns,
until their shrivelled hopes, like rotten sheaves,
exhaled, in vast disgust, betrayal’s breath.
’Twas ever thus, when cheating lucre runs
to hoard power’s pension - yet he’ll not cheat death.

My thanks to Jayne for posting it all in the first place.
Nigel

"My thanks to Jayne for posting it all in the first place."

It really is a pleasure, Nigel, but thanks for your thanks :)

Jayne

TREE OF LIFE

When I was young, we lived out on the plains.
Sometimes I would not see a tree all day.
I used to dream my afternoons away
wishing I could see one. How it stains
the fabric of my memory and pains
the little boy inside me when each May,
in my new home, I watch the children play
among the trees, and in my heart it rains
to think that I grew up without such leaves.
The universe is filled with countless suns.
Their names could fill a billion billion sheaves.
But none of them is worth your time or breath
compared to my new home. A wise man runs
to places where new leaves demolish death.

Our work-worn life upon the plains
is hard enough, let's call the day.
And would we ramble far away
we'd find 'tis gay to gather stains
And worth collecting bumps and pains
from joying in the early May,
from rolling in a bout of play,
from dancing round in chilly rains
to fall into a pile of leaves
baked dark by seven months of suns,
shuffed off and broken, stinking sheaves,
long aged and foul-sweet tall tree-breath.
A drip of water smartly runs
and lands in quick momentum-death.

Upon the Serengeti plains
The lion spends each idle day.
Contentedly, he licks away
At paws that still have bloody stains
From last night's meal. He takes great pains
To groom himself while thinking “May
My life be one of food and play.”
Out here, it hardly ever rains,
And when it does, acacia leaves
Give cover till returning suns
Pour down their incandescent sheaves.

But she, his mate, with panting breath,
In fierce pursuit still runs and runs
Until their dinner’s done to death.

The first line of this sonnet ends with "plains,"
not because I woke up one fine day
and said I think I'll fritter time away
by writing "plains" and rhyming it with "stains,"
but for a different reason. I took pains
with hopes that I might win a contest. May
the judge enjoy this trifling bit of play
as much as farmers do the summer rains
that help the crops to bear their fruit and leaves,
as much as photosynthesis loves suns.
I've sent the Oldie entries by the sheaves,
but will I ever win? Don't hold your breath.
That's not the way my sorry story runs.
I have no choice. This sonnet ends with "death."

Ah, Andy and Brian, octosyllabic sonnets. Shakespeare wrote one of those as I am sure you both know.

I especially like Brian's 'lions' idea - highly original - and I was amused by Roger's 'lament'.

I've sent the Oldie entries by the sheaves,
but will I ever win? Don't hold your breath.

Heehee. :D

This is going to be a difficult one to judge. What will Tessa go for? I can't wait to see!

Jayne

PS. Roger, I'd amend it to read: "I've sent The Oldie entries by the sheaves" as the magazine is called The Oldie, not Oldie. (But if you've already submitted it, don't sweat it.)

Roger's entry will strike a responsive chord in the cynical heart any contestant.

His submission ought to finish in the money simply for his clever use of that cussed word, "May".
Then, "photosynthesis" in L10 really puts the whole thing over the top.

The Plains-Wanderer

This wanderer of the Riverina plains
with her pretty black-white collar knew a day
when she could whoo and cluck and munch away
on spiders, seeds, and bugs. Now poison stains
her home (to quash the locust), causing pains
as grave as falcon claws. The pleasant May
of life recedes. Foxes and cats will play
their predatory games, while plowing rains
its menace on the land and quickly leaves
it overgrazed or far too lush. Will suns
of trouble tumefy and fill the sheaves
of journals? Yet if time could hold his breath,
allowing you to watch her as she runs,
you’d see a tiny bird outrunning death.


In the last line "outrunning" might be "outracing."

Did slime-life glisten on the Martian plains
As once far off there water had its day?
If so, how long before it drained away
To nothing more than faint ambiguous stains?
The scientists have asked, and taken pains
To send a questing robot, which soon may
Reveal our role in some great cosmic play,
And find its cast includes more worlds of rains,
Mists, oceans, lakes and labyrinths of leaves,
Though powered and warmed by very different suns,
With beings too who gather fruit and sheaves.
Or will there come from Mars an arid breath
Predicting, like the restless sand that runs
Across our deserts here, a planet’s death?

Jerome,

I like your take in post #72, even though you stole my Mars Rover idea (from post #29)! Your last 3 lines, however, seem to imply the greenhouse effect, which is more associated with Venus (whose surface temperature is around 780 degrees Fahrenheit). The Martian environment, on the other hand, is more akin to Antarctica, which is considered a desert, and is, indeed, extremely arid.

Best,
Martin

Yeah, well, someone stole my idea for using the word "May", and even got congratulated for his clever use of the word.

But there are far worse things going on: EVERYONE ON THIS THREAD has half-inched the end-rhymes I planned to use!

There are only two ways to solve the problem. Either keep your entry under wraps (as many do), or if you think you've been plagiarized, kneecap the bastards.

LOL Brian! I only said that because I'm Martin the Martian. :rolleyes: Here's another.

Night Terrors

Shadows of bombers creep across the plains
like phantoms, the mirror moon turns night to day,
and there’s no time to dash or drive away
from circumstances that will leave bright stains
on the flesh of the fresh craters. How the pains
of trauma will rival the rainbow-flowers of May!
a time of exploration, planting, play,
a time of thunderstorms that bring the rains
which grow the lavish lawns and lengthen leaves
creating the viridescence a season of suns
will bathe in light. Yet as these myriad sheaves
of visions rustle inside your brain, your breath
catches. You hear a scream. A child runs
across a threshold. And you wake from death.

Martin, far be it from me to plagiarise the work of my co-winner in the 2010 bouts-rimes. I think I'd only had time to skim the board some time ago and had no conscious recollection of your Mars Rover, but possibly an unconscious one.

Fortunately, I haven't submitted this attempt yet and will not now do so as your vehicle obviously reached Mars first.

Yes, not too clear about the mechanics of planet death but I thought desertification was increasing here.

Good luck!

Actually, folks, it's the folks at The Oldie whose perceptions count - but, just to add to the scrap, my three efforts all used 'May' without meaning the month and my Child's Play was the first to do so with its capitalisation arising from being at the start of a sentence (see post 54 - my God, how on earth have we launched so many posts on such a small basis?).

The beverly hillbillies
 

THE BEVERLY HILLBILLIES

The Clampetts drove across the Western plains,
Huge wealth from oil had made these yokels’ day.
From Ozark Mountains, Jed had moved away,
With Granny, (spotted with terbakky stains),
And nephew Jethro, plagued by growing pains,
And shapely tomboy daughter Elly May.

The dining table once saw billiard play;
Their cee-ment pond is filled by summer rains.
The reek of Granny’s vat of lye-soap leaves
Miss Hathaway aghast, while in the suns
Of afternoons she reads her ardent sheaves
Of sonnets to Bodine, in bated breath.

(Nine seasons saw this show have weekly runs,
Until poor ratings brought about its death).

Is this show shown on TV in the UK?

Douglas, that's an incredibly creative approach to the challenge posed by the list of rhymes. I thought for a moment that her name might be spelled "Mae" rather than "May," but I looked it up and found that you had that part right. However the first part should be "Elly," not "Ellie."

Whether that show is known across the pond I can't say, but as a general rule they're more conversant with our pop culture than we are with theirs, God help them.

Chris,

Thanks for your comment. I have fixed the spelling of "Elly". In Lil'Abner, the blonde was Daisy Mae, and I suspect that Al Capp would have gone ballistic if CBS had used that spelling. I only wish I had enough room to include Milburn Drysdale.

My eighth grade English teacher used to say that watching TV would rot my brain. Little did she suspect that that it would enable me to do an overhaul (from the sublime to the ridiculous) on Keats.

Yes, aside from pop music, some movies, BBC shows on our PBS, and murder mystery novels, it does seem that more of American pop culture goes to the UK, than theirs comes to here.

I'm hoping that the Oldie staffers have seen a few episodes of the Hillbillies on the tube.