As a new member, I am a little worried that I am never going to win any of these competitions after reading the post for "Limit: Two Tons." I really enjoyed your humorous entry Sylvia. I agree with Jayne and the other members, I think you are definitely on the winner’s podium.

Well, thank you, Dave. I'm keeping my fingers crossed while preparing myself for disappointment! I'm a woman, I can multi-task...

Darn it! Relying on memory I forgot Limit was part of the title and also thought Two Ton Tessie O'Shea was part of Tessa's rubric, not Jayne's. I wonder how strict TDC is . . .

As in so many things, the Yanks
Don’t always get it right.
A ‘net ton’? Come again? No thanks,
It’s forty pounds too light.

But (yes, pronounced like dead John Donne
And counted in kgs)
The ‘metric ton’, i.e. a tonne,
Diverges from both these.

This French invention come to town
Has fifty times a score
Which sees the ‘net ton’ ninety down,
But ours with sixteen more.

So, 'Two Ton Tessie ' (born O'Shea)
Might seem less adipose
Stateside, but over here (UK)
Still qualify as gross.

Excellent, Jerome - though I suspect too clever for the Oldie!

Tye Oldie, Nigel, is a magazine for very clever folks. You are being ageist. And at your age!

Jerome, the poem is funny. Give it a go.

Still, Jerome, at least you didn't commit the faux pas of writing 'Tessa' instead of 'Tessie' in the last stanza.

Many thanks, John and Nigel. Encouraged, have sent. If nothing else, have discovered the difference between the Imperial ton, the NA ton and the metric tonne. Strange topic, but it has generated some hilarious and ingenious interpretations in this thread, let alone what may be brewing up in Lancaster and other points north.

Well, almost, Brian, but noticed in time.

Limit: Two Tons.

That’s it. I’ve loaded up the mini-skip.
Its little limit has been satisfied.
Now, Haulier, come and take it to the tip
But not before you’ve spread a net to hide
The sheer enormity of what I’ve done.
The mighty pile in shameless disarray
Teeters like Ossa upon Pelion,
The cruel truth of what I’ve thrown away.
Not books or tools – both those are sacrosanct -
But so much other semi-precious stuff,
That, like an extra tooth, had to be yanked
Because it wasn’t relevant enough.
To see the back of it should bring relief
And not this synthesis of guilt and grief.

Surely there are poems here good enough to do well in more prestigious comps? (Or, am I forgetting only free format stuff wins those awards?)

This:
The sheer enormity of what I’ve done.
The mighty pile in shameless disarray
Teeters like Ossa upon Pelion,
The cruel truth of what I’ve thrown away.

Yes, those Lancastrians play it close to the chest. I blame it on the weather.