The Oldie: Sleepers (was Bouts Rimes)
 

Badil-Ransome-Davies, Gail White and Bill Greenwell all mentioned in dispatches, Martin Elster and Jerome Betts worthy winners. Still none of us havevgot our hands on that tea-set. Come on, people.

The new competition promises well. Go to Competition to see the full results.

Competition No 123 Sleepers

Google, I see, has just put on line a 150 hour video of the trans-Siberian Railway. This suggested to me a poem called 'Sleepers' which you can take in any sense. Maximum 16 lines.
email comps@theoldie.co.uk. Don't forget your postal address.

oldie comp
 

I did get the tea-set, though prior to becoming an eratonaut, & very welcome it was.

bazza

Werll done, Bazza. Describe it. What exactly is it? Oh, and while I'm here, a rhyme.

Sleepers

Gog and Magog, giants sleeping,
All the wealth of Albion keeping,
Guardians of proven worth
Buried in our English earth.
Gog was such a lovely geezer,
Lived before the days of Caesar.
Magog was his duplicate,
Flourished at the selfsame date.
They were scarcely Mona Lisas,
Ugly buggers, beezer geezers,
Great guys, straight guys, on-the slate-guys,
Taking-Courage-by-the-crate-guys,
Gog and Magog, heavyweights,
Gog and Magog, perfect mates,
As this rhyme reiterates.

Nobody was more surprised than I was to see myself on the page. Nearly didn't enter when I saw what I was up against, but glad I did! Very gratifying to know that I can tickle Tessa Castro's chuckle muscle now and again.
Well done Martin; well done Jerome (I love the topical banking slant).
Best wishes to all,
Joan Butler
(I haven't been around for a while. When the block strikes I turn into a bumpkin.)

tea set
 

As I recall, a couple of nice mugs (one since dropped & broken by me, like much else in our household), a tea towel, cake, Yorkshire tea & a packet of those amusingly T-shaped biscuits.

I've seen EREME about, but I did not know you were Joan Butler. We are EVERYWHERE, I tell you. We will TAKE OVER THE WORLD!!!!

Well really. Is no one else going to try this? Perhaps it's because I didn't title the thread 'Sleepers'. How do I correct this, Oh Clever ones who KNOW? Meanwhile - another Sleepers poem.What about this one?

The Sleepers

Vampires of velveteen sleep in the shadows.
They hang from your ivy with toes to the moon,
Row upon row of such sweet little faces,
Each wizened and shrivelled and black as a prune.
Listen, oh listen, you good little children,
The Velveteen Vampires will come for you soon.

(How they croon...)

Open the windows, you scrump-ti-ous children.
We want you to cuddle us ever so tight.
Better than teddies or hot water bottles,
A Velveteen Vampire will see you all right.
Sleepytime, kiddiwinks, beddybyes, cuddlekins,
Naughtikins toothiboots coming tonight

FOR A BITE!

After John's beastly baby biters some sugar sweet sleepers. Have you ever wondered where the birds sleep?

The birds that have the daylight shift
The twitterers and singers,
The little hatch, the speedy swift,
And robins, spring’s harbingers,
All find a perch when darkness falls
In ivy growing up on walls
Or hidden in the tops of trees
Protected from the cooling breeze,
And there they snuggle up and keep
Each other warm and go to sleep.

The heron and the egret,
The willet and the stilt
Have hides in places secret,
In clumps of reeds and silt.
With plover, loon and curlew
They rest till morning’s dew
Lies heavy on each blade of grass
And glints like tiny shards of glass
in early morning’s rising sun.
Then all the birds know day’s begun

Birthe

Way to go, Joan! And you, too, Jerome!

All the best,

Martin

sleepers
 

Is this now formally the sleepers thread? Here goes anyway (I presume I don't have to explain to American eratonauts that Anglo 'sleeper' = US 'tie') :



They say that life goes on in sleep
as phobias and fancies creep
like rats from the unfathomed deep
of chequered human minds,
that in our psychic cinema
a movie – often quite bizarre
(The Sound Of Music meets film noir?) –
dramatically unwinds.

This odd nocturnal celluloid
encrypts the issues we avoid
when waking (thank you, Dr Freud,
the king of one-eyed jacks).
Our sleep's not innocent, it seems;
it seethes with worries, hopes and schemes;
but sleepers who are free of dreams
lie dead on railway tracks.

Behold! I have retitled this thread to include the word "Sleepers." I hope that was what you wanted, John. If not, let me know. (This is something you can do, you know, by using the drop-down menu "Thread Tools" and selecting "Edit Thread." That lets you change the thread title.)

Yes, Bazza, this is the Sleepers thread. My mistake originally and thank you Maryann for putting it right. A couple of winners from Bazza nd Birthe. I wonder, Birthe, whether you last line goes quite right. It scans but only just. The rest is quite charming.

Thanks John, just seen this. Well done igualmente Joan and Martin. Fortunate for me, if depressing, that economy-wrecking bankers are still getting their bonuses. May we three meet again, but not in quite such a tough one.

This was certainly a tough one, Jerome. But I must say, I think it was the most fun poetic exercise I've ever had. If nothing else, it was good practice. Winning something, however, sure doesn't hurt! :)

Charles Ives once said: "Prizes are for boys, and I'm all grown up." I'm not sure that I agree with him.

Belated congratulations to Jerome, Martin and Joan for your well-deserved Oldie victories, and to Gail, Bazza and Bill for HMs.

I'd been hoping for a bouts-rimés hat trick, having won it in Nov 02 and Aug 05, but it was a very big 'ask' indeed, given that Tessa must have had hundreds of entries - and space for just four winning poems. Not good odds at all, so J, J, and M, massive applause to all of you!

Martin,
I'm delighted that, after all the discussion about it, 'allay' for 'lay' was permissible. Wary of deviating from the straight and narrow myself, it's good to know, for future reference, that we can - so I won't be such a scaredy-cat next time.

Bazza,
I notice that I'm under you (in a manner of speaking) in Oct 06. Time to put the back issues away now and start thinking about Comp No 123.

Found Poem?
 

If we do not get our sleepers, and forge rails,
and devote days and nights to the work,
but go tinkering upon our lives to improve them,
who will build railroads? And if railroads
are not built, how shall we get to heaven in season?
But if we stay at home and mind our business,
who will want railroads? We do not ride on the railroad;
it rides upon us. Did you ever think what those sleepers
are that underlie the railroad? Each one is a man,
an Irishman, or a Yankee man. The rails are laid on them,
and they are covered with sand, and the cars run
smoothly over them. They are sound sleepers. . .

I like your poem, Ralph.

Thanks, Jayne! :)

Martin

But of course, the ties are called sleepers. Ah - so one more.

We owe to China many thanks
Not just for Pooh Pooh platters
Chow Main and all such matters.
As well as loans to our banks
There were the poor Chinese
Who came, and it was these
Who built the US rails
When trains replaced the trails.
They almost broke their backs
When laying down the tracks
On mighty ties called sleepers
The sturdy, wooden keepers
Of rails that must stay strong
So nothing would go wrong
Across the continent
With passengers content
Asleep in Wagon-lits
A railroad luxury
Before the trains had funds reduced
And not one sleeper had been loosed
By years of sad neglect
But what can you expect?
Trains still go rattling through
They still bring me and you
To our destination
For that we thank their nation.

birthe

Revised, corrected, shortened, new and hopefully improved version:

We owe to China many thanks
Not just for loans to our banks
But for the many men who came
From China when we needed them

To build the US rails
When trains replaced the trails.
They almost broke their backs
When laying down the tracks

On mighty ties called sleepers
The sturdy, wooden keepers
That kept the rails secure
They built them to endure

SLEEPERS

In childhood’s empty afternoons,
I watched the ads with crude cartoons;
ignored the sell but now I find
their catchy jingles tease my mind.

These sleepers have me in their hold,
the things I want no longer sold,
the toothpaste, sweets and paraffin,
as out-of-date as crinoline.

Interesting idea, Holly. I suppose Herrick could enter via planchette with this sort of thing, but probably not me.

Up, lady, up! To greet the morn
Prise ope thy pretty peepers!
Come, trip the dew-besprinked lawn
That's full of little creepers!

Yea, feast thine eyes, they itch to dine,
Dawn's spread will prove them poppers,
And if today we still decline
Tomorrow we come croppers.

I like your poem, Holly. Here's another of mine. The title is so good. I keep thinking of other ways it could go.

Sleepers

Where are the Gods that used to walk the Weald,
Where are their golden limbs and fiery faces,
Divinities of river, tree and field,
The uncommon spirits of the common places?

Where are the gaudy Goddesses of Heaven?
Where are the old immortal sisterhood,
True, talismanic three, or nine, or seven,
Arch-arbiters of evil and of good?

They are dead, you say. Stone dead, you say again.
This wonderful, wide world belongs to men,
And men alone. Show me the bodies then?

I say they sleep. I say they sleep up there,
Inviolate and secret, free from care
For ever, in a better, purer air.

Holly,

You must be remembering ads like: The Esso sign means ha-ppy mo-toring, I reckon. A blast from the past!

Birthe,
Don't forget the line restriction - yours is way too long in that format.

Jerome,
Verily, I like this. I prithee, though: make S2 more about your a-slumbering maiden; methinks you have strayed (a tad!).

John,
A stroke of brilliance, my friend. You just need to alter 'weald' to 'Weald'.

Puzzled of Longlevens
 

What's this about Sleepers WAS bouts-rimes? I thought I'd (a) sent a bouts-rimes ages ago (b) that it had not attracted the judge's attention.
I've sent this one for Sleepers. It's called (after considerable thought)
SLEEPERS

It’s good to lie, on summer evenings,
in the warm churchyard of this mellow town,
flat out on grass as soft as eiderdown
and listen, while the sleepers tell me things.

Nothing sensational, no outpourings
of ancient scandal, insults aimed at God
for pinning them this long beneath the sod.
I listen, while the sleepers tell me things.

Loved recipes provoke faint hankerings,
but I detect no curiosity
on any aspect of modernity,
yet listen, while the sleepers tell me things.

Dark shadows lengthen, a remote bird sings
its heart out. The supportive sward grows cold.
Like my informants, I am getting old,
so listen, while the sleepers tell me things.

Peter,

The 'turnaround' with The Oldie is much longer than The Speccie: Comp set one month; deadline next month; winners declared the month after that.

'Sleepers WAS Bouts-rimés' began with the bouts-rimés results, then morphed into the current comp, (with the usual bit of side-tracking here and there!).
Hope that helps.

Peter, that is very good indeed.

old oldies
 

Jayne - you keep back issues of the Oldie?


bazza

Peter,

Dark shadows lengthen, a remote bird sings

I agree with John; your poem is brilliant, but the line above 'clanks' a little IMO.
Dark shadows is somewhat tautological and the 'a' is accented heavily.

The shadows lengthen, and a small bird sings
its heart out... something like this, maybe?

The idea of it being a little bird adds weight to the fact that it's 'singing its heart out'.

Bazza,

I keep the ones with my poems in, for posterity - don't you?
I also like to pass on the magazines as I'm a big fan of The Oldie, which I know you're not. I think it's a good read, apart from one or two bits that I never bother with.

I too keep the Speccies and Oldies I have winning poems in, Jayne. Mind you, Bazza, if you kept them they would probably fracture the beams in his loft. I must say I find half the Speccie unreadable these days, whereas threequarters of the Oldie is OK. I love that woman who teaches chavs and chavettes.

John,
That woman who teaches chavs and chavettes could be me - if they'd asked me first - humph!
Far more rewarding (in more than one sense) to write about teaching than to do it; what a sad indictment of our education system, eh?

Sorry, that sounds like the beginnings of a 'Rant'...(that's another Oldie column I enjoy, and could also write; God knows, I get enough practice!

Sleeper

The man behind me in the theater, snoring,
confirms my own harsh judgment: this is boring.
A famous critic known for smart reviews,
tomorrow he will write 'this was a snooze.'
But few will understand his categorical
and glib dismissal wasn't metaphorical.
He meant just what he said, make no mistake.
His snoring, not the play, kept me awake.

Bob,

Another masterpiece - right on the money!

('theatre' here, of course - 'cos we can't, like, spell proper, innit?)

John, you can get in trouble loving women teachers. I've read it in the papers, so it must be true. Personally, I make straight for 'Not many dead'. Cracking read.

one foot in the grave
 

Jayne - I don't read the Oldie, though I may do so when the need for a stairlift & incontinence pants arises - those ads keep it going - & I treat my weekly/monthly comp entries as ephemera to keep a curb on my vanity. And while I am certainly old, I don't wish to be addressed by a mag as if it's the most important thing about me.

Sorry, sent it twice.

Bazza,
I'm not 'old' but I could have done with a stairlift today! I managed to twist my back somehow, and going upstairs is painful.

The Oldie - Yes, I find some people are dismayed by the name. Whenever I'm telling someone about it, I always feel the need to qualify it with: "Oh, don't worry - it's not like People's Friend."

Just how, exactly, does one define 'old'? Age is just a number. I know plenty of 'old' people who haven't reached forty yet!

No, age is not just a number. And life is not just a greeting card.