Eratosphere - Competition: Cut off

In Competition No. 2671 you were invited to submit a poem in which the rhymed ending of each line is a truncated word. This challenge invites you to follow in the footsteps of that master of light verse and lover of word-play, Harry Graham, who, in his poem ‘Poetical Economy’ found a simple plan/ Which makes the lamest lyric scan.

When I’ve a syllable de trop,
I cut it off, without apol
This verbal sacrifice, I know,
May irritate the schol.;
But all must praise my dev’lish cunn.
Who realise that Time is Mon.

Honourable mentions to Jane Dards, Mae Scanlan, Paul Griffin and D.A. Prince, who were unlucky losers. The prizewinners, printed below, get a well-deserved £25 each while the bonus fiver belongs to Basil Ransome-Davies.

One lunchtime, over port and Stilt,
I incidentally thought of Milt,
Of whom the eminent Sam John
Observed ‘his power is to aston’,
While giving him a hearty drub
For being such a staunch repub.
The blind bard later roused to ang
For ‘doing damage to the lang’.
The esoteric T.S. El,
A transatlantic sort of fell.
Why should so mountainous a tal
Be made a cultural Aunt Sal?
It was a headbanging conund
I couldn’t solve it, only wond,
So chose instead to think of Aud,
Though that way only led to bored.

Basil Ransome-Davies

Capital names can sometimes be unfor
Take Poland, always handicapped with War.
While Liechtenstein is lucky to have Vad
The Spaniards must be furious with Mad.
The French though proud can merely boast of Par.
Zimbabwe’s best are misted up in Har
While Icelanders endure not haar but Reyk
Cypriots feel the hellish heat of Nic.
The careful Swedes, as you’d expect, take Stock,
The serious Japanese, it seems, like Tok.
Yanks, playing dirty, often go to Wash
And Dha’s the father town of Bangladesh
New Zealanders got lucky, choosing Wel,
But spare a thought for Finns who live in Hel.

Max Ross

Suppose I found a hundred thou
In the pocket of my trou.
What pricey services or merch
Would I feel the itch to purch?
I could afford call girls with bods
Like centrefolds or supermods.
(If I picked up a dose of syph,
They’ve meds for that, so what’s the dif?
I might buy jewels that sparkled bril
In settings of pure gold and sil,
Or guzzle caviar and cham
(Less for the taste than for the glam),
Or binge on every rock and tab
Concocted in an outlaw lab,
Then, when excess stopped feeling fab,
Splurge my last pennies on rehab.

Chris O’Carroll

Macbeth, when king, was far from tranq
When Banquo joined him at the banq
His figure sat there, quite impass,
Although Macbeth knew his assass
Had been accomplished by some hench
(A fact, of course, he did not ment).
His wife shut down the royal din:
No sooner started than it fin.

His plot beginning to unrav,
Macbeth now visited a cav,
To taste the witches’ strange ingred
That he might know the right proced
For making sure he stayed the mon
And that he would not be a gon.
‘No man of woman born, rest eas,
Can kill you’.(But Macduff was Caes.)

Bill Greenwell

Some folks assume the plays of Shake
To be the work of Francis Bac,
While others think the Earl of Ox
Must be the toff who used as prox
An actor-nobody from Strat.
‘For could,’ they scoff, ‘a mere theat
Write comedies that fizz like cham
Or tragedies as deep as Ham?
No! This bard’s class must be the upp,
And he must have a mind made supp
In some great ancient hall of learn;
For a poet’s mind’s more richly furn
By an Oxford lecture or a serm
Than by carousing at the Merm
Well, that is what some folks conjec.
I don’t believe it for one sec.

George Simmers

I love a glass of Jacob’s Cree,
Valpolicella, Saint Emil.
I’m partial to a nice Zinfan,
a Hardy’s Stamp or Oxford Lan.
I normally exhibit gump,
not overdoing my consump,
but last night I got very drun
- to be quite honest, as a skun!
My head’s exploding. I feel grott;
I do regret that second bott.
Hair of the dog: that’s what I wan.
Let’s see - a Cotes du Rhone? Chardonn?
I’m sorry, but I didn’t hea.
What’s that you said? You think I nee
to ring AA? What utter boll.
What for? I’m not an alcohol.

Jayne Osborn