Eratosphere - The Oldie 'Apology' results: *Wins for John and Bazza*

Congratulations to John and Bazza, and also to Gail for an HM.
Dare I say that the winner was a shock to me? Since when did 'child' rhyme with 'inside'? I didn't find the poem "chilling"; I'm sorry, but to me it was "sick".
(I rather hope Tessa isn't reading this, or I may never win an Oldie comp ever again!) What say the rest of you? I think John or Bazza ought to have won.

[Next comp on new thread.]

Jayne

xxxxxxxxxxxxThe Oldie Competition
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxby Tessa Castro

IN COMPETITION No 157 you were invited to write a poem called ‘The Apology’. On the whole the entries were full of feeling, but cynical or macabre rather than lightly humorous. ‘I’m sorry that my dog destroyed your parka,’ was a lilting refrain from Gail White, who didn’t sound all that sorry. There was a strong strain of resentment at having to pologise: Judith Young’s apologist began: ‘I’m sorry, yes I’m sorry / I forgot your birthday card. / So why can’t you forgive me? / Can it really be so hard?’ There were some repeat offenders. ‘This time I am really through / With girls like her and will be true / To you for life, / And that is why I beg of you / To drop that knife,’ said J Garth Taylor’s desperate apologiser.
I’m sorry more could not win, but congratulations to those printed below, each of whom wins £25, with the Chamber’s Biographical Dictionary going to Steve Menarry for his chilling tale.

My name is Daisy Susan; I’m nearly nine years old,
I didn’t mean to do it, I’m really not that bold,
I know it spoilt the carpet and dirtied up the wall,
The curtains too were all messed up we had to change them all.
I hear my Mummy crying, I know that Daddy’s sad,
I didn’t mean to do it; I’m really not that bad,
The Doctor lady she was nice, the policeman had a frown,
They both asked lots of questions and wrote the answers down.
I know I shouldn’t play with knives and bits of garden string,
But they are all around the place and I’m a nosy thing,
I love my baby brother, a happy smiling child,
I really had to find out, was he just as nice inside.
Steve Menarry

I’m so sorry, oh so sorry, I’m so very, very sorry.
No one else could feel the pain I do.
There’s no language I can borrow for the sharpness of my sorrow
For the sorry thing I did to you.

Oh I wish I hadn’t done it. No I never should have done it,
But I did it and I can’t say more.
I deplore it and I rue it and I wish I could undo it
Which I think is what I said before.

You’re so caring, you’re so clever, if you ever, ever, ever
Could endeavour to forgive me, then
What a wonder would our life be, how harmonious and strife-free,
For I’ll never be as bad again!

Well of course, my little treasure, my remorse is beyond measure,
And I’m sorrier than I can say.
And, my ickle-pickle poppet, should you just contrive to drop it
I’ll be sorry till my dying day.
John Whitworth

If your conduct’s been appalling and you’ve earned disgrace and shame,
Give Apologies Unlimited a call.
Made-to-Measure opportunist mea culpas are our game,
Designed to show you weren’t to blame at all.

The apology’s a product that requires a deft approach –
The skills of a professional, in fact –
To blend an earnest innocence with lukewarm self-reproach
In terms that somehow never quite retract.

Though we can’t name names our services are used by the élite
Of entertainment, politics and sport.
That drunken taunt, that moral lapse, that crass, offensive tweet
Can all be turned by us to good report.

An apology’s an art form, a career move and a meme,
So if being quite obnoxious is your wont
And perilously leads you into public disesteem
Do call us. You’ll be sorry if you don’t.
Basil Ransome-Davies

I’m sorry that I never think
To buy you any flowers.
I’m sorry if I sometimes stink –
I’ll try to take more showers.

I’m sorry that I get so pissed –
It’s totally disgusting.
I’m sorry that I can’t resist
Testicular adjusting.

I’m sorry that I haven’t yet
Become a fit ex-smoker.
I’m sorry that I like a bet
And lost the dog at poker.

I’m sorry that I crashed the car
And rendered it a write-off.
I’m sorry that I killed your ma.
Now turn the sodding light off.
Rob Stuart