Eratosphere - Speccie Competition Love Rules

Oh how good we are. Chris O'Carroll, Brian Allgar, his mate Nicholas Holbrook, Bazza. Well done, lads.

Lucy Vickery 23 February 2013
In Competition No. 2785 you were invited to submit poetic advice on how to woo a member of either sex. What better instructor can there be than Ovid, whose Ars amatoria gives guidance on the art of romantic conquest that knocks modern seduction manuals such as The Rules into a cocked hat. Two sections are addressed to men on how to get your girl and how to keep her, and one to women on how to hook your man. There are tips on personal hygiene (Don’t let those long hairs sprout/ In your nostrils. . .’) as well as on the bestowal of compliments and much else. You didn’t quite match the master’s lightness of touch, but it was a fine entry. The best earn £20; overall champ Chris O’Carroll takes £25.

Behold him ready to be captivated.
He’s not a complicated creature; he
Entertains hopes that, even though X-rated,
Are ABC in their simplicity.
Despite some popular disinformation,
His stomach’s not the prime route to his heart.
His anatomical preoccupation
Is with a lower situated part.
A cordon bleu job’s not what he likes best,
And what he wants well laid’s not just his table.
So doff your chef’s toque, then take off the rest
To serve the sweetest pudding you are able.
The gourmet treats for which he’s chiefly itchin’
Are cooked up in a room that’s not the kitchen.
Chris O’Carroll

Courtship should be a slow dance, not a sprint,
Much less a mugging. Lovers, temporise
Or risk backfires. Be sure a mellow glint,
Not jungle lust, illuminates your eyes.
Be patient, passive even, egoless,
Await her wishes, let desire ferment
By slowly rising warmth until — success!
Your fund of patience can’t be better spent.
Let cliché-mongers parrot old Marvell,
Expecting quick results from honeyed words.
The clued-up modern woman knows damn well
Such casuistic pleas are for the birds.
Forget the macho-man’s gorilla lunge.
Unlearn the slick seducer’s dated shtick.
Cupid rewards the empathetic sponge,
Kind and attentive, never kiss-me-quick.
Basil Ransome-Davies

If you can make her laugh, that’s half the battle,
Especially if she’s married to a bore;
If you can make her glad to be your chattel,
Yet treat her like a lady, not a whore;
If you can undo bra-straps single-handed
While murmuring enticements in her ear;
If you can make her think you’re being candid
When telling her just what she wants to hear;
If you, my friend, can easily persuade her
To sample things she’s never tried before,
Or if she sighs with pleasure when you’ve laid her,
And smiles as you sneak out by the back door;
If you can tolerate her endless prattle,
(And never tell her ‘Darling, get a life’),
Her gossip and her foolish tittle-tattle —
Then you’re the bastard who seduced my wife!
Nicholas Holbrook

The old tales are the truest. Boy-meets-girl
Compacts a universe (at least for hets):
The roundabout of love, the pirouettes
And stratagems, the whole demented whirl
Of feverish obsession, highs and lows,
White nights, black days, Elysium and hell.
It’s hard to keep the sanity to tell
The love that withers from the love that grows.
So, ladies, how to civilise a man,
An atavistic naked ape, and make
A useful mate of nature’s big mistake?
Let Cordon Bleu diplomas be your plan.
Be wise and wily. Channel Machiavelli
While working from Larousse Gastronomique.
Blend sensual promise with a sure technique.
The way to a man’s heart is through his belly.
G.M. Davis

Today, I shall instruct thee how to flatter,
And thus improve thine amatory skill.
(’Tis true, I have some knowledge in the matter,
And where there is a way, there is a Will.)
Fear not to be outrageously poetic:
‘More lovely than a summer’s day’ must please her;
‘Eternal summer’, though it be emetic,
Was used, reputedly, by Julius Caesar
To win the Queen of Egypt to his bed.
Cold ladies melt when warmed by adulation,
And fawning flattery ofttimes has led
To that devoutly wished-for consummation.
Tomorrow’s lesson: how thou may’st enjoy
The saucy favours of a pretty boy.
Brian Allgar

For fifty years I tried to find
The ideal way to woo
But bold attempts of every kind
Left me despairing and resigned
So here’s what NOT to do.

Avoid comparisons; they may
Sound good on Shakespeare’s tongue,
But well we know a summer’s day
Can bring a storm. So keep away
From similes well sung.

Don’t interrupt and never tease
Or she is lost for good.
And showy flowers seldom please
For she has powers to see in these
What angels never could.
Frank McDonald

A wise old owl once said, to wit: ‘To woo
The lady love you’re longing for, eschew
The likely items wooers oft bestow,
Like candy, diamond rings, and such. Forego
The venture to a sunny tropic isle
Or storied castle. Those may make her smile,
But they won’t win her heart. A different way
Is requisite for you to win the day.
So here’s the plan: Put on your thinking bonnet,
And write the one you love a heartfelt sonnet.
‘Yikes!’ and ‘Lord have mercy!’ you exclaim,
But you can do it. Write it. Sign your name.
It needn’t be a masterpiece — just true;
Keats and Byron did it — so can you.
Your fumbling, loving words will win her over,
And henceforth you, and she, will lie in clover.
Mae Scanlan