The Oldie 'Ancient Mariner/Innisfree' comp by 22nd August
 

I think it's pretty safe to assume that we'll all have to start right from scratch; I won't believe anyone who tells me they've already written a poem that fits the bill for this comp! :rolleyes:

Jayne

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe Oldie Competition
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxby Tessa Castro

Competition No 180

My pre-emptive apologies to Coleridge and Yeats for a poem you are invited to write, please, beginning:
‘It was an Ancient Mariner / Who went to Innisfree.’
Take it where you wish. Maximum 16 lines.

Entries to ‘Competition No 180’ by post (The Oldie, 65 Newman Street, London W1T 3EG), fax (020 7436 8804) or email (comps@theoldie.co.uk) by 22nd August 2014. Please don’t forget to include your postal address.

I have to say I got a start on this. My Oldie came three days ago. I can't decide whether the new editor is as good as the old one.

It was an Ancient Mariner
Who went to Innisfree,
No Duke or Earl or Baron or
Of any high degree.

A sailor tailored like a ghost,
I made him tried and true.
He munched and crunched his buttered toast
As ghosts are wont to do.

The hives, he cried, of Irish bees,
The mice in English beardos,
They buzz and squeak throughout the week.
It's quite the place for weirdos.

Yes, Innisfree's for me, said he,
The wailing woebegone you meant,
A drunk old lush, daft as a brush,
And ancient as a monument..

I may have taken too surrealist an axe to my entry to have any chance here...


There was an Ancient Mariner
Who went to Innisfree
To trade with other ghosts, his hosts,
In witty repartee.

In Xenia in Innisfree
They met upon the shore
And heard some extratextual ravens
Quething "Nevermore!"

"Ed Allan Poe, what dost thou here?"
Ask STC and Yeats;
"You weren't included in the task,
Wherefore these corvid traits?"

The Mariner sped home again,
Disgruntled and perplexed,
And left the markers of this contest
Summarily vexed.

Welcome, Nicholas, and if you're free on Sunday you might like to come along to the annual gathering of Sphereans. In case you haven't spotted the thread here it is

You and John are quick off the mark with your entries!

Jayne

It was an Ancient Mariner
who went to Innisfree.
His name was Steve or Darren or
Horatio McGee.

He said, "I have an albatross!
My destiny awaits!
Has anybody come across
a poet named Bill Yeats?"

"That's me," a voice came booming back
from underneath the wattles.
The man then reached into a sack,
produced two whiskey bottles,

and said, "Come here, Horatio,
or is it Steve McGee?
I think I'll call you Darren, though.
Let's drink to Innisfree!"

Many thanks Jayne,

Regrettably it doesn't look like I should be able to make it, though I'm delighted to be asked.

Regarding the collective noun for a group of poets, as a teenager, would it be pushing it for me to suggest an 'ossuary'?

I hope Sunday goes very well, I've heard Strada is quite nice.

N

It would have been nice to meet you, Nicholas, and I'm very impressed with your poetic skills, for someone who hasn't even reached the ripe old age of twenty yet!

You have a glittering future ahead of you, I'm sure, though I'm not so sure about an ossuary of poets; some of us still exhibit signs of life! :p

Jayne

Speak for yourself, Jayne.

I think surrealism is the way to go, Nicholas. I'm going to try a cento.

There was an ancient mariner
Who went to Innisfree.
He had a mask like Castlereagh
In nineteen sixty-three.

From morn to noon he fell, from noon
We shouted ‘Harry By!’
If I should die think only this
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

‘I am half-sick of shadows,’ said
A fluctuating charm.
‘A host of golden daffodils
Were walking arm in arm.

‘I struck the board and cried ‘No more!’’
And ‘Oh, ’tis true, ’tis true!’
If we had world enough and time.
So rudely forc’d. Tereu.’

I started trying to do one of those, Rob, but it was too hard. What you've got is a winner. In my book, at least.