I'm still in a sulk because this didn't cut it in the 'Strad' competition
LAURIEL LEEF
The name is Stroudivarius, not Strad.
A village near that town produced a lad
Of diverse gifts, amongst whose myriad
Accomplishments, the violin he had
Earned his first crust. The hamlet boys hurrahed,
Good looking girls like Rosie oohed and aahed
When he put bow to fiddle. One must add
That he went on to pen an iliad
About the Spanish war, wrote not bad
Poems and prose throughout his life, but sad
To say, hailed not from Cremona, but Slad.
On the other hand, I'm ever hopeful about this for the bouts-rimes
BOUTS-RIMES
I haven’t been this undepressed
since Gran danced naked in the rain.
Her G.P. put it down to strain,
not knowing I had placed a nest
of vipers in her bidet. Blest
if I know why she left her chain
of sex shops to Oxfam. My brain
equated this with all the rest
of her eccentricities. Blast
the old bat. May her cadaver wilt
throughout each suppurating day
within the catafalque I built
to emphasise her sordid past
upon the road to Mandalay.
Peter Wyton
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