[Jayne Osborn]

My bit is downsized* this month; only John's Hon Mensh to mensh. Congratulations John.

*apart from saying that Bill Webster's poem took me a while to format into the correct shape, as it appears in the magazine. (I do hope Tessa never calls for one of those concrete poems!)

Jayne


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe Oldie Competition
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxby Tessa Castro

IN COMPETITION NO 149 you were invited to write a poem on any kind of downsizing. The bag of entries was bigger than usual, and I was taken by Tony Harper’s vivid lines on the nice old garden and the new third-floor flat: ‘The evening gloom / Is lit by lamps. It’s quiet. A waiting room.’ But Mr Harper had upsized his poem to five lines more than the maximum, while Elizabeth Brassington was too sanguine with her entry: ‘Now less is more / I hope to score / With sixteen lines / Downsized to four.’ Jermyn Thynne’s life changed when:
‘One day I met a pretty circus dwarf / And reached her hot dogs from an upper shelf.’ Mortimer Spreader’s narrator had found her lover’s gifts dwindling from a palomino mare to a white mouse. Andy Tilbrook’s
oldie, with downsized sex-life, heard his wife say: ‘Don’t you fret with angst and tension / I’ll always love your massive pension.’ John Whitworth’s childhood cricketing dreams were downsized from Lord’s to Fat Colin’s Second Junior Eleven. G Southgate sent sad verses on being shuffl ed into smaller housing by a daughter: ‘He tries to smile; her key turns in his heart.’ Katie Mallet reflected that though ‘a bungalow fills me
with dread, / The only comfort I can find – / It comes with an enormous shed.’ Ginger Jelinek managed to reverse her downsize because ‘the flat’s delightful / But small rooms turned out to be really frightful.’ Commiserations to them, and congratulations to those printed below, each of whom wins £25, with the bonus prize of a Chamber’s Biographical Dictionary going to Robert Niblett.

Shaiku

Summer’s lease too short,
an economical Bard
downsized his sonnets.

No sun like her eyes,
no damask rose like her cheeks,
no comparison.

No impediments
to the marriage of true minds,
no alteration.

This gives life to thee,
more lovely, more temperate,
eternal summer.
Robert Niblett


Downsizing

When I got pregnant James was so delighted
you would have thought he doubted we could breed.
Of course we wanted children – we’d agreed
on four – so I too was at first excited.
The morning sickness was a bit upsetting
a side-effect I really didn’t need
but I had no choice now but to proceed
and James still glowed with pride at his begetting.
While, as the months dragged by his smile grew brighter
my waist expanded at a frightening pace
also my arms, my thighs, my feet, my face –
I wept as even outsized clothes grew tighter.
So, when the twins were born – a great endeavour –
I ran away. I didn’t give them names.
I hated being fat. I hated James.
I only wanted to be thin forever.
Poppy Pratt

Downsizing

At twelve the things I heard or read all stuck
xx(My mother used me as her memo-pad);
xxxxxI owed this to no talent only luck,
And hardly thought what blessed genes I had.
xxxxAt thirty came the fi rst sharp lapse
xxxxxx(One moment that I still recall)
xxxAnd time then added yet more gaps
xxxTo breach my mind’s defensive wall.
xxxxxxMy middle-age memory bank
xxxxxxxFound me often in the red
xxxxxxxxAs my deposits shrank
xxxxxxLike the cells inside my head.
xxxxxxxxxNow words just squat
xxxxxxxxxxxOn the ruddy tip
xxxxxxxxOf the you-know-what,
xxxxxxxxxxxMy hoojamaflip.
xxxxxxxxxxxxBill Webster

Downsized

My grandmother was large. All bounds were burst,
all duties shirked. She fl irted, charmed and cursed
her way across Bengal and by shot-gun
married her man, and then used anyone
who came in handy to raise the offspring
while she continued with her lifelong fling.
Liberal with money (never hers),
she travelled First, wore shocking hats and furs,
stole letters, husbands and whatever she
fancied to give elsewhere. Her family
groaned. But now, all of her that is left
is this miniature locket, quite bereft
of her expansiveness. In its cramped size
the painter caught the glance of her black eyes,
her half smile and the proud lift of her chin.
Her chained image lies warm against my skin.
Alison Prince