[Jayne Osborn]

This is a nice one, with tons of scope.
I can imagine that everyone's already got one, or even several, that will fit the bill. If you haven't, get writing... and good luck. We're going to need it - there's bound to be a huge postbag for this comp.

Jayne

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe Oldie Competition
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxby Tessa Castro

Competition No 184
I had to walk back late at night in a strange place recently. I wasn’t very frightened.
Please write a poem called ‘In the Dark’, taking the title in any sense. Maximum 16 lines.

Entries, by post (The Oldie, 65 Newman Street, London W1T 3EG), fax (020 7436 8804) or email comps@theoldie.co.uk to ‘Competition No 184’ by 12th December. Don’t forget to include your postal address.

[John Whitworth]

Indeed I do, Jayne.

In The Dark

The numbers are unnumbered of the beasts that shun the light,
And they have a superfluity of teeth.
They are waiting for the triumph of the overarching night
To eviscerate your tender underneath.

How they pullulate and populate the landscapes of your dreaming,
How you feel them in the darkness of your soul.
And you hear them as they rustle through your wilderness of seeming
In the sightless lightless kingdom of the mole.

Some spectacular diseases of a provenance perverse
Have been suppurating through their carapaces,
And the fetor of corruption has been getting worse and worse
As they jostle in their subterranean places.

When the lights go out for ever on this poor benighted sphere,
They will clamber from their burrows down below.
They are coming with a drumming and a humming, do you hear?
They are coming and you've nowhere else to go.

[Nicholas Stone]

I remember thinking that one should have won the Speccie, John. I hope it wins this.

Mine for that comp. was rotten, so I'll have to pick up my lyre again.

[John Whitworth]

I'll keep my fingers crossed, Nicholas. I'm glad you liked it.

I think I'll have another go. Sartor Resartus, don't you know?

In The Dark 2

A moonless night. The trees are tall.
The signposts are unclear.
The dark is dropping like a wall.
A moonless night. The trees are tall.
There’s scarcely anything at all
From here to here to here.
The murmuring trees are very tall.
They whisper in my ear.

These woods are full of wolves and bears.
They come out with the moon.
You see their paw prints and their lairs
These woods are full of wolves and bears
Listen! The wailing wolves and bears
Begin their rigadoon.
You’re all alone and no-one cares.
Something will happen soon.

[Martin Elster]

In the Dark

They all were in the dark about dark matter,
the mystifying stuff that held together
the Galaxy, a pirouetting platter
of pearls, each lustrous gem hell-bent for leather,
grappling with gravity. Across the dark,
out at the verge, the stars appeared to charge
and race through space too fast. Was it a lark?
The prank of a cosmic conjurer at large?

Even Scotland Yard was truly torn
about the warp and woof of this material.
They brooded night and day, till one clear morn
they dialed a number. Thoroughly etherial
the informant’s voice — an endless clang and tinkle.
Before they’d solved it, Sol turned red and burned
all thought to a crisp, then ceased to glint and twinkle,
the Milky Way quite mindless as it churned.

[basil ransome-davies]

[quote=Nicholas Stone;334731]I remember thinking that one should have won the Speccie, John. I hope it wins this.

Seconded.

[John Whitworth]

Well. that's two people like it. And Tessa makes three?

Thank you, Bazza.

[Matt Q]

John, I love your first: the opening "number of the beast" reference is great, and the ending unexpected, yet appropriately apocalyptic. I say send it in.

Martin, I really like your take on this, not to mention the way Scotland Yard get in on the act in S2, but I got a bit confused by the closing sentence (is there a verb missing?) so I don't get what's happening. Does the informant (God?) tell Scotland Yard that this is what will happen (i.e., that the sun will turn fat etc.)? Or are does the informant speak for so long that that the universe ends in the meantime? Or does speaking to the informant (dark matter?) cause end of the universe? So maybe a tweak might make this clearer. Of course, the perceived lack of clarity may simply be me being dense. Did also wonder if there's a way round using 'marge' for margin.

-Matt

[Matt Q]

To you I’m just another corpse that walks
these woods at night. It’s true I want your heart –
but not for lunch – for love! It’s love that stalks
you, love that moans your name. I’d fall apart

if you were gone. Oh how I long to take you
in my one remaining arm. I’ve dated
no one; I’ve waited chaste for you, to make you
mine. The unlived life is underrated:

all problems waste away when you’re undead.
So come, I’ll give my ring – my finger too –
if you’ll agree to be my bride. Let’s wed –
one bite is all I'd need; I wouldn't chew.

Let death now brag you wander in his shade.
Let our immortal twilight never fade!


-----
L11-12 was Let's wed / tonight in secret, stagger off to start anew. (too many feet - thanks Martin)

[Martin Elster]

John, I like your first one a lot.

Matt - Thanks for commenting on my take, and I’m glad you like it. I don’t blame you for being confused about the ending. It probably needs some work. Actually I did tweak it a bit early yesterday morning, because I didn’t care much for “the earth and moon” in the penultimate line. Regarding the missing verb, it’s implied in “Thoroughly etherial / the informant’s voice ...” The implied verb is “was.” “Thoroughly etherial (was) the informant’s voice ...” The sentence is, of course, an inversion of normal syntax, but it seems to work in this instance. There is, however, a real verb later in the sentence: “till Sol grew fat.” It was originally “till the sun turned fat.”

All your interpretations are valid, though I was thinking especially of this one: “Or does the informant speak for so long that the universe ends in the meantime?” Yes, I think that’s pretty much the gist of it, though I may still try revising.

Regarding “marge,” I’m not crazy about it, either.

Your poem is quite entertaining, Matt. An undead fellow proposing to a live woman! Some funny phrases: I want your heart -- but not for lunch; take you in my one remaining arm; I’ll give my ring -- my finger too. I think L12 has one too many beats. It sounds like hexameter to me.

Thanks,
Martin

PS - I tweaked lines 5-7 to get rid of "marge."