[John Whitworth]

This is the sort of thing I like. OK Whitworth, win it you pitiful wreck. Best of luck to all.

No. 2826: winter’s tale

You are invited to submit a piece of nonsense verse on a wintry theme (up to 16 lines). Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 27 November.

[Rob Stuart]

I can't really see where to go with this. Light the way, John!

[John Whitworth]

I wrote this but is it sufficiently nonsensical?

Winter Nonsense

Anti-depressants and anti-freezes,
Sick as a parrot with strange diseases,
Falling barometer, fall on your Jacksie,
Sick in your stomach then sick in a taxi,
Paraffin heaters and paracetemol,
Some you can beat but, hell, no-one can beat 'em all,
Beards in the chimney pots, boots in the gutters,
Whisky toddies and brandy butters,
Tight as a plumber or bright as an icicle,
Standing room only then total your bicycle,
Down at the boozer it's down in the dumps,
Hearts are heavy when spades are trumps,
Daffy old women and silly old geezers
Candle fandangling for Baby Jesus.

[Rob Stuart]

Originally Posted by John Whitworth

Hearts are heavy when spades are trumps

That's a lovely line.

[Roger Slater]

A WINTER'S TALE

The snowflakes fell like razor blades
that cut the stubbled earth,
and Santa Claus drank lemonade
from goblets made in Perth,

and icicles like sizzling coal
transformed the lakes to steam
as armless soldiers blocked the goal
of their own hometown team,

when all at once I told my mate
that time was on my side,
but he remarked I was too late,
then broke the ice and died.

[Lance Levens]

The Twelve Frozen Noses stand close on the hill,
Twelve icy schnozzes in close quarter drill.

They march and manouver their nasal guns.
Folks all approve : they're better than Huns:

Close order, starched duds, nothing sloppy to see.
Here are such sniffers that the infantry

Would be a sight tighter by their rank inclusion.
But the brass is an ass: "Such frozen protrusion,"

They say with harr-umph "has no place on the face
Of our nation's finest. They lack every grace."

So every night as the sun goes down,
They look out their windows, the folks in town,

And ponder the "if's" and the "whiffs" and the scent
As that sweet olfactory regiment

Snaps to and salutes with such frozen verve
And honors the flag it will never serve.

[John Whitworth]

I like that a lot, Lance. It's a little like Morgenstern. Which is surely good. And now I'll have another go.

The Snowman's Complaint

Alone with the stars a snowman dances,
White like the moon as the dawn advances,
With coal-black eyes and carrot nose
And a drip-drip-drip of collapsing clothes,
With long red scarf and tall black hat
And a squelch like this and a squulch like that,
With mournful mien of a railway porter
(He's pretty short and he's getting shorter)
On secret feet he cavorts around
Several inches above the ground.
His time is flying, he's crying, crying,
A thaws on the way and he's dying, dying.
A brokenhearted snowman dances
The saraband of his life's lost chances,
A mournful measure intricate,
A weeping snowman's minuet.

[Rob Stuart]

Dear Santa, if you get this note
I’d really like a billy goat
That looks like Alan Whicker, or
A life-size jelly Patrick Moore.

And what a pleasure it would be
For me to search beneath the tree
And spy one of those orange things
That grunt and jump about on springs.

I’d be delighted to unwrap
A model of a miner’s lap,
Although they might be hard to find
(I’ve only seen them in my mind).

Please, Santa, see what you can do
To make my Christmas dreams come true,
But any present would suffice.
In fact I'm happy with Old Spice.

[Donna English]

Rob the Old Spice line made me laugh out loud! A splash of reality in the nonsense.

What?


Want her wet a sew wheel sup?
Wander window so well sop?
Wan dirt went us so...say what?

Taster rear moth soft hues shot?
Taper beer mush scoff few sock?
Teak her year muss soft dew sought?

Take your ear muffs off, you sot!
Wonder when the snow will stop!

[Roger Slater]

I like Rob's, but it doesn't seem like "nonsense" to me. John's is closer to nonsense, but I also wonder if it's close enough. It's hard to find that sweet spot where you've written both nonsense and something that has a feeling of coherence.

One more try:

WINTER

The snowman has frostbite,
the witch's tit is warm,
the sun is caked with icicles
and lines begin to form
of people wearing bathing suits
beside the frozen river
while somewhere down in Ecuador
the crocodiles shiver.
Some claim that it's a birthday cake
the razor winds are slicing,
but I say it's an avalanche
and not vanilla icing.