[Chris O'Carroll]

No. 2839: art of darkness

You are invited to submit a poem on the darker side of spring (16 lines maximum). Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 12 March.

[John Whitworth]

Poems! Ah! Wonderful! Here's a thought.

Spring

Don't suppose I'm complaining
But the rain keeps on raining.
Every allergy itches. It
'S as cold as a witch's tit.
Sneezes and wheezes they
Erupt like bejesus, hey
It's Spring, Spring, Spring!

All the shorts are a-busting.
God, it's really disgusting,
For you've just got to figure
Could a bum look much bigger?
Though he may prance a lot,
He ain't no Sir Lancelot.
It's Spring, Spring, Spring!

[RCL]

That's the idea, John!

More Ancient Music

After Anon & Pound

Springtide is icumen in
Lhude sing Achoo.
Pollen drifts and gives us fits
And how the sneezes echo!

Sing: Achoo
Burneth eyes and causeth sighs
An ague hath my head.
Meltests snow and makes nose blow

And sinuses to bleed anew.
Achoo you sing: Achoo
Achoo, Achoo, ‘tis why I am, Achoo
So ‘gainst the springtime’s brew

Sing Achoo, Achoo, sing Achoo,
Sing Achoo, Achoo, ACHOO!

[Martin Parker]

A quick and autobiographical attempt :--

Bloody Springtime brings more rain,
Bloody lawn's all moss again.
Bloody wife wants garden dug,
Bloody job for bloody mug.

Bloody grass begins to grow,
Bloody mower will not mow.
Bloody next-door's cat uproots
Bloody swathes of bloody shoots.

Bloody catalogues all lied,
Bloody plants have bloody died.
Bloody roses put out suckers,
Bloody, sodding prickly f******.

Bloody songbirds wake at dawn,
Bloody badgers dig up lawn.
Bloody place a bloody mess.
Next door's like the RHS.

[Jim Hayes]

Apologies Martin, seems like I arrived in Orkney just after you.

The ravens' noisy matings in my trees
disrupt our Sunday lie-ins with their calls,
then in the garden I’m on hands and knees
planting spuds while drenched in bloody squalls.
The daffodils show off their strumpet heads--
I note their plot needs weeding and attention,
the slugs are lunching in my seedling beds
with weevils, bugs and mites, their bloody henchmen.
The moss has grown, the bloody grass has riz,
the missus wants the patio hosed down.
I bloody don’t know where the washer is--
most likely nicked as I bought plants in town.
As far as I’m concerned make Spring taboo.
No more icumin in. Bugger cuckoo.

[Roger Slater]

Spring

In spring the bears whose harmless sleep
made winter safe from mauling
awake to threaten man and sheep.
The pollen is appalling.
The birds disturb our dreams at dawn.
The lawns need constant mowing.
The rain won't stop. Mosquitoes spawn.
The world was better snowing.