[Jayne Osborn]

I think it's pretty safe to assume that we'll all have to start right from scratch; I won't believe anyone who tells me they've already written a poem that fits the bill for this comp!

Jayne

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe Oldie Competition
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxby Tessa Castro

Competition No 180

My pre-emptive apologies to Coleridge and Yeats for a poem you are invited to write, please, beginning:
‘It was an Ancient Mariner / Who went to Innisfree.’
Take it where you wish. Maximum 16 lines.

Entries to ‘Competition No 180’ by post (The Oldie, 65 Newman Street, London W1T 3EG), fax (020 7436 8804) or email (comps@theoldie.co.uk) by 22nd August 2014. Please don’t forget to include your postal address.

[John Whitworth]

I have to say I got a start on this. My Oldie came three days ago. I can't decide whether the new editor is as good as the old one.

It was an Ancient Mariner
Who went to Innisfree,
No Duke or Earl or Baron or
Of any high degree.

A sailor tailored like a ghost,
I made him tried and true.
He munched and crunched his buttered toast
As ghosts are wont to do.

The hives, he cried, of Irish bees,
The mice in English beardos,
They buzz and squeak throughout the week.
It's quite the place for weirdos.

Yes, Innisfree's for me, said he,
The wailing woebegone you meant,
A drunk old lush, daft as a brush,
And ancient as a monument..

[Nicholas Stone]

I may have taken too surrealist an axe to my entry to have any chance here...


There was an Ancient Mariner
Who went to Innisfree
To trade with other ghosts, his hosts,
In witty repartee.

In Xenia in Innisfree
They met upon the shore
And heard some extratextual ravens
Quething "Nevermore!"

"Ed Allan Poe, what dost thou here?"
Ask STC and Yeats;
"You weren't included in the task,
Wherefore these corvid traits?"

The Mariner sped home again,
Disgruntled and perplexed,
And left the markers of this contest
Summarily vexed.

[Jayne Osborn]

Welcome, Nicholas, and if you're free on Sunday you might like to come along to the annual gathering of Sphereans. In case you haven't spotted the thread here it is

You and John are quick off the mark with your entries!

Jayne

[Roger Slater]

It was an Ancient Mariner
who went to Innisfree.
His name was Steve or Darren or
Horatio McGee.

He said, "I have an albatross!
My destiny awaits!
Has anybody come across
a poet named Bill Yeats?"

"That's me," a voice came booming back
from underneath the wattles.
The man then reached into a sack,
produced two whiskey bottles,

and said, "Come here, Horatio,
or is it Steve McGee?
I think I'll call you Darren, though.
Let's drink to Innisfree!"

[Nicholas Stone]

Originally Posted by Jayne Osborn

Welcome, Nicholas, and if you're free on Sunday you might like to come along to the annual gathering of Sphereans. In case you haven't spotted the thread here it is

You and John are quick off the mark with your entries!

Jayne

Many thanks Jayne,

Regrettably it doesn't look like I should be able to make it, though I'm delighted to be asked.

Regarding the collective noun for a group of poets, as a teenager, would it be pushing it for me to suggest an 'ossuary'?

I hope Sunday goes very well, I've heard Strada is quite nice.

N

[Jayne Osborn]

It would have been nice to meet you, Nicholas, and I'm very impressed with your poetic skills, for someone who hasn't even reached the ripe old age of twenty yet!

You have a glittering future ahead of you, I'm sure, though I'm not so sure about an ossuary of poets; some of us still exhibit signs of life!

Jayne

[Stephen Hampton]

It was an Ancient Mariner
who went to Innisfree.
But I must sail across our Sol
into our galaxy.

Thirty years now, I've just begun
our voyage discovery.
But still I strain against the sun
escape velocity.

I have a brilliant mind, of course
the best available
I'll do my best to run this course
with tech unprintable

Not half way out by Haley's way
dodging dangers of space.
To not return, I hope and pray
but Ra still owns this place.


SWH

[Brian Allgar]

Yes, I've been working on a companion piece for the other chap, Ann. But it's nothing like yours, and for the moment it's not getting anywhere. A tricky fellow, old William B.

[Brian Allgar]

(Hah! It didn't turn out at all Yeatsian. Never mind.)


It was an Ancient Mariner who went to Innisfree;
He had an albatross to sell that stank to buggery.
We told him it was rotten, but he muttered “Just well-hung;
It only needs a little sauce to titillate the tongue.”

We’re pretty fond of game, but this one looked and smelt unpleasant,
Till one of us said “Listen, lads, it’s just a biggish pheasant.”
So, foolishly, we bought the thing - each man coughed up a shilling -
And asked the Mariner if he was competent and willing

To cook the bird for that night’s feast (the village was invited).
We offered him a pint of grog; he said he’d be delighted.
He built a chimney in the glade, then stuffed the beast with mud
And roasted it upon a spit, and basted it with blood.

But when the moment came to dine, the prospect was appalling;
He’d made the sauce from maggots, quite a few of them still crawling.
We choked it down, but left the beak and feathers on our plates.
Still, only one threw up, and that was poor old Willy Yeats.