[John Whitworth]

Like leaves in Vallambrosa! Comps, comps, comps! Bazza and Bill to the fore again, with me as a runner-up. A very strong entry, it seems to me. I think, since smells are so localized, that non-Brits had little chance here. The new competition is as follows:

Competition No 128

A conversation in verse, please, between the bonfire and the compost heap. Entries to Competition No 128 email comps@theoldie.co.uk by 27 August. Don't forget to include your postal address.

[basil ransome-davies]

There are those who burn and those who rot, and I burn big and bright.
I spray the day with fiery heat, I grace the night with light,
My flames and sparks fly up to an exhilarating height:
I crackle like tumultuous applause

But those who simply rot away inspire no warming glows.
No fierce, high energy from them; they only decompose.
The stink of their decaying mulch would make you comatose.
They have no vital spirit. They are bores.

I combat waste by acting with organic savoir-faire.
I breed enriching nutrients from moisture, warmth and air.
Biodegradability's a positive affair,
Renewing life from matter that has died.

For those who burn and blaze away and boast to beat the band
It's only razzmatazz that matters, just like Russell Brand,
But bonfires dwindle and die out, like rivers in the sand,
While compost heaps eternally abide.

[John Whitworth]

Wel, you knpw Bazza that's very good. I couldn't get a handle on this at all, but you inspire me to persevere.

[Roger Slater]

THE BONFIRE AND THE COMPOST HEAP

CH: All the panache is
in compost, not ashes.

B: But you should aim higher.
The future's in fire.

CH: Don't believe rumours.
The future's in humus.

B: The next giant craze is
the making of blazes.

CH: But why bother roasting
instead of composting?

B: Today's kids are learning
the fine art of burning.

[John Whitworth]

Light as air, Roger! Here's mine. A bit too stolid perhaps.

The Bonfire and the Compost Heap

I coruscate and flash.
My consequence is ash.

I brood in quietude.
I am a multitude.

Here, there and everywhere.
I dance as light as air.

I brood. I breathe a breath
Of life, and life in death.

I am the great bow-bender
Who lives and dies in splendour.

The more you fret and shout,
The sooner you go out.

My arrows light the sky.
They purge and purify.

But I remain, in rain
And sun, in sun and rain.

[Roger Slater]

I'm hot.
I burn.
I roil.
I smoulder.
My heart's ablaze.

I rot.
I turn.
I spoil.
I moulder.
My heart decays.