[Jayne Osborn]

I'm standing in for jet-setter John again this week.
I'm happy to announce a Spherean presence, thanks to a win for Bazza and an Honorable Mensh for John Beaton - Congratulations, gentlemen! (Lots of us were secretly hoping to make it with this one, I suspect!)

Jayne

Competition: Set text
Lucy Vickery
Saturday 12th May 2012

In Competition No. 2746 you were invited to submit a sonnet using the following rhymes: pig, bat, cat, wig, jig, hat, rat, fig; lie, red, sob, die, bed, rob. This is a rerun of a brute of a competition that was set back in the 1950s, and the daft rhymes are those given as an illustration of the verse form by the Concise Oxford Dictionary of that time. The final rhyme proved especially bothersome, frequently scuppering otherwise excellent entries.

Nonsense verse was the obvious way to go but a fair few forged ingenious alternative routes. It was a large entry and the standard was high. Well deserved commendations go to Peter Smaill, Janet Kenny, Jenny Hill, Paul Evans, James Bench-Capon, John Beaton, D.A. Prince and Noel Petty. The winners are printed below and are rewarded with £20 each. W.J Webster nabs the bonus fiver.

Ah, she had been sweet clover to his pig,
A high, cathedral cavern to his bat,
While he was spiked nemeta to her cat,
The pen to complement her Fleet Street wig.
As one they’d learnt the music of the jig,
And found a home where they could hang a hat;
Had made each other’s pet names Mole and Rat
And played their game of fig leaf over fig.
Their Eden, though, was withered by a lie:
Suspicion drained love’s rose of all its red,
And left no more than silence and a sob.
What they had been was doomed to fade and die,
As mortal things all come to one cold bed.
There is no place on earth time will not rob.
W.J. Webster

Did Petrarch find the sonnet was a pig,
Like trying to track the flight-path of a bat,
Or second-guessing a domestic cat?
My feeling is he often flipped his wig
And danced a desperate, frustrated jig
While shouting, as he trampled on his hat,
‘It’s only fourteen lines, but love a rat —
It’s worse than swallowing a rotten fig!’
At other times the sonneteer would lie
Hugging a pillow, face tomato-red,
And curse with each self-dramatising sob
‘This ABBA gubbins makes me want to die!’
Then suddenly he’d leap out of his bed
And find a rival poet’s verse to rob.
Basil Ransome-Davies

God help me, I’ve become a bloated pig,
An ugly goat, a slobbering old bat.
Where once I had the sleekness of a cat
I shuffle with a paunch. I wear a wig.
There was a time that I could dance a jig
Like Fred Astaire in evening-dress and hat,
But now I creep in corners, like a rat,
And those I once called friends don’t care a fig.
I’m something of a freak, I cannot lie;
My chins are many and my nose so red
That when I’m near a looking-glass I sob.
I often think it would be nice to die
Free of life’s tortures in a feather bed
When winters beat and batter, mug and rob.
Frank McDonald

They dined that evening on a roasted pig,
As ‘round the room bright badinage they’d bat.
One lady praised her precious Persian cat,
Another ridiculed her husband’s wig.
A trio played a well-known lively jig,
An Irishman cavorted with a hat;
And absolutely no one smelled a rat,
As each enjoyed a compote made of fig.
This friendly fellowship, it gave the lie
To what was taking place. And then, Code Red!
Confused and startled, some began to sob,
Who quickly realised that they would die.
The night Titanic found her icy bed,
How many people of their lives she’d rob!
Mae Scanlan

My name is Tom. When young I stole a pig
And fled from harm more swiftly than a bat
Whose cave has been invaded by a cat.
We held a feast where father, in his wig,
Piped all his tunes (three hornpipes and a jig)
And mother wore her Sunday frock and hat.
No table scraps were left for mouse or rat
Except a piece of apple and a fig.
Next day the farmer came. I tried a lie
To no avail. He beat me black and red,
And everyone who heard me howl and sob
Assumed that I was surely going to die.
I now am old and wise and, from my bed,
I tell my children’s children not to rob.
J. Garth Taylor

‘This heinous crime I deem preposterous, pig!
To sell your worthless ring and not to bat
An eyelid having fleeced this owl and cat...’
Here paused the judge to readjust his wig
Whereon the guilty pig began to jig
About, now fearful of the beak’s black hat!
The judge resumed, ‘You’re just a thieving rat
And, ringless, look like Adam minus fig-
Leaf — starkers, naked as a barefaced lie!
Small wonder that your chubby cheeks glow red,
It cuts no ice with me to see you sob,
The sentence of the court is that you die
And with these words I put the case to bed:
To charge this pair a shilling was to rob!’
Alan Millard

My father eructated like a pig.
My mother was the local mad old bat.
My brother’s thing was torturing the cat.
My Auntie Gladys wore a pubic wig.
My sister mooned the neighbours for a jig,
Then pulled her pants up and passed round the hat,
While Uncle Bruno carried a dead rat.
My god, it stank. He didn’t give a fig.
But that was normal living then — no lie.
We broke the law, were always in the red
And made successive social workers sob
Disheartened tears when told ‘piss off and die’.
Myself, I guzzled vodka while in bed
And dreamed of the next rich git I would rob.
G.M. Davis

[Brian Allgar]

Lots of us were secretly hoping to make it with this one, I suspect!

Too right, Jayne! Is there any reason (ahem!) why people, including your good self, shouldn't post them here? There must be a lot of amusing stuff out there, and it would be a pity for it all to end up in the pig-trough. But I don't want to risk having you come after me with a baseball bat or a cat-o'-nine-tails, and I certainly shouldn't care to incur another wigging from you ...

[Jayne Osborn]

No, we don't want to see failed entries here, Brian.

There's a brand new thread each week for Speccie entries; that's the place to put your comp attempts - and while they're still current, not retrospectively!

Old 'uns just have to go to that poem graveyard, where one hopes for a chance to resurrect them sometime

Jayne

[Brian Allgar]

OK, Jayne, although I'd have been pleased to show you mine if you'd shown me yours.

But isn't "failed entries" a bit harsh? Wouldn't it be more politically correct to call them "prizewinning-challenged entries"?

One last question: what counts as "still current"? I wouldn't want to get it wrong again by jiggling around with belated entries for the third time (an undesirable hat-trick) and causing you to get ratty - we need to keep you in fine fig.

[Jayne Osborn]

I try to avoid political correctness as much as possible, Brian, so 'failed entries' works for me!

But one failure can be another success - if you wait long enough.

You can see my 'failure' on the original 'set text' thread, along with everyone else's.

We now put the comp deadlines on D & A threads, so "still current" means any time before the date after which it's too late to submit. (Hope I've said what I think I've just said there! )

Jayne

[Brian Allgar]

Thank you for the clarification, Jayne!

If what I think you've just said is what you think you just said, or at least what I think you think you just said, then presumably it's OK to add stuff up to the "closing date" (to coin a phrase).

And rest assured that when I use the phrase "political correctness", my tongue is firmly in someone else's cheek (although natural reticence rather than PC precludes my specifying which kind).

[Jayne Osborn]

If what I think you've just said is what you think you just said, or at least what I think you think you just said, then presumably it's OK to add stuff up to the "closing date" (to coin a phrase).

You're welcome for the clarification, Brian (if, indeed, there was any! )

Yes, you're fine to add stuff up to the closing date - there simply isn't any point in doing so once the deadline's past. It's not obligatory to post your entries here, of course (some people are wary of doing so), but if they do turn out to be failures at least everyone can see what a marvellous fist you made of it!

(Wonder whether our US friends know the term 'making a fist of it'.)

Jayne

[Brian Allgar]

Let's hope they don't confuse it with "fisting".

[Jayne Osborn]

We seem to have a little private conversation going on here, Brian.

Once 'Results' threads have been opened and the winners and hon menshes have been congratulated, they're pretty much redundant though, anyway...

Over on 'Tailgaters' you asked:

Help! Am I losing my dirty mind?

... to which the answer looks like a resounding "No", after your last post. (Snigger.)

Jayne

[basil ransome-davies]

Funny, I could have sworn I've seen some of my good friend Bill's non-winning entries here post-facto. I rather enjoyed that.

I will confess to an expedient euphemism, since I knew Lucy would not print 'fuck a rat'.