[John Whitworth]

No. 2780: fabulous

You are invited to write, in the spirit of Aesop or La Fontaine, a rhymed fable involving animals (16 lines maximum). Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 9 January.

I think this has appeared before. Anyone know if it has?

[Ed Shacklee]

Originally Posted by John Whitworth

No. 2780: fabulous

You are invited to write, in the spirit of Aesop or La Fontaine, a rhymed fable involving animals (16 lines maximum). Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 9 January.

I think this has appeared before. Anyone know if it has?

John & Jayne,

Pardon my ignorance, but I've always wanted to know: is there a standard form for such email entries? What would the normal heading be, for example: No. 2780? Should there be a cover letter and a bio as well, or just the poem and contact info, or does the email itself provide all the contact info the editor needs and/or wants? Are there different entry formats used for the different competitions often posted in Drills & Amusements?

I just subscribed to The Oldie, by the way, having seen it mentioned here so much. I'm looking forward to getting my hands on it.

Best,

Ed

[John Whitworth]

I send in my entry by email including the number of the competition and its title as the title of the email. Then, in the body of the email, I give my full name and address. Then the entry. That's all. No cover letter. Nothing else. If you are using a nom de plume, you can include that after the entry. But the name and address should be yours. Otherwise where should they send the winning cheque?

[Ed Shacklee]

Thanks, John. I think I'll give it a shot, then.

Best,

Ed

[FOsen]

An elephant was rushing off to lunch,
a bunch of plantains cradled in his trunk.
Mid-river, though, he’d dropped them and they’d sunk.

He stamped the bottom; in a rage he splashed
and thrashed the surface, till it yellowed
and swirled and clouded as he loudly bellowed.

He paused and glared, for from a nearby tree,
two three-toed sloths were droning, Hey, just . . wait.
Sloths—their name proclaims their only trait!

He blared them into silence, then he frowned
and found he’d also scared the water still.
He spied the plantains; with a selfish thrill

he nudged them to the surface, then charged off,
not judging three-toed sloths were worth a quarrel.

A slack voice, though, called, after he’d barged off,
Come back . . you never even gave . . the moral.

Frank

[Roger Slater]

COMMON ENEMY

A horse and duck were arguing one day:
Which is better, saying quack or neigh?
The horse maintained that neighing had more class,
That quacking sounded much too much like brass,
A brittle trumpet or a tin kazoo.
The duck responded that this may be true
But if you want to hear a sound that's tinny
The prime example is a horse's whinny.
But then an owl of wisdom and repute
Descended from a tree and said "The hoot
Exceeds the neigh or quack in sound and tone
And occupies an honored place alone
Among the languages that creatures speak."
The horse, offended, kicked him in the beak.
The owl was dead. The duck said, "Horse, well played!"
The horse then quacked. The duck, for his part, neighed.

[Ed Shacklee]

The Fox and the Oyster

A famished fox, so gaunt and cunning,
Surprised a little oyster sunning
And popped the morsel in his mouth,
Which promptly sent the oyster south,

A trick sly kits are taught in dens
For gobbling eggs purloined from hens.
But good and greed do not agree:
In pain, he leaped into the sea

Where water that can slake and cool
Is always glad to drown a fool,
And so the fox, against his wishes,
Provided dinner for the fishes.

A pearl within beyond all price,
Her perils made the oyster wise,
A lesson learned from greedy foxes:
Disaster comes in pretty boxes.

[Jayne Osborn]

Ed,
I'm delighted to see this:

I just subscribed to The Oldie, by the way, having seen it mentioned here so much. I'm looking forward to getting my hands on it.

I do hope you enjoy the magazine. I'm a big fan of The Oldie and go to their monthly lunches at Simpson's In The Strand as often as I can (I'll be at the January lunch). I even know some of the Oldie staff now and chat to the editor occasionally; don't worry, it doesn't earn me any favoritism! Tessa Castro doesn't attend the lunches - and the poems are judged fairly and squarely on what Tessa likes best.

To answer your question, I do as John does. To reiterate: In the subject line of the email I put the comp number and topic, for example, "Competition no. 1234: Holidays" and post the poem in the body of the email (don't send entries as attachments) along with my name and postal address.

I'm sure some people attempt to ingratiate themselves with judges of competitions but IMO it's best to simply put your poem and contact details - nothing else.

I use this format for The Spectator and other comps mentioned on D & A and I've won lots of times, like John, so we must be doing it right, I reckon!

Jayne

[Brian Allgar]

"For dinner", said the farmer's wife, "I'd like a leg of pork."
The farmer sharpened up his knife, and took his carving fork.
The Hen was scratching in the yard, and heard the conversation;
The other beasts were in the barn, enjoying their collation.
The Hen rushed in: "O Pig! " she clucked, "They're coming for your legs!
I'm safe enough, for they rely on me for daily eggs,
But you, poor Pig, they'll turn to gammon, and to sides of bacon."
In this, alas, the wretched Hen proved horribly mistaken.

The farmer's wife had found that thoughts of pork began to sicken.
"I've changed my mind", she said, "I think I'd rather roast a chicken".
The farmer seized the hapless Hen; one squawk, and she fell silent.
At last, the Cow spoke from her stall: "Humanity is violent:
They may seem kind, but bear in mind the Master's not our friend;
However well we do our job, he'll eat us in the end."

[Brian Allgar]

A spider had caught a delectable fly
And prepared to consume it, when out of the sky
The arachnid was snatched by a gluttonous pigeon;
One gulp, and the spider was less than a smidgeon.
This bird was attacked by a ravenous gull
Which pecked it to pieces and shattered its skull;
The gull in its turn, flying over the reef,
Was destroyed by a skua, whose triumph was brief,
For a buzzard swept down and demolished the skua -
There's always a predator bigger than you are.