[Janice D. Soderling]

You write swimmingly, John, indeed you do.

[John Whitworth]

Why thank you Janice. The third stanza was the problem. I swallowed a lot of water.

[Peter Goulding]

Sorry, a pet hate of mine - why they bring the bleedin' toast before they bring your fry...

Oh toast rack, venerable silver toast rack,
how you inspire a heaviness in my heart.
Upon this pristine white tablecloth, thou art
placed and the young waitress smiles and we smile back.
But, adorned with toast, triangular and warm,
your deep crenellations, to my mind, suggest
the fort in the desert in that film Beau Geste,
where Robert Preston fools the infidel storm
by propping up the now lifeless legionnaires
in the battlements. And so my lips turn black,
for I know too well, stately, shining toast rack,
that thy oh so tempting and warm-scented wares
will doubtless be cold and hard and dead and dry
by the time I have finished eating my fry.

[John Whitworth]

Nice one, Peter. I have no idea what the solution is.

It has occurred to me that in my poem the phrase 'working classes' might be 'lower classes' or even 'lower orders'. Any views, Sphereans?

[Douglas G. Brown]

John,
I favor "lower classes", which would include the non-working. I would write "huddled masses", which is from Emma Lazarus' lovely "The New Colossus" , on the Statue of Liberty. But, I doubt that would work in the UK.

[Chris O'Carroll]

Originally Posted by John Whitworth

It has occurred to me that in my poem the phrase 'working classes' might be 'lower classes' or even 'lower orders'. Any views, Sphereans?

The phrase didn't jump out as me as a problem when I first read the poem. But now you mention it, use of the term 'working classes' might be taken to imply some degree of sympathy with Marxist analysis, whereas 'lower orders' conveys a more unconflicted High Tory outlook.

[Royston Vasey]

Hi John,

It has occurred to me that in my poem the phrase 'working classes' might be 'lower classes' or even 'lower orders'.

I like 'hoi polloi' for your poem's S3 L3, with its inclusion the line could then benefit from alliteration and read, 'The horrid hoi polloi began'. Just a thought.


Go well.

[Graham King]

Dear Strack, I’m stricken with your charms!
You have so many graceful arms;
Your eyes, deep-gazing into mine,
Are lovely-hued, and number nine.
So - could we possibly be one?
You’d have my heart – as you have none,
With pulsing tubes throughout, instead.
Head might say no; you lack a head:
Your brain’s distributed within
Your chest (that’s rich with frond and fin).
Embrace so tender shall enfold
Us- if your tendrils fair take hold!
Need such love be a hopeless task?
Am I presumptuous to ask-
Is that a raygun in your pouch,
Or are you pleased to see me?- Ouch!


[I've toyed with a zapper, phaser, laser and maser - so to speak - before settling again for my first choice of 'a raygun'.]