[Susan McLean]

Frank, I like your poem, but the hexameter at the end is rather draggy. How about "But then, he only has to be right once."

Susan

[Susan d.S.]

Thanks, Donna! I had completely forgotten about the word "blather"--haven't heard it in years. It immediately made me think of Dan Rather. I suppose if the world really were ending, he'd be on the scene.
Thanks for the suggestion, will try it out.

[Donna English]

Originally Posted by Jayne Osborn

Martin,
Sorry to be so blunt but I strongly advise you not to submit this entry. It's actually highly offensive. There, I've said it.

After reading the... whatever that was...I don't think you need to apologize for being blunt, Jayne.

[Donna English]

I truly want to be the first to go,
I hope it hits me right between the eyes.
It’s not because I’m eager, heavens, no;
I’d rather have one helluva surprise.
Whether it’s a virus or a missile,
an asteroid, or giant solar flare
mum’s the word-- I’ll plug my ears and whistle
so I won't hear the how, the when and where.

[Roger Slater]

This one lost a Spectator competition but will not be complete until it loses an Oldie as well:

Some say the world will end in mire,
Some say in muck.
Though far preferred to ice or fire
I'd have to be a big fat liar
To say the world becoming stuck
And bogging down in stinky dirt
Would not, to put it mildly, suck,
As well as hurt,
And would be dire.

[John Whitworth]

My entries, which do sometimes win, take a lot more time to write than twelve minutes. Byron said he wrote Don Juan off the cuff, but he lied. he was an inveterate liar. He lied about his cricket scores and about the number of women who had gone to bed wit him. Tut!. Effortless ease needs a lot of trouble, Martin, so do try harder or don't bother. Meditate on expertise. People BECOME experts by long study and practice. They're not born that way. Vita brevis ars longa don't you know?

[John Whitworth]

My dear chap, if your laurels are beneath you, there's a problem. Most poets wear them on their heads. Wreaths rather than socks, don't you know.

[Jayne Osborn]

My friend’s dog got run over and I cried
all day at school. My guinea pig had died
as well, to make things worse. Mum – hard as nails –
thought keeping pets, and all that it entails,
an utter waste of time (apart from chickens
for food, that is). She’d yelled out, “W-h-a-t the Dickens…?”
at Dad, when he had made a lovely hutch
and bought “a dratted rodent ”. I would clutch
him close, and wonder why Mum hated him;
she didn’t love me either. On a whim,
the weekend Patch was killed we ran away,
my friend and I, unhappy kids. Next day
they found us, but my mother boxed my ears.
I still remember, after all these years:
“You’d think the world had ended. All this fuss!”
Mum said. We’d lost our pets: it had, to us.

[Donna English]

Jayne, you personalized the end of the world, I love the idea of it. The content of it. But I think maybe the progression is off, and the shifting back and forward in time thing is a little jarring, to me anyway. I also think the enjambments are working against it, they roughen the flow and muddle the lines. And, sorry, but there's just a few too many trite phrases that need to be replaced with some personalization--it's a personal poem I really hope you'll keep at it--I think it will be stand out among the entries.

Best,
Donna

[Jayne Osborn]

Thanks for the kind words and the feedback, Donna. I'll see if I can iron out some of the wrinkles you mention.

Back then, people (especially our mothers) often said, "It's not the end of the world" whenever something happened that, as kids, we found hard to deal with! That's what gave me the idea.

I'm not sure I agree with you that the enjambments make it flow roughly, though; end-stopped lines can be tedious sometimes. But I will keep at it... just for you, dear Donna