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  #1  
Unread 01-09-2014, 06:49 PM
Jayne Osborn's Avatar
Jayne Osborn Jayne Osborn is offline
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Default The Oldie bouts-rimés competition by 7th February

Ah, now this is better than Tweeting. Many of us love the annual bouts-rimés competition, so good luck with this one

Jayne

COMPETITION NO 173
by Tessa Castro

So it’s back to dear old verse, and time for this year’s bouts-rimés. A poem of 16 lines, please, using as rhymes these words in order: trader, seas, nadir, these, haggard, hurled, staggered, world, tarnished, away, garnished, they, eaten, regard, sweeten, nard.

Entries to ‘Competition No 173’ by post (The Oldie, 65 Newman Street, London W1T 3EG), fax (020 7436 8804) or email comps@theoldie.co.uk by 7th February 2014.
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Unread 01-09-2014, 07:47 PM
Roger Slater Roger Slater is offline
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The source.
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  #3  
Unread 01-09-2014, 10:07 PM
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John Whitworth John Whitworth is offline
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Well done Roger. I thought it would be around 1900, thought maybe Kipling.

Well, this goes with a swing. A bit short on meaning perhaps and I'm not sure if gob-gore isn't over the top. But bloodstains are boring, don't you think?

The Song of Silver's Ghost

I am a Deaths-Head trader
And I sail the seven seas,
From the zenith to the nadir,
Seeking destinies like these.

Here the hooded Harpies haggard
Hang where hurricanoes hurled,
Here swart Satan stamped and staggered
In the morning of the world,

Here the Sleepers, never tarnished,
Snore their seeling nights away,
Here am I, with gob-gore garnished,
As ineffable as they.

Who the asphodel has eaten,
Ever stands in high regard.
Him the ocean breezes sweeten,
Breathing cassia, balm and nard.
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Unread 01-10-2014, 02:43 AM
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basil ransome-davies basil ransome-davies is offline
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Roger Slater View Post
Housman, eh? What a little ray of sunshine he was.
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Unread 01-10-2014, 03:58 AM
Rob Stuart Rob Stuart is offline
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Not a patch on John's, but this comp isn't really my bag.

Sprouts

A callous Flemish trader
Brought us sprouts from overseas,
And now our Yuletide’s nadir
Is a soggy heap of these.

Each Christmas, green and haggard,
I remember how I hurled
Them up last year. I’m staggered
God allows them in our world.

My turkey’s left as tarnished,
Roasted spuds are pushed away,
And all because they’re garnished
With these horrid things; when they

Get served all goes uneaten.
No food merits less regard;
A five-starred chef can’t sweeten
Them or change their stench to nard.

Last edited by Rob Stuart; 01-13-2014 at 03:14 AM.
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Unread 01-10-2014, 08:46 AM
Roger Slater Roger Slater is offline
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For years I've been a trader
who set sail upon the seas.
I've had my lumps. The nadir
must for sure be one of these:

A merchant, pale and haggard,
looked inside my bag and hurled.
A snake-bite left me staggered,
nearly took me from this world.

My good name once was tarnished
and my wares were stripped away.
My wages once were garnished.
I had thirteen wives and they,

to my regret, were eaten,
an event that I regard
as so tragic one can't sweeten
its unpleasantness with nard.
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Unread 01-10-2014, 08:52 AM
Jerome Betts Jerome Betts is offline
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Not really your bag, Rob? Could have fooled me. Actually, sprouts came to this country in the late 18th century or thereabouts, not medieval times. The RHS claims a 'spontaneous sport' in the Brussels area about 1750.
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Unread 01-10-2014, 10:09 AM
Rob Stuart Rob Stuart is offline
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Jerome Betts View Post
Not really your bag, Rob? Could have fooled me. Actually, sprouts came to this country in the late 18th century or thereabouts, not medieval times. The RHS claims a 'spontaneous sport' in the Brussels area about 1750.
I didn't realise that you were an eminent sproutologist Jerome. I shall amend!
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Unread 01-10-2014, 12:16 PM
Brian Allgar Brian Allgar is offline
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One dreadful day, an ocean-going trader
Was caught by pirates on the China seas,
And found his fortunes at their very nadir
When he cried out: “God save us, who are these?”
“We’re cannibals!” they chortled. Fearful, haggard,
The trader in a cooking-pot was hurled.
Around him, hungry men caroused and staggered,
Their drunken dance his last sight of this world.
Alhough the ancient pot was dull and tarnished,
The happy pirates boiled and stirred away,
Then sliced and served him, decorously garnished,
For gastronomic epicures were they.
But when the merest mouthful had been eaten,
One cannibal, with critical regard,
Declared: “I think we ought to sweeten
This chap with mint, and just a hint of nard.”

Last edited by Brian Allgar; 01-10-2014 at 12:26 PM.
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  #10  
Unread 01-10-2014, 01:52 PM
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basil ransome-davies basil ransome-davies is offline
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Brian, you've done exceedingly well with 'they', a perverse end-rhyme that threatens either testing problems of syntax or a perilous enjambement. But maybe that's just me.
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