[Jayne Osborn]

This is a good ’un – open to all kinds of interpretation. Let’s see what you lovely imaginative people come up with.
Jayne

The Oldie Competition No 204
by TESSA CASTRO

I find it unhelpful when a weather summary on the radio says ‘Changeable’. But it’s quite an element of people and life in general too. So a poem by that title, please. Maximum sixteen lines.

Entries by post (The Oldie, 23/31 Great Titchfield Street, London W1W 7PA) or email comps@theoldie.co.uk – (don’t forget to include your postal address) to ‘Competition No 204’ by 24th June.

[Charlie Southerland]

Changeable


When a guy in a dress came thumping through into the loo,
I watched him in the mirror, wondering what to do.

Do I pull up my knickers or drop them on the floor?
Do I leave the stall wide open or close the fuckin' door?
Do I stand to take a piss, or sit and make a mess,
Or do I wipe my arse here from the front or rear–
I'm stressing out so much I hate to make a guess.
My God! This padded bra is killing me, I fear,
I'm soaked in sweat and dripping like some wet nurse's teats.
My make-up's two-days old, I'm out of rouge and blush,
I've got a date at eight tonight, I've promised him great feats
Of my prowess. These E-fags don't help at all, no rush.
I've screwed myself into this trope, I'm out of here.
I'm dressing down tonight, from straight to slightly queer.

[Douglas G. Brown]

Oh, the diva loved her food, and would get into a mood
Where she'd eat like it was going out of style.
Soon this gourmandizing lady looked like James Buchanan Brady,
Or Farouk who cruised his yacht upon the Nile.
All the supermarket papers scorned her gastronomic capers,
And condemned her gluttony as truly vile.
The publicity they gave her made the buying public crave her
New recordings, and she earned a giant pile.

Then she started skipping dinner, and as soon as she grew thinner,
All the tabloids feared that she would waste away.
So, these papers spread a rumor that she had some sort of tumor
Which would put her six feet under any day.
This created so much pity that in every single city
Of her tour, they had to turn the crowds away;
Which will reinforce the glory of that timeless showbiz story
That publicity of any kind will pay.

[Erik Olson]

Changeable: To Mr. Broker

You swap your bonds, stocks, wife for side-ploys' luck,
Then swap those mistresses for gavels struck.
h

[Erik Olson]

CHANGea-ble

A scholar is a screech-owl perched on power,
Apprehends nature; solid be his bower.
A broker, whole new beast, is rather full
With Wall Street's symbol, soul, and driver: bull.

h

[Douglas G. Brown]

Wal-Mart hemorrhages cash,
McDonald's had a major crash,
Exxon passed it's dividend,
And Google's in a downward trend.

The latest hedge fund Ponzi scheme
Surpasses Madoff's wildest dream.
Foreclosures reached a record high,
Though no one knows exactly why.

The Chairman of the mighty Fed
Was murdered as she slept in bed,
And turmoil in the Middle East
Has made the bear a raging beast.

Without a paddle, up Shit Creek,
Wall Street had a brutal week.
Though I was lucky, truth be told;
I'd shorted stocks and purchased gold.

[Erik Olson]

Changeable: Your Hot-Shot Investment Partner

In this his genius lies, why he can't lose:
You seldom wish your gold another's ruse.

a

[RCL]

(Inter)changeable

In rings within a henge, they rise
at dawn and bow ecstatically,
stretch to kiss the earth and sky,
and in their holy aura spin,
absorbing daily sounds to sing
of bees, the birds, and evening breezes,
for the One that is themselves.

[Erik Olson]

Changeable

Stocks and the man, I sing bore cunning schemes
in droves, whom posher suburbs housed in dreams.
Both spawned. To Madoff's ship upstarts were lured
by Velvet Ropes. As blind, Bern gave his word.
Both struck new lives, eluding old that bored them—
their feckless stations—neither could afford them.
Nature Bern sniffed for greed—nose sensitive
like hounds, pragmatic—spared no relative:
Lux feasts; whiz courted more than seen, aloof;
sung earnings; high name-dropping; pomp served proof.
His lust drove theirs against them; lust believed
dangled quick mills. no tender unreceived.
Bern's promised gifts were madness to forgo;
to not proved madness, Charter Nine, and woe.
a

[Erik Olson]

Changeable : Bacchus

They'd shanghaied not a prince, they proved so wrong:
These pirates tried to tie the youth of long
drooped curling locks, but ropes snapped off his broad
frame—contrapposto, smiling, jaunty brow,
and wordless. All looked baffled. From the prow,
the pilot yelled: "Fools! This could be a god
we've brought aboard. Beg he'll forgive us, men!
Neptune, or Jove... Let not your eyes presume.
Bow, hope that bowing mitigates our doom."
The captain scoffed, bade all hands tie again.
But, looking back, they dumped the briny cord:
A Lion groaned where stood a prince before,
and Bear, jaws dropping with the captain's gore.
Swifter than thought, they swan-dived overboard
whose bodies morphed; merged with the foamy spray,
their skin turned pearly; dolphins swam away.
s