[John Whitworth]

Bazza won a bundle for his bishop's tweets to the Royals. Very droll. And Bill Greenwell won a tenner.

This weeks Competition (Number 4165) wants a poem in praise of asceticism. So all you Simeon Styliteses, get composing. Please note you have only FOURTEEN lines. The final date is February 17th. I've forgotten the staggers' email but I'll put it up later if someone doesn't beat me to it.

[Lance Levens]

I wonder if Simon had a Blackberry with him.

[Roger Slater]

I have one in the can already, but I don't know if I can use it because it's already been accepted by Light Quarterly. I wrote it when we were all writing for the "bad poem" competition:

ASCETIC'S SONG

Asceticism's right for me.
It may not be for you.
Do you like sleeping on the floor?
You do? That's swell. Me too!

Asceticism's right for me.
Are you somebody who
never takes a sip of wine?
You are? That's swell. Me too!

It's nice to find a kindred soul
who does the things I do!
And yet we two cannot be friends.
I gave up friendship, too.

[Duncan Gillies MacLaurin]

This is what it was last time, John:

comp@newstatesman.co.uk

Glad to be able to beat you at something.

Duncan

[John Whitworth]

In my opinion of course you can use it. I don't think the Staggers has much of a profile in the States. Les Murray said to me that he reckoned a few thousand miles made a lot of difference. I don't see why you shouldn't use winners to previous competitions either. We poets need our £25.

So here's a reworking of an old one of mine.


Far Holier Than Thou

Now the desert’s growing chiller, and I’m freezing on a pillar, an
Address a hundred feet above the ground.
I’m so starveling and ascetic that I’m damn near diabetic.
As a saint I’m just the saintliest around.

As a youth, alas, I lusted after prominently busted,
Shady ladies in diaphanous attire.
But as Simeon Stylites I reject such flighty nighties.
They are passports to the everlasting fire.

My belief burns like a laser; I’m a stranger to the razor
I’m so hairy that I’m scary and I smell.
But my visa says FOR JESUS, and you lewd, licentious geezers,
Mark my words, are on the primrose path to Hell.

[Martin Parker]

John, Having read your masterpiece I reckon the rest of us should abandon all hope and take up knitting -- for the whole of 2011, if not longer ! Provided, of course, that you do not also do competitive knitting.

[Lance Levens]

Why, Si?

Let us go then, you and I,
to visit our ascetic, Si.
With how sad steps ascend
to see his tum distend:
lack of victuals, dearth of drink
--and yes, there is a stink.
It hovers over any one
who sits for decades in the sun.

The noodling in your brain begins:
My gosh--what were his sins?
What the rage and what the fire?
Indeed, was it mere desire?
Is that what drove him to the pole
--to cleanse her body from his soul?

[George Simmers]

Here's a poem that tries to practice what it preaches:

Observe the sickening members of our greedy race,
Each oaf exulting as he overstuffs his face.
What need for such excesses every meal?
Share, I implore you, my reforming zeal.
Ban doughnut, pudding, chip and pie
Those tempters of the greedy eye.
Insist, too, all must choose
To shun deluding booze.
All must reduce,
Without excuse,
Till stout
Is out,
Thin
In.

[John Whitworth]

There is a name for one of those, George.What is it?

[Ann Drysdale]

Perhaps "Winner"?