Lucy Vickery

In Competition No. 2994 you were invited to submit a letter of complaint from a fictional character to his, hers or its creator complaining about their portrayal. There are some long lines this week (blame Poe) and as the standard was high, I’ll step aside to make space for six winners. The excellent entries printed below earn their authors £25 each.   Weak and weary, ever yearning, when the midnight oil is burning; In a rare trochaic meter bygone sorrows you explore. As you sit there ruminating, pondering your woes, I’m stating That I find it nauseating, this obsession with Lenore, For you treat me with derision, eulogise your teenage whore, Sadly, not your only flaw.

In Competition No. 2992 you were invited to submit a Dear John letter, in prose or verse, in the style of a well-known author.   My, you were good this week — good enough to make being jilted seem quite the thing. Even that most maddening of break-up clichés ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ has a certain charm when filtered (courtesy of Chris O’Carroll) through the whimsical lens of Ogden Nash.   Douglas G. Brown, Paul Freeman, Martin Parker, R.M Goddard and Bill Greenwell are highly commended. The winners earn £25 each. D.A. Prince takes £30.

In Competition No. 2991 you were invited to submit ‘The Rime of the Wedding Guest’.   There were, naturally, lots of clever nods in the entry to Coleridge’s ballad of sin and atonement, but some were more charitable than others to the gimlet-eyed seadog with verbal diarrhoea. In a hotly contested week, Brian Allgar, Chris O’Carroll, Graham King, Max Gutmann and Mike Morrison came close to glory but were pipped by the winners below, who take £25 each. Basil Ransome--Davies nabs £30.   My mates and me were larging it, As pissed as several newts. Three wedding guests, we was all dressed In Jasper Conran suits.

In Competition No. 2991 you were invited to submit an April Fool disguised as a serious news feature that contains a startling revelation about a well-known literary figure.   The top-ranked April Fool of all time, according to the Museum of Hoaxes, was Panorama’s 1957 report on how Swiss farmers on the shores of Lake Lugano were enjoying a bumper spaghetti crop thanks to the elimination of the dastardly spaghetti weevil and one of the mildest winter in living memory. Gullible viewers, convinced by a charming video showing peasants harvesting strands of pasta, flooded the Beeb with queries as to how they might grow their own spaghetti tree.   It was a smallish entry, carbohydrate-free but with an unusual degree of overlap. (Barbara Cartland made several appearances.

In Competition No. 2990 you were invited to submit a poem of 16 lines in which the lines begin with the letters of the alphabet from A to P.   This one proved to be a real crowd-pleaser, attracting not only the regulars but many welcome new faces too. You were at your witty and inventive best, and I offer commiserations to a long list of unlucky losers: Sylvia Fairley, Paul Evans, A.K. Colam, Martin Eayrs, Nigel Stuart, Ralph Rochester and Brian Allgar. Class swot Bill Greenwell, who gave himself an additional challenge by ending each line of his poem with the letters K to Z, earns a gold star.   The prizewinners, printed below, are rewarded with £25 each. Basil Ransome-Davies scoops the extra fiver.   All poets lie, Pascal implied; But that’s their very game.

In Competition No. 2989 you were invited to submit a version of the Gettysburg Address as it might have been given by a prominent figure on the world stage. As space is tight, I pause only to commend Frank Upton and Paul Carpenter before handing you over to Messrs Blair, Trump and Wilson, with Charles I bringing up the rear. The winners take £30 each.   Many years ago my forefathers made it possible for me to address you here on this memorable site and I am honoured to speak for them and for all future generations. Wars come and go but people like me, dedicated to running a nation, don’t. We’re here to remember those who died, of course, but the living are just as important, and me more so.

In Competition No. 2988 you were invited to compose a poem making the case for a national commemoration day for a person or thing of your choice.   While Alanna Blake championed the dandelion, there were also impassioned calls for days that high-five Thomas Crapper, Doris Day and the tent. I, for one, would happily celebrate a Tom Waits day with Adrian Fry. The winners below take £25 each. Bill Greenwell pockets £30.

In Competition No. 2987 you were invited to supply a lesson in the art of seduction in the style of an author of your choice.   In a large and stellar field, Ralph Rochester, Noah Heyl, Jennifer Moore, J. Seery, Barry Baldwin, Alan Millard, Sylvia Fairley and John Maddicott shone, but they were pipped to the post by the winners, printed below, who earn £25 each. The bonus fiver belongs to Brian Allgar.   ‘Had we but world enough, and time…’ It never fails, my am’rous rhyme. I lead them to a private place, And strip them of their flimsy lace. ’Tis true that in my younger days, My poems caused their eyes to glaze; They fell asleep, a sorry fact, Virginity still quite intact, And vainly, I would try to shake My vegetable love awake.

In Competition No. 2986 you were invited to submit a poem about a deadly foodstuff.   My inspiration for this assignment was the appalling news that toast can kill you, which is yet another depressing indication that everything good is bad for you. Or perhaps, as Max Gutmann suggests in the closing couplet of his winning entry, it’s safer simply to regard all food as a potential enemy.   Honourable mentions to Mae Scanlan and Jennifer Moore, and £25 each to the winners. D.A. Prince scoops the bonus fiver.   Amanita phalloides! Yes, my darling, just for you — hunter-gathered when your need is homely soup to add them to.   Fresh and creamy-clean, so wholesome; don’t they tempt your appetite!

In Competition No. 2985 you were invited to provide a poetic preview of the day Article 50 is triggered.   There were passionate voices from both sides of the Brexit divide, with many of you recruiting distinguished poets to your cause. D.A. Prince cleverly appropriated ‘Vitaï Lampada’, Sir Henry Newbolt’s tribute to English patriotism: ‘There’s a dread-filled rush in the House tonight/ With Article 50 poised to go,/ After lies black as pitch and the blind claiming sight/ And nothing to halt, now, the whole sorry show’; Jennifer Moore’s entry channelled the spirit of Dr Seuss: ‘The sun did not shine./ We were too sad to work,/So we cut out Farage/ And threw darts at his smirk.