I do like being given a challenge - Elizabeth Kay

Manifold Magazine folded many years ago on the death of its editor, Vera Rich. In each edition she would propose two challenges, one subject related, and the other to be written in a specific poetic form. I really looked forward to these – they were terrific stimuli to write something that might well get published. The Spectator performs a similar function, sometimes 150 words of prose sometimes a poem, 16 lines maximum. I only discovered these competitions a year ago; they kick-started me, and I’ve had several published. But near-misses also get a mention, so I thought I’d give some of them an airing here.

Blissfully ignoring – something you dislike about your loved one

The distinctive call of an eider duck

Plus the sound of an airbed deflating

Or the distant growl of the M25

Then the huffing of two hedgehogs mating.

A grunt that trails off to a whistle is next,

Then a silence, a false dawn of hope –

But it never lasts long, and the snuffles resume,

The top of that slippery slope.

But I still love my spouse, despite bedtime woes,

So I’m sorry I said nights were boring

Nothing to do with technique in the sack

Just another crescendo of snoring.

We can be heroes - 18^th century style mock-heroic poem in rhyming couplets on some trivial recent event

How long we waited for this wondrous day,

A new construction o’er our motorway!

From Leatherhead to Wisley, oh, sublime,

The coming and the going made divine.

We set off blithely through torrential rain

But found ourselves at Ripley once again…

What fun familiar roundabouts can be

With no new signposts – back on the A3!

Invoking Hermes, off once more we went,

Our hopes still high, and lo! A gradient!

We’d found the bridge, a glory to behold

The sun came out, and lit the struts with gold,

A curving road so elegant, aglow,

The mighty lorries thund’ring by, below

Such grandeur fairly took our breath away –

Though Google maps can’t find it, sad to say.

Surreal Estate - A luxury property development on Mars

Introducing the landmark development built by award-winning TrumpTowersInc. in conjunction with Musk-on-Mars, fully protected by the Xi Jinping forcefield.  Each house has its own decontamination facility, in a choice of jade green or coral pink, and a cosy radiation storm-surge room, to keep you safe from even the most powerful solar flares. A personal laboratory to grow your favourite hamburgers, caviar, and durian fruit. Two enviable corner plots are still available, with magnificent views of the glorious Prekrasny Putin, previously known as Olympus Mons, the tallest (non-active) volcano in the Solar System at more than 13 miles high.  Just a short rover-hop away is the Kim Jong Un Crater, where you can get rich quick by prospecting for your own rare mars minerals. Visit the re-created Mount Rushmore, with the faces of Donald, Elon and Barron sculpted in blood-red Martian sandstone. An unrepeatable opportunity to live like the autocrats!

 

Quirk related – an unusual predilection

“You are old, Miss Haruspex,” the stewardess said,

“And your roots are decidedly white.

But is this the place to stand on your head,

Do you think the departure gate’s right?”

“In my youth,” Miss Haruspex replied to the lass,

“I was nervous and too scared to fly.

I needed a ritual, but nothing too crass,

Just a way of negating the sky.”

“I think,” said the stewardess, starting to see,

“Upside down shows a glimmer of sense.

With the your head on the floor you can then be quite free

To feel grounded and not get too tense.”

“In old age,” Miss Haruspex replied with a grin,

“You stop caring if folk think you’re nuts.

We’ve never crashed yet, so my system’s a win,

I divined what to do. I had guts!”

The Big Move - A poem about the domestic arrangements at the White house

I had my own apartment at the top of Donald’s tower,

It’s more or less deserted now that he is back in power.

We still present united fronts, he knows I’ve got his back,

It’s written in the contract just like action in the sack

I have to play the hostess to the geeks who all call round,

I have to guess who’s in, who’s out, and who has gone to ground.

The building is infested – lots of roaches, ants and mice

But living in the White House never has been all that nice.

I’m fussy about hygiene, and we often eat apart

I’m not a burger person and the Donald tends to fart

The trouble is the staff all think his diet is a joke

He likes his steak with ketchup and he just drinks diet Coke.

Each time he hears them laugh he shakes his fist and shouts, “You’re fired!”

Retaining staff is difficult, he has to feel admired.

Domestic bliss? Just tatt and bling – the building is a dump,

So grit your teeth girl, hold your nose, and smile for Donald Trump.

Lines on the Leaves - an ode to autumn

As we approach October’s Equinox

It’s getting colder, and the local fox

Has left his calling card upon the grass;

He does a bottom-slide to wipe his arse.

(A vixen likes a dog that shows his class.)

 

Will thrushes have a slug-fest? No they won’t.

Do hedgehogs like to eat them? No they don’t.

Our rotting windfalls are now wreathed in mist

Their fermentation adds that boozy twist

The mice that eat them get completely pissed.

 

The squirrel buries conkers in the lawn,

He’s always at it from the crack of dawn.

Next year will see his forest flourishing –

The forecast is extremely promising!

From rainy autumn straight to rainy spring.

 

In out, in out – recast the Hokey-cokey in the style of a poet of your choice

 I wandered lonely and forlorn

Like one who’s joie de vivre has gorn

When all at once I heard a sound,

A host of voices, and I found

The crippled, deaf, and semi-blind

Their wheelchairs for dance aligned!

A group of wrinklies, just like me,

Their walking sticks raised prettily.

And as I listened to their song

I knew I had to dance along.

You put your left stick in, your left stick out,

In out, in out, poke your partner’s gout,

We do the okey-dokey and we love to shout,

That’s what we’re all about! Whee, the okey-dokey!

Yay! The okey-dokey! Whee, the okey-dokey!

Don’t give a damn so, ra ra ra!