Beau Peep Notice Board
Beau Peep Notice Board => Outpourings => Topic started by: Roger Kettle on November 09, 2015, 08:30:24 PM
-
For various reasons, this has been missing for a year or two so I think it's time we brought it back. Maybe Mince and/or Rob can come up with a Beau-related challenge and we'll take things from there. The prize will be the usual, boring stuff---signed original artwork and anything else I can think of. I would suggest a closing date of around the middle of December to allow the prize to be arrive with the winner before Christmas. Mince? Rob? Can you come up with something in the next week or two?
-
Of course, I don't mind sorting something out. How about some kind of programming challenge?
-
I'd like to put myself forward as this years winner, please. I hate all the last minute rush stuff.
-
The Christmas competition for this year (and the idea is from my father, Peter) is to write a short poem about how A Man Called Horace should have ended.
-
The Christmas competition for this year (and the idea is from my father, Peter) is to write a short poem about how A Man Called Horace should have ended.
Ah! Trick question...A Man Called Horace shouldn't have ended.
-
Is that your 'suck up to the writer in the hope of winning' entry?
-
It's either a sign or a movie sequel.
-
The Christmas competition for this year (and the idea is from my father, Peter) is to write a short poem about how A Man Called Horace should have ended.
Sounds good to me. I'll kindly let Mince and Rob choose the winner and I'll get the prize off when it's all decided.
-
Sounds good to me. I'll kindly let Mince and Rob choose the winner and I'll get the prize off when it's all decided.
Rob says he wants to choose the winner but that's just because he wants to win, but if I do it, I will promise to be completely impartial when judging between my masterpiece and whatever rubbish the others write. (P.S. Do I have to actually read the entries from the others or can I just assume beforehand that they're going to be talentless?)
-
Okay, I'll judge it. I've decided that the prize will be £50,000.
By the way, I'm entering.
-
Aren't such competitions usually not open to organisers and their families?
Take it the prize money still stands, though?
It doesn't bother me, but I was told to ask by your Uncle Mince, Aunty Diane, Granny Tarks, Grampa Peeps and brothers-in-law Rob and Red.
-
I just feel bad that no one stands a chance against me.
-
Okay, on the off-chance that no one else bothers to submit an entry except me, my first and perhaps only attempt at this is:
Let's raid the thesaurus
So no one forgets
The man called Horace
A mirage in the sunset.
-
It's obviously hard,
This attempt at a bard.
So let's cheer and applaud
At Minces last verse on the board.
-
That, Sandy, has to be the most intelligent, poignant and gripping ending to a comic strip I have ever read. I love how you avoid sentimentality, cliche, and everything to do with The Man Called Horace strip.
-
You flatter me.
-
Only in an ironic, not-in-the-slightest sort of way.
-
Aw shucks...now you're embarrassing me !
-
I'm actually surprised you have not yet found toilet-humour rhymes for Granny, Kitty and Horace.
-
You're trying to get me banned from the competition, aren't you?
-
Why would I bother? I don't even think you have the skill to enter the competition.
-
Hah !
I've entered better things than this, with little or no skill. Ask anyone.
-
I would like to enter the Christmas poem competition - but my mind is empty of words that could be put together to rhyme. I am like a can of Alpha-ghetti with only sauce.
-
It looks like I'm going to win. :)
-
Belay that dance,
You have no chance
You're south of the border
And well out of order
-
I enjoyed writing Horace.
I'm told it was funny.
I miss being involved.
But mostly the money.
Please PM me for bank sort code and account number.
Roger Kettle.
-
;D ;D ;D
-
On the day Horace ended,
To deal with that setback,
It would have been splendid
If he'd flown away with a jetpack.
-
Or how about Horace
At the flicks with Kitty
His arm round her shoulders
And his hand on her . . .
-
The loss of our Horace, a source of great bilk,
Saw the end of an era for him and his ilk.
As he rode t'wards the sunset
To the strings of a quintet,
Got off of his horse, and drank his milk...
-
I see you nicked my copyrighted "sunset" idea.
-
Good grief - I'm mortified! You think I actually read your posts?
I've just checked back. You call that a rhyme? :\
-
This is coming from someone who doesn't know how to use the verb "bilk".
-
I take no lessons from someone who doesn't know that "bilk" is also a noun.
-
Yes, but it's a concrete noun, as in trickster, scammer, swindler.
So your line could read:
The loss of our Horace, a source of great trickster
Or:
The loss of our Horace, a source of great scammer
I believe you were flailing clumsily for the abstract noun, only to discover not only that it doesn't exist (bilkery?) but also that it doesn't rhyme with ilk, except perhaps in one of Acker's songs.
-
Roger, I think Tarquin's entry should be disqualified because
his poem rhymes without making sense he's a complete girl's blouse.
-
Yes, but it's a concrete noun, as in trickster, scammer, swindler.
So your line could read:
The loss of our Horace, a source of great trickster
Or:
The loss of our Horace, a source of great scammer
I believe you were flailing clumsily for the abstract noun, only to discover not only that it doesn't exist (bilkery?) but also that it doesn't rhyme with ilk, except perhaps in one of Acker's songs.
It also means deceit. Get it now? We were never told - it was hidden from us. Hence the competition.
You're just jealous I managed to include a rare gem like "bilk", you malagrugrous jollux, you.
-
It also means deceit.
And it says this in your Dictionary of Words Redefined to Rhyme? What complete acker!
-
After all those nice things I said about you, and I haven't even received the cheque yet... >:(
-
Deceipt...dechair...desofa?
Who cares? It's all about decomfort.
-
After all those nice things I said about you, and I haven't even received the cheque yet... >:(
But that is a countable noun (a deceit), not an uncountable noun (some deceit), which is what you are claiming. I think Roger should adjudicate here, since he is the referee. So Roger, isn't source of great bilk using bilk as an uncountable noun? I'm right, aren't I? I think he should be told off and disqualified for cheating, and for nicking my sunset idea.
-
After all those nice things I said about you, and I haven't even received the cheque yet... >:(
I think Roger should adjudicate here
That's an outrageous request. Dirty Mince!
:o
-
That's an outrageous request. Dirty Mince!
Are you saying Roger lacks the brains to adjudicate?
-
After all those nice things I said about you, and I haven't even received the cheque yet... >:(
But that is a countable noun (a deceit), not an uncountable noun (some deceit), which is what you are claiming. I think Roger should adjudicate here, since he is the referee. So Roger, isn't source of great bilk using bilk as an uncountable noun? I'm right, aren't I? I think he should be told off and disqualified for cheating, and for nicking my sunset idea.
It's poetry. Poetic licence. Creative writing. Artistic interpretation, employing clever wordplay to engage in the subtleties of capricious whimsy, you f****** a*******!
But then you're the first person ever to write a poem that included the word "sunset", aren't you?
-
Surely not.
There's far to many words that rhyme with sunset...
There's..
..0
-
But then you're the first person ever to write a poem that included the word "sunset", aren't you?
No, but I was the one before you. :)
-
Ah, but I wrote 'Ode To An Auchtermuchty Sunset' for my A-level English exam in 1976.
-
I can visualise Mince googling Auchtermuchty !!
;D ;D ;D
-
"Googling Auchtermuchty" is as poetic as the English language will ever be.
-
Michty Michty, Auchtermuchty
A place in Scotland, theres ne'er enough ae
:P
-
Michty Michty, Auchtermuchty
A place in Scotland, theres ne'er enough ae
:P
[sits back and waits for Mincey to pick the bones out of that] :\
-
[sits back and waits for Mincey to pick the bones out of that] :\
Has he been drinking again?
-
I'm still waiting for an entry by Sandy that actually has something to do with Horace. ;D
-
Oh great chieftain, the man they call Horace,
I heard that your star sign, just might be Taurus
Which means that your reliable, stubborn and sensual
I would have wrote more, but I just broke my pencil.
Ta daa
-
COMPETITION WORDING: The Christmas competition for this year (and the idea is from my father, Peter) is to write a short poem about how A Man Called Horace should have ended.
HOW SANDY READ IT: The Christmas competition for this year (and the idea is from my father, Peter) is to write down some words, one of which has to be "Horace", that rhyme badly, completely avoid any mention of how A Man Called Horace should have ended or indeed anything about the strip.
If you change the word "Horace" to "Superman", no one would have the slightest clue that this was about A Man Called Horace. And how is Horace a chieftain? And don't even get me started on "your".
Roger, disqualify him for being useless. ;D
-
"Chieftain" is being used as a parody of a very famous Robert Burns poem.
"Your" is wrong.
I love it!
-
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Or in Sandy's case, pudding brain. Anyway, how do you know he was referring to Burn's poem? Knowing Sandy, it was a reference to the Chieftain tank after a bottle of Chieftain's malt whiskey.
-
You could be right.
-
Well, shouldn't he be disqualified just on the off-chance?
-
Oh yeah, how very mature. Disqualify the only real bard on the board!
Heathen.
-
You're a bard? Have you managed to get your delusions to rhyme yet?
-
Well, shouldn't he be disqualified just on the off-chance?
Is there anything quite so sad as a man, so bereft of confidence and belief in his own talent, that he has to desperately seek victory through the disqualification of all other competitors?
Rhetorical question.
-
Is there anything quite so sad as a man, so bereft of confidence and belief in his own talent, that he has to desperately seek victory through the disqualification of all other competitors?
Now usually I would agree with you, but this is Roger who's refereeing with his usual Helen-Keller eye for excellence, and all the entrants except me are fellow Scots, so I say any tactic is acceptable.
-
Including insulting the referee. Oh, how I bow to your ingenuity!
-
Including insulting the referee. Oh, how I bow to your ingenuity!
If you're referring to my implying that he is blind and biased, it's okay: he's too stupid to realise.
-
You're a bard? Have you managed to get your delusions to rhyme yet?
You're having a pop at my rhyming prowess?
Yet your own sad submissions are nought but a mess.
Not only can I manage to rhyme my delusions,
I may even head south to hand out contusions.
;D
-
Bravo! ;D
Roger, can we also have a "Completely Fail to Win the Christmas Competition" competition, because this entry deserves to win by a mile.
-
I accept my prize, Roger.
Roger?
ROGER ???
-
There once was a young man called Horace
Who had a fling with a girl called Lovelace
When she said is that it
He bit her left T**
He now works down't pit at the Coal Face
-
I see you did extensive research on the Horace strip, Egg.
-
It's from the Yorkshire version!
Oh and it took all of 30 seconds during a really boring conference call.
I see multiple entries are permitted, so.........
-
You've also used a limerick format, which is obviously copyrighted to me, since I used it first (under Mincey Law from the other day). Just as well you didn't rhyme anything, or the legal people may have to be called in...
-
Telling people things are copyrighted is copyrighted to me, so watch it!
-
Pardon me for breathing. No doubt you've copyrighted that too, and we should all stop. Should give you a marginally better chance of winning the competition then, although it will be close between you and the lichen.
-
This is dragging on. When am I going to be declared winner? ;D
-
I'll give it another week---just to see if anyone can top mine.
-
Was Horace modelled on Roger?
Somehow it seems to fit,
As Horace is rubbish at everything
And Roger's poem is s*@t.
-
Deducts points...
-
:o But that's like mean and everything!
-
Was Horace modelled on Roger?
Somehow it seems to fit,
As Horace is rubbish at everything
And Roger's poem is s*@t.
Copyrighting tosh now, I see.
-
.
-
I apologise for the full stop, posted above. For some reason, I cannot remove any stupidly placed posts.
Mince?
-
Deducts points...
That's the spirit!
-
.
I'm still not sure you have the hang of a poem and rhyme in general. Let me help you out.
Horace couldn't hop,
.
There you go. That rhymes.
-
Ahem...
In the Kingdom of the blind
Horace still couldn't land a date
Little did the idiot know
The Gods had sealed his fate
As he rode into the sunset
His heart filled with remorse
He pondered all he'd left behind
His hat, his gun, his horse
Nothing lasts forever
Horace rides the dusty trail
At least he cracked it with Kitty
May pity sex always prevail
But...Batman was resurrected
So Horace may not stay gone
But if he does at least we'll know
He died with Kitty's boots on
...I thank you
-
There goes my prize. :'(
-
There goes my prize. :'(
In the unlikely [just kidding] event of my winning, I hereby respectfully request that it be presented to my friend Mince for two three four five six reasons:
- He is a fine human being
- He's very good with weather
- He's holding my wife as ransom [I offered my sister-in-law...]
- He essentially keeps this place running, and should get a prize for that every year
- I plagiarised the cartoon Strip "A Man called Horace" in order to write this poem [oh the shame]
- The landlord doesn't allow pictures to be hung in his tents
And probably a dozen other reason's as well.
Edit: Of course if the prize is cash...I've never heard of Mince
-
In rode a man called Horace
Whose mind was essentially porous
With no wit in his head
He's no clue that's he's dead
And has joined the heavenly chorus
With Kitty he would be content
Though that's not a likely event
I'd shoot him tomorrow
She said without sorrow
If I only had Grandma's consent
-
This is Redundant's
Mince Mother, you should ban my son from this competition for cheating. I know for a fact that he borrowed these same two poems from his alter ego in another time dimension who had entered them [and lost] in an alternate Beau Peep website, very similar to this one but funnier. His Father says it's all part of the bed wetting problem but we have to pee somewhere. I'd apologise for my son's behaviour but I'm a little unsure as to his existence, there is a very good chance he is a figment of my imagination, in which case these poems don't exist and there is no need to ban him, he's not real. Simple really. I could do with some money though...
-
That whole post leaves you wondering whether you actually read anything that makes any sense at all. I've read it three times and I get this image of someone in a strait-jacket mumbling self-contradictory nonsense.
Anyway, on the bright side, I'm real and still waiting to patiently to win.
-
You'll need a fair bit of patience to wait a year and a bit, in the meanwhile...
Alas for poor Horace his soul it was pure
Now he's pushing up daisies, comedic manure
He travelled the badlands and knew only fear
And slid under the table at the sniff of a beer
His love life was torpid, moribund at least
His chances of sex more famine than feast
Valhalla called the true heroes home
Horace is gone, no more shall he roam
-
Hah! It doesn't even have a full stop at the end. My hop poem did.
-
For the want of a rhythm the poem was lost
Redundant relentless to win at all cost
Mince on the sidelines looked on in despair
His limp wristed limericks just couldn't compare
What shall I do he cried to the night
Killing his posts just doesn't seem right
I'll slag off his grammar til his muse is undone
The fat lady's still singing so it's mine to be won
-
Horace stood there, high on #eesh,
Watching the ,nches :ise the town.
He *tled them with a tilt of his h@,
And wolfed his d&wich down.
Only I can write poetry with punctuation.
-
Horace stood there, high on #eesh,
Watching the ,nches :ise the town.
He *tled them with a tilt of his h@,
And wolfed his d&wich down.
Only I can write poetry with punctuation.
And I can only watch on in despair...and the fat lady's stopped singing...awesome piece of work my friend, awesome
-
Horace stood there, high on #eesh,
Watching the ,nches :ise the town.
He *tled them with a tilt of his h@,
And wolfed his d&wich down.
Only I can write poetry with punctuation.
That's very clever. Too damned clever. (Deducts points).
-
You're deducting points for being clever? So you're specifically targeting me.
-
Questions deduction of points. (deducts points).
-
Questions deduction of points. (deducts points).
I'm starting to see a pattern here...
-
What's a "dandwich"?
-
What's a "dandwich"?
Its what you eat after you've been asterixtled !
-
It's an "ampersand", morons!
Here's another entry:
Horace, now but a silhouette of distant laughs,
Waves an arid goodbye, a flicker whole prairies away
Shot down by the heavy haze of the Great Plains.
He rides away, the wind's wail his only sobriquet.
And if that doesn't win, I'm going to call 'foul'.
-
Roger, please make sure you notice the following:
a silhouette of distant laughs
Notice how 'silhouette', which works with sight, is used as the collective noun for "laughs", which is about sound. We real poets call this synesthesia. Notice also how 'laughs' is plural, complimenting the quality of the strip.
an arid goodbye
Notice how 'arid' is ambiguous: does it refer to the dryness of the American plains or to the criminal "lack of interest" in the strip shown by the Mirror. (I did think about using the word 'mirror' as a play on words, but decided it would be too unsubtle.)
a flicker whole prairies away
Notice the juxtaposition of the tiny movement of Horace's wave with the immense distance and depth of the prairies.
Shot down
Notice that "shot" could suggest that Horace has been suddenly cut down in his prime, mirroring (notice the play on words) the sudden ending of the strip.
heavy haze
Notice the cool alliteration that describes the oppressive smothering of the laughs that Horace once elicited.
the wind's wail his only sobriquet
Notice how only the wind gives him a name, or rather blows it away in the sand.
And it rhymes as well.
-
Mine had all that stuff too [probably], and still had time to mention sex.
Edit: I should have added except for juxtaposition, my poems don't have any of those, but modern poets like what I am consider juxtaposition to be pseudo-intellectual, social elite, coffee table compulsive coquetry designed to enable socially inadequate poetic wannabes a momentary glimpse of true rhythmic symmetry...without the sex.
In layman's terms juxtaposition is the poetic equivalent of tantric sex, no-one wants it, no-one does it and no-one understands it. Tantric sex being the act of using sexual union as a metaphor for weaving together the physical and the spiritual: weaving man to woman, and humanity to the divine. The purpose is to become one with God. The Western form of this sacred sexuality called Tantra teaches slow, non-orgasmic sexual intercourse. Couples who have tried tantric sex allege that they cultivate great sensual pleasure and also a sense of “dissolving into each other” that is profound and loving. Nuff said
-
Edit: I should have added except for juxtaposition, my poems don't have any of those, but modern poets like what I am consider juxtaposition to be pseudo-intellectual, social elite, coffee table compulsive coquetry designed to enable socially inadequate poetic wannabes a momentary glimpse of true rhythmic symmetry...without the sex.
Roger won't be fooled by that mumbo-jumbo. He's far too intelligent. ;D
-
Roger won't be fooled by that mumbo-jumbo. He's far too intelligent. ;D
Maybe I should write something he can clap to...
-
In layman's terms juxtaposition is the poetic equivalent of tantric sex
At its simplest, juxtaposition is merely "the placing of one thing next to another", which does sound a bit rude.
-
Maybe I should write something he can clap to...
Given Roger's own entry, you may be right.
-
I'm not sure there's a benefit to analysing poetry, at least for me personally, I am sure there is great deal of intellectual value. It's like one of my favourite duets, "Au fond du temple saint" [best version Jussi Bjorling and Robert Merrill], for a while I lost something after I learnt the lyrics because my own imagined dialogue differed to reality, as imagination frequently does. Fortunately the mind's a magic thing and I soon "deleted" the actual lyrics and just concentrated on the magnificent sound.
https://youtu.be/5PYt2HlBuyI (https://youtu.be/5PYt2HlBuyI)
-
I once asked Roger if he analysed the humour in Beau Peep, and he said he didn't because it would probably interfere with his creativity. Obviously when I was an English tutor I had to analyse poems with students, and I enjoyed doing so. So perhaps we will have to agree to disagree.
-
I once asked Roger if he analysed the humour in Beau Peep, and he said he didn't because it would probably interfere with his creativity. Obviously when I was an English tutor I had to analyse poems with students, and I enjoyed doing so. So perhaps we will have to agree to disagree.
We don't actually disagree, I think we both see the value in the analyse, particularly within an educational context, but for me personally I like my "in my head" version better most of the time, rather than someone else's interpretation. It's like Lord of the Rings, I really enjoyed the recent film trilogy, I also enjoyed and preferred Ralf Bakshi's 1978 film which sadly was never completed in terms of covering the whole of the book, but the version I have in my head is my favourite. I guess it's like most things, the closer you get the more that is revealed, and less of the mystery remains. I like the mystery.
-
It's like Lord of the Rings, I really enjoyed the recent film trilogy, I also enjoyed and preferred Ralf Bakshi's 1978 film which sadly was never completed in terms of covering the whole of the book, but the version I have in my head is my favourite.
The thing I enjoyed the most about the book was not further boring myself after page 120.
-
I once asked Roger if he analysed the humour in Beau Peep, and he said he didn't because it would probably interfere with his creativity. Obviously when I was an English tutor I had to analyse poems with students, and I enjoyed doing so. So perhaps we will have to agree to disagree.
I stand by my original answer but I hope it doesn't sound pretentious. My career has been based on thinking up daft ideas. If I start trying to analyse how I do it or delve into the thought process involved, it may well be the first step on the road to madness. I sit at my desk or, often, lie on my couch and think up daft ideas. I'm very lucky and I certainly don't want to add to the pressure of meeting deadlines by adding some sort of inward psychological investigation. As I said, I'm lucky. Who else can make money while lying on their back on a couch? Well. okay...
In my final year at school, I carried Lord of the Rings around for about two months. Locked between my inner elbow and my waist, it was meant to show how cool I was. I think I managed to read about 40 pages.
The competition winner will be announced this weekend.
-
Whoa !! Easy there, Tiger.
When did the competition officially start??? ???
*gets thinking cap on*
-
He's the funniest cowboy ever invented.
But nobody knows to where he has wented.
-
It took me three goes to read Lord of the Rings, and that was spaced over a number of years from about 14 to 25 years of age, oddly the third attempt took no effort at all, although I did skip most of the poetry and songs. Since then I have read it again several times and now I enjoy every bit, poetry and songs et al, I guess it's all in the timing and the temperament.
For a time in the seventies, when the mob had me billeted to a shorebase, I worked part-time as a bartender, there was a darts match being played and I noticed one chap had a regular "pattern" or "tell" as he threw his darts. Innocently enough I mentioned this to him a little later, threw him completely, he hadn't really noticed it before, presumably just fell into to it through practice, but afterwards he couldn't stop thinking about it each time, and it knackered his darts game for a long time afterwards. Some things are better left unanalysed.
-
Whoa !! Easy there, Tiger.
When did the competition officially start??? ???
*gets thinking cap on*
Well, okay, I'll extend the deadline until Monday lunchtime and announce the winner that evening.
-
Well, okay, I'll extend the deadline until Monday lunchtime and announce the winner that evening.
Hey! How come he gets special treatment? Just kick him out for being a slowcoach.
-
Well, okay, I'll extend the deadline until Monday lunchtime and announce the winner that evening.
Hey! How come he gets special treatment? Just kick him out for being a slowcoach.
It'll be time well spent. I have a long address and it'll give Roger time to write out the envelope.
Anyway, we have a special postal service up here since the birth of the Scottish Parliament. Letters to Englandshire get ignored. Want to win the competition, Mince? Get a house in Auchtermuchty.
-
He's the funniest cowboy ever invented.
But nobody knows to where he has wented.
They say he has letters from Kitty all scented
He now reads them at night till his sheets get all tented.
Me and Tarks wins !!
-
He's the funniest cowboy ever invented.
But nobody knows to where he has wented.
They say he has letters from Kitty all scented
He now reads them at night till his sheets get all tented.
Me and Tarks wins !!
:D ;D :D
-
Well, okay, I'll extend the deadline until Monday lunchtime and announce the winner that evening.
Does Roger understand the word 'evening'? Come to that, does he understand the word 'Monday'?
-
Patience, man! Scottish evenings have been known to go until morning...several days later.
-
I'm just saying he's taking his time getting round to announcing me the winner.
-
It's coming...
-
Just type: "The genius and amazing Mince is the clear winner by lightyears."
-
Just type: "The genius and amazing Mince is the clear winner by lightyears."
Lightyears? Seriously? You couldn't let me down gently with lightweeks or even lightdays?
-
Mince won the prize with a truly brilliant poem----and then I had to take it away from him because he followed it up with a 21-line explanation of why his poem was truly brilliant.
Sandy came VERY close. Anyone who rhymes "sensual" with "pencil" clearly has a gift.
But this year's winner is Redundant with some magnificent poetry which included the poignant image of Horace dying with Kitty's boots on.
Red, I may have your full name and postal details somewhere but send me a PM with them and I'll get your prize off later this week.
Right, that's it. No objections, no recounts, no appeals.
I have spoke.
-
That's so unfair! Of course I had to explain it to you. It's not my fault you're stupid. Why penalise me for that?
-
No, it's not your fault I'm stupid and I'm not penalising you for that.
I'm penalising you for pointing it out.
-
You must spend most of your days penalising people. Besides, poetry is meant to be about the truth.
Also, I notice that there was no praise whatsoever for your rubbish entry.
I assume Redundant is going to get the whole £50,000.
-
I'm filling up...you're sending cash in the post?
-
Okay, I'll judge it. I've decided that the prize will be £50,000.
He'll probably post it to your neighbour.
-
Minus, of course, £49,999.00 for postage.
-
He'll probably post it to your neighbour.
My neighbour won a prize too? This must be the most artistic road in the Isle of Man, ever. I feel a poem coming on...no, it's just wind.
-
Minus, of course, £49,999.00 for postage.
No problem, I'll collect it, fancy a trip up North, Mince?
-
Let me just go over the points awarded again....I might just have won, after all...
-
You said no recounts.
Yep, Redundant. I'm in for that. We don't want Roger to bother with pesky postage, not when we can just arrive at his door and collect the cash.
-
Let me just go over the points awarded again....I might just have won, after all...
Hang on, let's keep it real, even my stuff was better than that, and Mince's poem stuffed my efforts, I'm having serious doubts about your judgement levels, which may have a direct correlation to the level in the whiskey bottle.
-
What? I didn't even get a mention? :'(
-
What was causing his tension
Was the shear lack of mention
Oh such apprehension
From Tarks dissension
Am I too late???
-
What was causing his tension
Was the shear lack of mention
Oh such apprehension
From Tarks dissension
Am I too late???
Sandy's ode demands attention
His star is clearly in ascension
Time is held in brief suspension
The laureates work defies convention
Clearly I am crap when I win stuff, but it was great fun and my favourite poem was Minces:
Horace, now but a silhouette of distant laughs,
Waves an arid goodbye, a flicker whole prairies away
Shot down by the heavy haze of the Great Plains.
He rides away, the wind's wail his only sobriquet.
Now that's what I call poetry.
-
Well done Redundant. :)
May I suggest that you re-post your winning poem here near the end of the thread to save me people having to read a bunch of twaddle to find it.
-
Well done Redundant. :)
May I suggest that you re-post your winning poem here near the end of the thread to save me people having to read a bunch of twaddle to find it.
Thanks Diane, not sure which poem did the trick, it may have been an accumulative effect [as in wore Roger down gradually until he couldn't take any more]:
In the Kingdom of the blind
Horace still couldn't land a date
Little did the idiot know
The Gods had sealed his fate
As he rode into the sunset
His heart filled with remorse
He pondered all he'd left behind
His hat, his gun, his horse
Nothing lasts forever
Horace rides the dusty trail
At least he cracked it with Kitty
May pity sex always prevail
But...Batman was resurrected
So Horace may not stay gone
But if he does at least we'll know
He died with Kitty's boots on
*************************************
In rode a man called Horace
Whose mind was essentially porous
With no wit in his head
He's no clue that's he's dead
And has joined the heavenly chorus
With Kitty he would be content
Though that's not a likely event
I'd shoot him tomorrow
She said without sorrow
If I only had Grandma's consent
*************************************
Alas for poor Horace his soul it was pure
Now he's pushing up daisies, comedic manure
He travelled the badlands and knew only fear
And slid under the table at the sniff of a beer
His love life was torpid, moribund at least
His chances of sex more famine than feast
Valhalla called the true heroes home
Horace is gone, no more shall he roam
-
Bravo!
-
I also think Redundant's poems were the outright winners, so a Bravo! from me as well.
As for my poetry, the 'whole prairies away' is stolen from Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas: You can hear the love-sick woodpigeons mooning in bed. A dog barks in his sleep, farmyards away. The town ripples like a lake in the waking haze.
The rest is mostly, as Diane says, 'twaddle', just clever word arrangement disguised as poetry.
In fact, I remember doing something like this in college, so onto another topic (http://www.cameldung.co.uk/index.php?topic=2842.msg40857#msg40857).
-
I would guess that it was the first one that won you the prize :)
-
I too, would like to congratulate Red on winning. Sadly, my bitter and twisted nature makes this impossible.
;)
-
I too, would like to congratulate Red on winning. Sadly, my bitter and twisted nature makes this impossible.
;)
Well it was an emotional rollercoaster for me too Sandy, here's a hug right back at you, a manly one of course, nothing too girlie and strictly time limited.
-
I too, would like to congratulate Red on winning. Sadly, my bitter and twisted nature makes this impossible.
;)
Well it was an emotional rollercoaster for me too Sandy, here's a hug right back at you, a manly one of course, nothing too girlie and strictly time limited.
Thanks, Red. You might have took the keys out of your pocket first, though. :-[
-
Thanks, Red. You might have took the keys out of your pocket first, though. :-[
What pockets?
-
Aaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! Now that might be an an explosion of raw emotion on receiving a brilliant prize in the post...or it might be an explosion of raw emotion on discovering some git of a postman clearly removed the fifty grand before delivery...
On the other hand, my wife was giving me a strange look when I showed her my prize. This either means that I am in for a little "extra prezzie" [glass half full scenario] or I'm on my way to the dog-house [glass half empty scenario]. My Guess? Woof woof.
In case you hadn't figured it out, I received my prize today, and am delighted. It was well worth telling my sponsor at Gamblers Anonymous [Eric Brown, 28 Woodside Terrace, Douglas, Isle of Man] that I had lapsed. Thank you very much Roger, and thank you all for your kind comments. Of course no writer works completely alone so I'd like to thank my sponsors, The Plagiarist Society.
-
Another year. Another competition. Another nothing.
-
Glad your prize arrived safely, Red.
And Mince---surely "Nappy-changer of the Year" was enough?
-
We could always start a "Bad Loser of the Decade" competition?
-
:) I think that may be more of a lifetime achievement award.
-
We could always start a "Bad Loser of the Decade" competition?
I'd probably lose that competition as well.
-
Don't be so hard on yourself - I'm sure you'd do really well.