Return of the Christmas competition.

[Redundant]

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

[Mince]

Hah! It doesn't even have a full stop at the end. My hop poem did.

[Redundant]

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

[Mince]

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.

[Redundant]

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

[Roger Kettle]

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).

[Mince]

You're deducting points for being clever? So you're specifically targeting me.

[Roger Kettle]

Questions deduction of points. (deducts points).

[Redundant]

Questions deduction of points. (deducts points).

I'm starting to see a pattern here...

[Tarquin Thunderthighs lll]

What's a "dandwich"?

[Sandy Buttcheeks]

What's a "dandwich"?

Its what you eat after you've been asterixtled !

[Mince]

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'.

[Mince]

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.

[Redundant]

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

[Mince]

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.