Competition | 6 November 2010

In Competition No. 2671 you were invited to submit a poem in which the rhymed ending of each line is a truncated word.

This challenge invites you to follow in the footsteps of that master of light verse and lover of word-play Harry Graham, who, in his poem ‘Poetical Economy’, ‘found a simple plan/ Which makes the lamest lyric scan!’:

When I’ve a syllable de trop,
I cut it off, without apol.:
This verbal sacrifice, I know,
May irritate the schol.;
But all must praise my dev’lish cunn.
Who realise that Time is Mon.

Honourable mentions to Jane Dards, Mae Scanlan, Paul Griffin and D.A. Prince, who were unlucky losers. The prizewinners, printed below, get a well-deserved £25 each while the bonus fiver belongs to Basil Ransome-Davies.

One lunchtime, over port and Stilt,
I incidentally thought of Milt,
Of whom the eminent Sam John
Observed ‘his power is to aston’,
While giving him a hearty drub
For being such a staunch repub,
The blind bard later roused to ang —
For ‘doing damage to the lang’ —
The esoteric T.S. El,
A transatlantic sort of fell.
Why should so mountainous a tal
Be made a cultural Aunt Sal?  
It was a headbanging conund.
I couldn’t solve it, only wond,
So chose instead to think of Aud,
Though that way only led to bored.
Basil Ransome-Davies

Capital names can sometimes be unfor,
Take Poland, always handicapped with War.
While Liechtenstein is lucky to have Vad
The Spaniards must be furious with Mad.
The French though proud can merely boast of Par.
Zimbabwe’s best are misted up in Har.
While Icelanders endure not haar but Reyk
Cypriots feel the hellish heat of Nic.
The careful Swedes, as you’d expect, take Stock,
The serious Japanese, it seems, like Tok.
Yanks, playing dirty, often go to Wash
And Dha’s the father town of Bangladesh.
New Zealanders got lucky, choosing Wel,
But spare a thought for Finns who live in Hel.
Max Ross

Suppose I found a hundred thou
In the pocket of my trou.