Lucy Vickery

Spectator competition winners: ‘A beast whose name links Cor with May…’

For the latest competition, you were asked to dream up an imaginary animal that is a hybrid of two existing ones and write a poem about it. The discovery, some time ago, that the Romans called a giraffe a ‘camelopard’ (and Thomas Hood wrote an ‘Ode to the Cameleopard’) gave me the initial idea for this challenge. I was then reminded of it when reading Spike Milligan’s Book of Milliganimals with my son (remember the Moo-Zebras and the Bald Twit Lion?). Your fantastic beasts included the Octophant, the kangasheep, the corgiraffe and a couple of llamadillos. It was a difficult comp to judge: there were loads of entries of great merit — many from old hands but plenty from newcomers too. Commendations to Andrew Marstrand, David Caney, R Dominic Croft and Ian Barker; £25 each to the winners below.

W.J. Webster The mismatch of giraffe and jackal Produced the rather weird girackal. The top half had a life of ease, Nibbling at the tops of trees, But while it chewed its leafy cud The bottom scavenged guts and blood. ‘It seems,’ the top said, ‘not quite fair With me up here and you down there.’ ‘Not so,’ the answer came, ‘it’s fine — You play your part and I play mine. We are a team without an ego, Wherever you or I go, we go. Your height means you can watch for trouble, While I love sorting muck and rubble.’ Which shows there is no need for schisms In any hybrid organisms.

Alan Millard A cormorant and a May bug met And, wondering if they should beget, They pondered then declared, ‘Why not?’ And so it was the pair begot.

When, in due course, a cormay hatched, Its separate parts were not well matched: It had a pin-sized head, no beak, And massive body, black and sleek.

In two minds, neither side agreed Upon which nutrients to feed, Or what might make the ideal dish, One favoured roots, the other, fish.

The moral here is plain as day — A beast whose name links Cor with May To work as one was not designed And always would be misaligned.

Frank Upton It makes no difference what I try With fluids antifungal, My room resembles Porky’s sty, Or teeming, fetid jungle.

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