Competition | 11 October 2008

In Competition No. 2565 you were invited to submit a poem about the minor irritations of life written in heroic couplets.

Things that bring out the misanthropist in me include ‘comedy’ stickers on cars (e.g., ‘my other car’s a Porsche!’), the over-enthusiastic use of exclamation marks and strangers who say ‘cheer up, love; it may never happen’, which strikes me as a very risky statement. High on yours were poor grammar, impenetrable packaging and anyone who chirrups ‘have a nice day’. And I now know that those who seek to reassure me with claims that no one minds my baby son’s piercing squawks on public transport are lying.
The winners, printed below, get £25 each except Mary Holtby, who gets £30.

What dire distress from trivial causes springs,
What ardent arrows and what subtle stings!
Soon as the vig’rous Sol with piercing ray
Sends idle Morpheus on his moping way,
War is declar’d: we know our foe is bent
On spiteful ruse and cunning harassment.
E’en as we robe his ready archers score:
A vital button tumbles to the floor,
As far from seizure as that fabled Ring
Whose fatal charms both gods and heroes sing.
A point unsheath’d to meet the present need
Belies its ‘safe’ repute and bids us bleed…
The cup that cheers beguiles the tender sip,
Nor fires the soul, but burns the tender lip…
So every hour prolongs the primal hurt,
As spectacles repeatedly desert.
Mary Holtby

Winter with bony Fingers finds each Flaw,
Strangling Prometheus’ gift with bitter Claw.
Deep in the frozen Boiler’s stricken Heart
An ailing Organ craves the Gas Man’s Art.
Death whets his scythe, the Hour Glass waits the
    Turn,
With Hours devoured on Phones that Gas may
    burn.
Anon a Time’s decreed, a precious Date
This ancient Fire God to resuscitate.
Day dawns: the House lies hushed, e’er Knock or
    Bell
Might, muffled, be mistook for Carnival.