Spectator Competition: Vernal triolet

For Competition 3394 you were invited to submit a vernal triolet.

In 1894, the poet Banjo Paterson wrote a heartfelt triolet in dispraise of the triolet and Brian Allgar did the same this week:

I really hate the triolet,

And, Spring or not, I find them hell.

‘Oh, tra-la-la, it’s cold and wet.’

I really hate the triolet.

All those repeated lines that get

Nowhere (just like the villanelle).

I really hate the triolet,

And, Spring or not, I find them hell.

Nonetheless, you rose to the challenge with gusto, producing a funny and poignant entry that was hard to whittle down to a winning line-up. Hats off to unlucky losers Tom Adam, Martin Parker, Iain Morley, Jasmine Jones, Alan Bradnam, Dorothy Pope, Nick Syrett, Bob Newman, Anna Cox and Susan McLean. Those below snaffle the £25 John Lewis vouchers.

Our snowman is a thing of woe,

A pile of coals is all that’s left,

He’s gone where melted crystals go,

Our snowman is a thing of woe.

Spring’s warmth has dealt a mortal blow;

Strange how it feels an act of theft.

Our snowman is a thing of woe,

A pile of coals is all that’s left.

Janine Beacham

Along the verge the daffs are out,

But sigh and have another vape.

Thrilling to see the green shoots sprout.

Along the verge the daffs are out,

Augurs of Spring without a doubt;

The human world is in bad shape.

Along the verge the daffs are out,

But sigh and have another vape.

Basil Ransome-Davies

Cruel spring, tell youth your lovely lies

Of greenery and resurrection

And happiness that never dies.

Cruel spring, tell youth your lovely lies.

Hide winter from their wishful eyes

And blind them with your false affection.

Cruel spring, tell youth your lovely lies

Of greenery and resurrection.

Frank McDonald

Sore eyes, runny nose and the impulse to sneeze,

these are the torments I suffer each spring,

It’s the pollen that spawns, as it wafts on the breeze,

sore eyes, runny nose and the impulse to sneeze,

though it may be like nectar to numerous bees

to me there’s the spectre of what it will bring:

sore eyes, runny nose and the impulse to sneeze,

these are the torments I suffer each spring.