A spell of bard luck: The re­sults of Week 1129 3rd place

The Washington Post Sunday - - DIVERSIONS - BY PAT MY­ERS EP­I­THA­LA­MIUM (EP-i-tha-LAMEium), a song com­posed for a wed­ding

In Week 1129 we put up a list of 50 stumpers from this year’s Na­tional Spell­ing Bee and asked for short po­ems fea­tur­ing them. Many Loser­bards noted that “ep­i­tha­la­mium” has that ONE-twothree, TWO-two-three me­ter -- a dou­ble dactyl; this week’s Inkin’ Me­mo­rial win­ner is the best of them, in its knit­ted-high­brow/ low­brow glory.

4th place

HIPPOCREPIFORM, horse­shoe­shaped Dear John: While stuff that’s hippocrepiform Is some­times known to take the world by storm— The play­ground swing, the ba­sic yoga pose, The seam that joins the legs of panty­hose, The han­dle of the hang­ing kitchen spoon, The “C,” the horse­shoe (duh!), the cres­cent moon— The truth, my dar­ling, is that your ap­pendage Was bet­ter when it had a lot less ... bendage. (Melissa Bal­main, Rochester, N.Y.)

HOOROOSH, a wild, hur­ried or ex­cited state or sit­u­a­tion

Un­der D.C., (as sung by Se­bas­tian the Crab from “The Lit­tle Mer­maid”)

WMATA, dey al­ways pleadin’; dey beg me to take de train. Now I goin’ to miss my meetin’; de sub­way is late again. We trudge down into de sta­tion ’cause de es­ca­la­tor broke. De Cen­ter of Op­er­a­tion: hooroosh as we fill wid smoke! Un­der D.C., un­der D.C.! Endin’ lo­ca­tion: your des­ti­na­tion, or des­tiny? Cell­phone no good in sub­way car. What do I need dis has­sle far? I’m not a goober; I’m callin’ Uber. Un­der D.C. (Nan Reiner, Alexandria)

2nd place and the books “Na­ture’s Nether Re­gions” and “Art of the Fart”:

CIBARIAL, re­fer­ring to food My pas­sions are cibarial From break­fast time till bed. Ad­vis­ers ac­tu­ar­ial Pre­dict I’ll soon be dead. “I love my weight!” I tell them straight, And ad­vo­cate they try it: If thin is man’s in­tended state. Then why is “die” in “diet”? (Stephen Gold, Glas­gow, Scot­land)

And the win­ner of the Inkin’ Me­mo­rial

Hig­gledy pig­gledy Iggy Aza­lea Rocks out her wed­ding to Nick in July, Rap­ping her vows in an Ep­i­tha­la­mium: “Beg for it, baby, from I-G-G-Y.” (Chris Doyle, Pon­der, Tex.)

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