Competition Tessa Castro

IN COMPETITION No 228, you were invited to write a poem called Civilisation. I hadn’t fully realised how hard it was to accommodate the word metrically, but that didn’t stop you. I like Lucy Ann Linney’s opening words, ‘The winter sun deliberates’. Andrew Szilvasy began the process of civilisation with people who ‘make that sea a bathtub ringed / with laws and roads and blood and swords’. Mary Hodges observed: ‘The Romans were a warrior race: “I came, I saw, I trashed the place.” ’ John Whitworth celebrated the horny-hatted Viking carrying an umbrella, which turned out to be illusory; I’m not quite sure which bit was civilised. Commiserations to them and congratulations to those printed below, each of whom wins £25, with the civilised bonus prize of a Chambers Biographical Dictionary going to the Canadian-themed Ann Drysdale.

By the store of Johnny Lulu By the shiny Big Mac Donald Lurks the dingy cyber-café Haunt of four-eyed Yenadizzes Signers-on and city-clickers. Here the noble Hiaw@ha Beautiful with beads and tassels Came to buy an hour’s amusement. Sent his Minne-lol a message On the modern wand of willow. Outside, many young Kenabeeks With the awful eyes of Pauguk Clocked his beads and mocked his tassels Called him wanker, kicked him shitless Left him lying in the gutter. All evolves but nothing changes. Ann Drysdale

Grammar school blazer, beret, lace-up shoes, timetabled into desks in rigid rows, primed to learn facts and dates, which style to use to pass exams: yes, I was one of those. Until the history lesson where we met the bull-leapers of Crete, whose lightness, grace lit up our clouded northern gloom and set sun-drenched alternatives, a living place where fluid energy was turned to art and colour drenched the walls; I realised how social and creative are a part, fused, of rich life; all this was civilised – Knossos, the blood-red pillars, all convince. Minoans, I have loved you ever since. D A Prince

Back in the eighteenth century, music was at its best: Mozart glowing with brilliance, and Haydn brimming with zest.

Back in the eighteenth century, painting was truly grand, with Hogarth doing the low life, Reynolds the great of the land.

Back in the eighteenth century, everyone loved the stage, Garrick and Siddons acting, and Sheridan all the rage.

In search of a civilisation that I could call my own, give me the eighteenth century and Reason on the throne! Gail White

My lovely wife’s Hungarian, Which makes my hon’ a Hun, Descended from a warlike, ancient race. They weren’t humanitarian. No, their idea of fun Was wiping others out without a trace.

At plunderin’ and harryin’ And violent ways to win, The Huns worked hard and studied

to excel. They’d bash you into carrion And toss you in a bin. They specialised in giving people hell.

(Though when we spoke of marryin’ This never factored in, It does explain my in-laws rather well.) Max Gutmann

COMPETITION No 230 I see that plastic ‘stirrers’ in coffee shops are to be banned. A poem called Stirring, please, in any sense. Maximum 16 lines. Entries, by post (The Oldie, Moray House, 23/31 Great Titchfield Street, London W1W 7PA) or email (comps@ theoldie.co.uk – don’t forget to include your postal address) to ‘Competition No 230’ by 21st June.