COMPETITION

Bouts limes

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2033 you were asked for a sonnet with given end-rhymes in a given order.

The tenner I offered for the source of the end-rhymes remained, as I expected it would, safe. They come from a sonnet by John Crowe Ransom entitled, `L'etat c'est moi' which contains the oddly prophetic line: 'Strong kingdoms always manage to get their beef.'

Francis Mullen, Manna Blake, John E. Cunningham and Alyson Nikiteas won golden opinions, but the actual money this week (£25 per person) goes to the prize- winners printed below, and the bottle of The Macallan The Malt Scotch whisky belongs to Geoffrey Riley for his skilful swipe at my old employer, who still owes me a thou.

My creditors are gathering in a swarm, And though I'm robbing Peter to pay Paul I know I'll never satisfy them all; It's time, I think, to slip away from harm Before the pensioners sound the alarm. Escaping to the yacht is a relief: There's no one here who'll criticise or beef No auditors, accountants or gendarmes . Maybe I borrowed funds — but was that fraud? I built an empire where there wasn't any, Created wealth and livelihoods for many And, like all powerful men, ruled as a king. Where then is the offence? Is this a thing For which I should be hounded or outlawed?

(Geoffrey Riley) Watch how the greedy paparazzi swarm With popping flashbulbs round bereaved Sir Paul.

Though his dear Linda now is free from all The pain, the festering, the untold harm That journalists and cancer bring, alarm Is heightened by her death. Those whose relief Was guaranteed by never touching beef Or alcohol or fags see les gendarmes De Mort, Death's constables, expose the fraud Of abstinence, of never touching any But Nature's purest. He and all too many Contemporaries, following the king, Abused drink, food and drugs like anything And lived. With pop stars reason is outlawed.

(Giles Ewing) Will someone please explain why tourists swarm To dumps like Minneapolis-St Paul? It's something I can't understand at all. The very air you breathe there does you harm. The water's vile; you find, to your alarm, That local liquor offers no relief, The beer being viler still. Another beef: The muggers so outnumber the gendarmes All talk of public safety is a fraud. Imposing buildings? I can't think of any You'd give a second glance; there are too many Skysores about, proclaiming Mammon king. The parks are thronged with junkies. One more thing: All taxi-drivers there should be outlawed.

(Ray Kelley) My wife's relations visit like a swarm of summer bugs now we live in St Paul de Vence, who once could find no time at all for us in Milton Keynes. 'Well, where's the harm?'

says smiling she, but I set my alarm and push off early for some sweet relief in Cannes, and meet old friends and drink and beef to gens-de-lettres, and failing that gendarmes, about my wife, her family and their fraud: `I wouldn't give a sodding sou for any!

She has such rum relations and so many!'

Then, back chez nous, now jolly as a king, I'm charm personified. Yea, there's the thing: Better to be in-lawed than be outlawed.

(Ralph Rochester) Neuroses blitz me in a rabid swarm; Psychically, I rob Peter to pay Paul - Or so my shrink says, He Who Knows It All.

Of course, the Doctor means no conscious harm: He doesn't know the meaning of alarm, Those moments when a nightmare's a relief From bleak reality. I shouldn't beef: It's either therapy or the gendarmes.

I've fantasies of murder, theft and fraud.

I'm wired for crime like this, I'm up for any Transgressions. If I've not committed many It's partly thanks to Dr Schwartz, the king Of sick-soul quackery, or some such thing.

I'm just in quarantine, not yet outlawed.

(Basil Ransome-Davies) He dipped where crowds in heedless masses swarm, The paragon of pickpockets, Jean Paul, At matches, races, rallies, riots, for all Of twenty years by cunning kept from harm, Too confident to feel the least alarm As overloaded wallets gained relief.

Rewards were rich — he had no cause to beef. Disaster struck in guise of the gendarmes, Tipped off when Jean embarked on ticket fraud With World Cup forgeries to equal any. The talents of his skilful hands were many, But he should have kept to realms where he was king, Not trod on others' toes, which was the thing That, known to rival crooks, had him outlawed.

(Prue Sheldon)