COMPETITION

Treble limerick

Jaspistos

I. n Competition No. 1570 you were in- vited to tell a story in three consecutive limericks, which need be conventional only in the matter of rhyme-scheme and metre.

I'm off to Normandy for three days to stay with a man called Mogador and read East Lynne, so I haven't much time for idle chatter. When I asked for 'a story' I intended a little more than a mere joke, but most of you stuck to the ha-ha tradi- tion. I know a distinguished poet who still can't master this, most simple of all metres, and some of you — notably Watson Weeks in his last line — failed on this score when a very small emendation would have saved a good entry. The bunch of runners-up comprises Bryan Young, Robert Roberts, 0. A. Prince, Norman Sedgwick, David Heaton and Gina Berkeley. The winners Printed below earn £12 apiece, and the bonus bottle of Rioja 1973 Gran Zaco Reserva, presented by Becket Drake Fer-

rier Moseley, 57-59 Neal St, London WC2, goes to Lene W. Bellgirl.

A gambler called Franklin from Reno Hit Vegas. But little did he know A killer'd been paid To shoot while he played In the Copacabana Casino.

Roulette was Frank's passion, his sin. He prayed while the wheel was in spin (The hitman took aim As they started the game) And he backed 27 to win.

The bullet brushed fast past his lips. Its echo was loud as a whip's,

But it stopped the wheel dead On his number. He fled,

Once he'd cashed what he'd not had: his chips.

(Lene W. Bellgirl) Said the tortoise one day to the hare, `So you think you're so speedy? I dare You to put up or shut up!'

The hare, fairly cut up, Said, 'Right, mate, you're on!' Thus the pair

Had a race. Though the tortoise was game And the hare, to his undying shame, Thinking he couldn't lose,

Took an ill-advised snooze, The tortoise came last, all the same.

The moral is, don't try to race If you carry a thick carapace; If you think that you're able To live life like a fable You'll end up with egg on your face.

(Peter Norman) The police have completed their check On the movements of Anthony Beck Who was found on the sands With his head in his hands When it should have been fixed to his neck.

He was known to have had an affair With a stripper he picked up somewhere. She was seen in his car In panties and bra And red and green stripes in her hair.

It seems that they quarrelled and fought And, as she explained to the Court, 'I don't understand.

It came off in me hand!

I'm a much stronger girl than thought!'

(R. V. M. Benn) A curate who lives in Dundee Took part in a big sponsored pee.

He raised lots of hard cash With a hundred-yard splash, All due to his intake of tea.

This truly amazing display Proved that people were willing to pay For a change from fun runs; Even spinsters and nuns Gave tremendous support on the day.

So to mitigate hunger and grief All our pop stars embraced this new briel Encouraged by brewers, They flooded the sewers In a new form of comic relief. (N. E. Soret)

'We must make the Priory pay,'

The Prior groaned ten times a day.

'We'll have to eat less With finances a mess.

Use the emergency line when you pray.'

Brother Patrick (from Ireland, of course) Said, 'God's given a tip for a horse, And the name of the beast Is Potiphar's Feast, Tapped out in my head — holy Morse.'

What possession could be put in hock? Sacred vessels? No, rather the clock. At ten to one laid No vast fortune was made, But the Priory's 'tick' swung to tock.

(George Moor) The Philistines told Saul to choose a Contender to tackle their bruiser, A whacking great hulk Of incredible bulk Never once counted out as a loser.

And what was the Israelite's answer? God help them, a puny young chancer, A sling-toting lad Was the best that they had, Not an obvious victory enhancer.

Out trundled Goliath to find That David had swindled him blind; In five seconds flat This diminutive brat Had stoned him clean out of his mind.

(Philip A. Nicholson)