ISLE OF ISLE OF

COMPETITION

Oral floral

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1909 you were invited to provide a poetic dialogue between person and flower, the flower's responses inaudible to the speaker.

Since it needlessly multiplied the diffi- culties and since most of you robustly decided to ignore it, I have decided to leg- islate retrospectively and drop the proviso that the flower should be inaudible. After all, without audibility on one side dialogue must either wilt or go mad. Roses were the worst-tempered of your oral florals, the most snappish being David Barton's — a dog-rose, I presume:

I've told you once, must I repeat? You always treat us flowers like tarts. You'd think I was a bitch on heat The way you sniff my private parts.

The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to a new- comer from County Kildare, Jane Falloon.

I fear I've a touch of amnesia, I've completely forgotten your name; I know you are called Artemisia, But I can't think which one, to my shame.

Of all those grand names I'm so weary: I don't mind a pin you forgot; I know you're not Rosemary Verey - We can't all be like her, God wot.

I wonder if you're Arborescens, Or are you Faith Raven perhaps, Or maybe you're Tridentata? I do so regret this slight lapse.

I think I'm called Piedmontana, But, you know, its a name I detest.

Why not Lad's Love, or Wonnwooc4 or Mugwort?

The last suits both you and me best! (Jane Falloon) 0 rose, thou art sick!

(You get on my wick) The invisible worm (Please, don't make me squirm) That flies in the night (A flying worm, right?) In the howling storm (So far true to form) Has found out thy bed (You're sick in the head) Of crimson joy (Oh boy, oh boy!) • And his dark secret love (Great heavens above!) Does thy life destroy.

(Do you mean to annoy?) (Peter Norman) She's coming. Now I hear the voice I dread; Perhaps she'll concentrate on Lily's bed. Oh, damn, she's got the sprayer aimed at me. Dear Albertine, is that black spot I see? Let's stop your pretty leaves from being defiled. You think you're dealing with a backward child? I'm feeling sick. Its all this extra feeding.

Poor pet. It's more manure that you're needing; I'll add some Super-Gro for you to sup, Plus Foliar-Freshener to perk you up.

You bitch! Why must you viciously dead-head?

Could you not let me bear some hips instead For propagation, as the good Lord meant?

Just one last sniff of your so precious scent.

Lean closer, I am ready with a thorn.

Good! That's your blooming features nicely torn. (Alanna Blake) `I wish I knew what ails you,' Said the gardener to the rose. `You forget you almost drowned me With that crazy garden hose.'

'You've had fertiliser, compost, And I spray you every week.' No wonder I'm a nervous wreck And too choked up to speak.'

`I talk to you.' You said it, friend, That's half the blooming trouble. Cut out those pearls of wisdom And I'll blossom at the double.'

`Perhaps you need a boyfriend?'

now you're talking sense.

I'm having drinks at sundown With that climber on the fence!'

(Maureen Melvin) I am not into house-plants as a rule.

Well anyone can see that you're a fool.

I was hoping for a better Christmas present From Auntie Maud. Still, you're not too unpleasant.

Let's read the rules for keeping you alive.

What makes you think I care if I survive?

Your label says that you're long-suffering And do not need much care.

There's just one thing: I don't appreciate this cheap red wine, So give your guests some vintage stuff next time.

Oh, you're not going to kiss me! Bloody hell!

It seems that you don't even have a smell.

That's rich, when your cigar smoke overpowers.

Those flabby red things, are they leaves or flowers?

If you could just assimilate some facts I'd introduce you to the concept 'bracts'.

(Giles Ewing)

No. 1912: Catch-22

Forty years late, I have just got round to reading Joseph Heller's highly enjoyable war novel, Catch-22. You are invited to provide a peacetime story, true or fictional, for which this could be the title. Maximum 150 words. Entries to 'Competition No. 1912' by 14 December.