Poetry Competition

The poem below is the best example of the style of poetry where the third and fourth lines finish with words that do not respect the rhyme scheme of the first two of each verse, and you have to guess the 'real' word that would have rhymed. This "As I was Walking by St Paul's..." style was much practised by schoolboys at my prep school, often with the approval of the English teacher. This was first published in the New Statesman, of all places, in its weekly poetry comp many years ago. Basil Ransome now calls himself Basil Ransome-Davies and wins prizes in the Speccie comps at least once a month, it seems.

Idle is now departing for his low-carbon-footprint, high-cordite-footprint holiday in the highlands. I hope one or two visitors (more!) might try their hand at one of these poems in my absence. The best effort, if worthy, wins a prize.

I dreamed I dwelt in marble halls
Of ample airs and sumptuous tinge,
While odalisques caressed my cheeks,
Each with a moist and willing palm

I dreamed I sauntered on the front
At Cannes, where I had moored my yacht.
The movie stars! The lavish cars!
The fine display of Gallic charm!

I dreamed I discoed at the Ritz -
The evening warm, the music cool -
And gorgeous girls who tossed their curls
Admired my sleek and well-hung clothes.

But then I woke, and cursed my luck;
My heart relapsed, my spirits sank.
No yacht in France, no girls, no dance -
No option but to have a doze.

Basil Ransome