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January 2015 Poetry Competition

Extract from Winter Complaint by Ogden Nash

I don’t like germs,
But I’ll keep the germs I’ve got.
Will I take a chance of spreading them?
Definitely not.
I sneeze out the window
And I cough up the flue,
And I live like a hermit
Till the germs get through.
And because I’m considerate,
Because I’m wary,
I am treated by my friends
Like Typhoid Mary.

 

Winter complaints is the theme this month: any old coughs and sneezes and winter diseases please!

I suppose some of you out there are not suffering from hypothermia, frost bite, or other ghastly influenza like bugs, but you can always moan about the excessive heat or lack of water.  Points will be deducted if you feel you must write something  cheerful about this dreadful season. Frozen pipes, or broken limbs from tumbles on icy paths are especially welcome.

Gales, blizzards, or major power failures permitting please submit your entries by close of play on 25th January 2015.

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  1. January 4, 2015 at 8:38 am

    As m’grandad used to say: it’s bein so miserable keeps me appy…. 🙂

  2. Four-eyed English Genius
    January 4, 2015 at 12:21 pm

    My feeble attempt to get the ball rolling

    https://charioteers.org/2015/01/04/i-now-hate-snow-and-ice/

    Come on, you Charioteers, get writing. There are surely enough miseries amongst you to write a poem about complaints!. Let’s make Ara’s task of judging as difficult as possible! 🙂

  3. January 4, 2015 at 1:02 pm

    Quite right, Janus. 🙂

  4. January 4, 2015 at 1:03 pm

    Thank you, FEEG. 🙂

  5. January 4, 2015 at 6:39 pm

    Please enter my Winter Woes pome with a blue thingy. 😊

  6. January 4, 2015 at 7:01 pm

    My pleasure, Janus and grateful thanks.

    An entry from Janus :

    https://charioteers.org/2015/01/04/winter-woes/

  7. January 4, 2015 at 9:03 pm

    Tensely I walk to train station.
    The ice is thin but slick.
    And it certainly isn’t hyperbolic
    To say that these slip, slip, slipping makes me slightly sick.

    Oh dear, oh my, oh gosh, sigh!
    The wind blows, the breeze cuts like a knife.
    If I tumble and fall I shall regret dear life.
    I look at my watch; there is enough time by-the-by.

    My lips are dry
    My hands are cold
    My confidence in handling the weather oversold
    I tensely trudge over the ice, hand-by-thigh.

    And then, relief!
    At last, the station’s been reached!
    The stones have been salted, heaven’s been successfully beseeched!
    Trust has been somewhat restored, there is reason for belief!

  8. January 4, 2015 at 10:17 pm

    Wonderful.

    Thank you, Christopher, much appreciated.

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