In Competition No. 2476 (in error numbered 2477) you were invited to supply three haikus (rhyme optional) which form a single poem greeting the New Year.
The traditional Japanese haiku has 17 syllables arranged in three unrhymed lines of five, seven and five syllables. Western poets have widened their scope to cover almost any mood. I like this one from the late D.J. Enright:
Everest, Mont Blanc,
Matterhorn, Mons Veneris —
Hills so hard to climb.
The prizewinners, printed below, get £18 each, and the bonus fiver belongs to John Whitworth.
This is the year of
the pig and is better by
far than the past one.
This is the year that
a consummate liar had
claimed as his last one.
This is the year we
will know if the bastard was
pulling a fast one.
John WhitworthThe chimes at midnight
Toll the twelve months gone before:
Then there is silence.
A sound will break it:
A cry, perhaps, a murmur,
Laughter or a sigh.
Whose the pain will be,
And whose the joy, we shall know
By the year’s end toll.
W.J. WebsterThis could be the best,
The greatest year of my life!
Who knows what’s waiting,
how high the rating?
It may deserve five stars, might
even win a prize.
If I touch the skies
or sink to the depths, at least
I can try my best!
Celia GentlesThe hinge of the year
Bestows traditional waves
Of hope and of fear.
I sit and rehearse
The blind date of the future,
The past’s stubborn curse.
What fate is hidden
In the dark labyrinth of time:
Heaven or midden?
Basil Ransome-DaviesGran’s getting narky:
‘It’s just something and nothing,
All this malarkey!’
‘Och now, whisht ye, Gran.
St Andrew’s bells are ringing,
There’s punch in the pan.’
Now midnight is here.
We cross arms, link hands and sing,
Welcoming the year.
Gerard BensonYour forebears have dashed
So many burgeoning hopes.
Still I welcome you,
Asking at my age
Less and less, not inviting
More disappointments.
Just thankful I’m here
To greet you — and wishful to
See your twelve months through!
Alanna BlakeYou’re gonna be great.
I feel it in my water
Like stirrings of fate.
No auld acquaintance
Dragging us into the past,
The future’s your chance
To show new faces
And maybe bring news of peace
From foreign places.
G. McIlraithThe year is dying;
in the night wild bells ring out
but the bells are tame.
Calling, replying,
no hesitation, no doubt,
the bells play their game.
Bell with bell vying
tell us what new year’s about —
all change, all the same.
Mary HoltbyLet politicians,
Pundits and experts all be
Sent to Gehenna.
After a year, when
Even bishops went bonkers,
Chased by the papers,
Think of Eliza:
‘Wouldn’t it be lov-er-ly
Just to be peaceful?’
Paul GriffinNo. 2479: Woman of the Guard
The first female Beefeater has just been appointed at the Tower of London. You are invited to supply a Gilbertian chorus (maximum 16 lines) to mark the event. Entries to ‘Competition No. 2479’ by 25 January.