Double acrosstic

first and last letters of each line spell the key phrase

Tom, wayward boy, filled money belt

(His father’s promised wealth);

Enjoyed wild living, food and wine.

Pour, o’erflowing cup!

Overspent, now broke – aggro!

‘Look, his hired men eat so well…’

Smarter course was homewards;

‘Oh, my boy! – bring shoes, ring, too!

Now, slice a calf we chose to fatten!’

Deserting friends all gone. Now lad

Rebellious, sinful, growing poor

Is tending pigs (safari?)

Gross slop seems appealing

At once he thought of dear Papa

Sestina

Classic poetic form with strict mathematical algorithm [1]

The farm boy might have said ‘I wish you dead!

Just share your wealth with me and let me go…’

His father, sad, observed his course. Soon the lad

Was drinking, rashly gambling with the cash

False friends flocked keenly grasping and consumed

Such grand, top-classy and exclusive food.

In hotel bars and restaurants, fine food

Enjoyed, but soon all GDP was dead!

And everyone found nought to be consumed.

His friends all rapidly decide to go;

Thus he was left bereft of any cash.

Or company or hope, this hard-up lad.

Work tending pigs was low – he was not glad

To watch them chow down on such awful food –

Their rotting pods… but how else to earn cash?

His thoughts turned to his pa, no more wished dead

I’ll humbly seek work there, so now I’ll go

Dad’s hired men lunch famously consumed…

His mem’ry soon with family consumed

My actions have been wasteful, mulled the lad

So time has come for me to up and go

Where I’ll find love, I hope, as well as food –

Deserve rejection? Yes! But here I’m dead

Forsaking heritage for meagre cash.

This journey – long – used up residual cash:

Both sandals wore to nothing (trudge-consumed).

His coat was also torn and hopes near dead.

While still a long way off… Dad saw the lad

And rushed to greet him, ordering roast food

Plus ring and coat and shoes. Complaints forego!

His servants ran (he ordered them to go

To fetch). Now fat-calf’s throat gets knifely gash

And tables laden bounteously with food.

The villagers throng in; all is consumed

While father shows his joy to see the lad

‘This is my son – the one we thought was dead!’

‘He set by his ego; let’s consume!

And though he spends my cash, I greet my lad

Back from the dead! Oh neighbours, eat this food!’

[1] End-words repeat: ABCDEF, FAEBDC, CFDABE, ECBFAD, 

DEACFB, BDFECA, with an envoi of half-lines BE/DC/FA

Ballad

This down-to-earth, honest-to-goodness poetic form is genuinely classical, but quickly starts to sound as though Frank Spencer is reciting it

Johnny takes a lot of cash

And spends it with such speed;

Then famine strikes and everyone

Is desp’rately in need.

He takes a job, a-tending pigs

He longs to eat their pods;

A revelation fills his mind

(The voice he hears is God’s).

I’ll go back home and humbly seek

To join them in employ.

(My father’s men eat well each day

Although mere hoi polloi)

My worthiness to be a son

I know I’ve dissipated,

He’s bound to be most furious –

Reprisals will be stated.

But while he’s still a long way off

His pa – ignoring scandals –

Full gallop! Gives him coat and ring

And kisses and new sandals.

‘Take blades and slit young bovine’s throat

Spit-roast him round and round;

For this my son – we once thought dead

And lost - look, now he’s found!’

Traditional rhymes (part two of two)

The House of the Rising Sun

• Traditional C16th 

recorded by The Animals (Columbia Records, 1964)

There is an ancient small holding

They call Certainman Farm

The son near ruined the agrarian

And nearly came to harm.

‘Now Father, give me money!’

He was a wayward son;

He lived his life - a gamblin’ man;

Ate, drank and had such fun.

But living wild is costly,

And soon the cash was gone

And famine came to strike the land;

‘Friends’ to oblivion.

The porkers that he envied

Ate rotting aubergine…

But then he came to senses:

Dad’s workers’ fine cuisine.

 ‘Now Father, tell your hired men

Not to do what I have done

Selfish greed like this makes me

Unworthy to be a son.’

But while he’s still a long way off

His dad comes running, glad;

‘Bring gold and coat and shoes and kill

     The fat calf! For my lad

Was lost and dead; hope faded…

     I thought him in the ground;

Yet he’s alive and standing here

     Thank God that he’s been found!’

Molly Malone

• James Yorkston 1884

He took cash (no pity); Dissipation City

And there clamped his eyes on sweet Molly Malone;

Went straight to a bar-o; to drink, imbibe, boire-o,

Crying ‘Gamble quite wildly and feel alive-o!’

     Alive, alive-o, alive, alive-o

     Spend money like water, recklessly skive-o.

Their cash quickly ran out and famine struck, no doubt

And soon he discovered that he was alone;

Found piglet and harrow, fed slops from a barrow

Felt hungry and envy, eat to survive-o?

     Survive, survive-o, survive, survive-o

     Or go home, be no son; to work connive-o

He made his way stumbly to greet his dad humbly

But while a long way off (the distance unknown)

Ran Dad like an arrow! ‘Kill calf; roast the marrow –

Not lost but found; nor dead: alive, alive-o!’

     ‘Alive, alive-o, alive, alive-o!’

     Singing ‘Glory, my son has revived, let’s jive-o!’

Gilly, Gilly, Ossenfeffer, Katzenellen Bogen by the Sea 

• Hoffman/Manning 1954

There’s a tiny farm      (Such a tiny farm!)

By a tiny stream      (Tiny gurgling stream)

Where a greedy lad      (Yes, he was quite bad)

Hatched a nasty scheme;      (Cat that got the cream)

And he spent his cash      (He made quite a splash)

Uneconomically

In Dissipation-City-where-the-

     girls-are-not-so-moral-as-can-be.

He ran out one day      (He’d been making hay)

Lacking a cashflow;      (Wasteful so-and-so!)

So his food and friends      (Loser, so-called ‘friends’)

Couldn’t help but go.      (Just said ‘cheerio.’)

And a famine struck     (Oh it was bad lack…)

Quite malnourishmently

So troubled-lad was-tending-pigs-and-

     envying-their-pods-and-feeling-low.

Then he had a thought:      (Should do what I ought)

‘The hired men at home      (Over land and foam)

Eat a lovely lunch      (Meat & spuds, munch, crunch)

I’ve been mad to roam.’      (I’ve even lost my comb)

So he went right back     (Left that pig-sty-shack)

Precipitatively

To ask-if-he-could-work-as-he-knows-

     he’s-no-longer-worthy-to-be-son.

Now the bad boy’s dad      (Was sad, now he’s glad)

Saw him; ran to greet!      (Family complete!)

Gave a ring of gold      (Kiss and coat, tender hold)

And shoes for his feet.      (Fam’ly heirloom: sweet)

And he killed the calf     (Don’t do things by half)

Quite hot spitroastingly

And said-‘My-son-was-lost-but-found;

     -we-thought-him-dead-but-lives-so-let’s-party!’

Waltzing Matilda

• Banjo Paterson 1887

Once a jolly swagman took his inheritance

Off to Dissipation City with glee

And he sang as he walked and gambled lots of cash away

‘Who’ll come a-waltzing and dining with me?’

     Waltzing and dining, betting and drinking

     Mary, Matilda, Letitia and me…

     And he spent and lived wildly, 

     wasting funds like he was spoiled

     ‘Who’ll come a-waltzing and dining with me?’

Down came his balance and suddenly he was quite broke

Just at the time that a famine struck;

He saw he was deep in the trouble that he’d caused himself

And sought out a job with some porkers in muck.

     Gloucestershire Old Spot; pods that will soon rot

     Mysteriously envious of piggy;

     So I sit and I think and I lick my lips in hungriness

     Oh what has become of this fellow, of me?

Flash! went his soul as he had a revelation

‘My dad’s hired men eat their dinner for free…

So I’ll get up and go home and ask to work for Farmer Pa

No more a son, since I’m just not worthy.’

     Waltzing on homeward, walking and thinking

     I’ll ask to work on the farm if I may

     But his dad saw the boy and came 

     Running out to greet him warm

     While he was still quite a long way away.

(Repeat chorus)

     ‘Bring coat and sandals! Fetch my big gold ring!

     Kill fatted calf! Forget skulduggery...

     For my son was lost but is now

     Found although we thought him dead.’

     Repent; restore; Christian allegory.

Traditional rhymes (part one of two)

pastiche of recognizable songs and nursery rhymes

The Twelve Days of Christmas      

• Traditional 1780

On the twelfth day of Lostness, my father gave to me:

     Twelve bags of coinage;

          Eleven cards a-gambling;

              Tender embraces;

                  Nein funds remaining;

                      Ate nothing daily;

                           Seven pigs a-grunting

                               Sixth sense arising;

                                    I’ve gold rings;

                                         Four manly kisses;

                                              Three button coat;

                                                   Two sandals fair;

                                                       And a fat calf-a-roasting-party!

One Man went to Mow 

• Traditional

One son went to go, went to go to spend all

One son and his cash, splash!,

     went to go to spend all.

One son went to go, went to go to spend all

One son, two girls and his cash, splash!,

     went to go to spend all.

One son went to go, went to go to spend all

One son, two girls, three meals and his cash, splash!,

     went to go to spend all.

One son went to go, went to go to spend all

One son, two girls, three meals, and his cash, splash!,

     a bottle of pop, a gambling den, a famine strike,

     when hunger hit, found that he had spent all.

One son went to go, attitude to appall

One son, less girls, no meals, and no cash, crash!,

     when hunger hit, sat down with pigs,

     got pod envy, went green round the eyeball.

One son went to go, with his empty holdall

One son, two pigs, three pods, and no cash, crash!,

     a rumbling tum, and senses come,

     decided that he’d go home.

One son went to go, had to be inspired

One son, two shoes, three days, and his sense: hence!

     his dad’s hired men, unworthy son,

     hoped that he’d be welcome.

One son went to go, tried to be so humble

One son, two miles, three miles, and his dad: glad!,

     a long way off, Dad ran to greet, he kissed his boy,

     pleased that he ‘s alive-o.

One Dad went to go, went to greet his lost boy

One son, two shoes, three coats, and his ring, ding!,

     a calf on a spit, all celebrate, my boy was lost,

     but now he’s found, we thought him dead, but he’s alive,

     he went but now he’s back home!

The Owl and the Pussy Cat

• Edward Lear 1871

The foul son of farming man went to see

How inheritance makes a float.

Boy took some honey and most of Dad’s money

To a faraway city of note;

The boy made friends of a suspect sort

And dined, bet and owned the bar

‘Oh lovely lady, oh lady of love,

What a shallow companion you are, you are, you are

Yes, a vapid companion you are!’

Money said to the foul ‘Now your tummy will growl

For famine will strike you and I!’

Son sought out employ, and found with no joy

A task tending down in the sty.

He longed away to the end of the day

As hunger (within, without) grows

Envied (no one should) a piggy-wig stood

With poor pods at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose

Stinking pods at the end of his nose.

    

‘Dear Lord, are you telling me this job is killing me?’ ‘No!

But your father’s hired men

Eat well everyday, so arise now and say

You’ll be no son but work there again.

He walked so far, but was seen by pa

Who came running with gifts and a half

And coat in hand, wearing father’s gold band

They spit-roast the fatted young calf, young calf, young calf,

They ate all the roast fatted calf.

The Quartermaster’s Stores

• adapted by Box, Cox and Bert Read circa 1940

There was cash, flash, piled up in a stash

     In the barn, in the barn;

There was Dad, sad, the boy took all he had

     From a Certainman’s Home Farm.

My eyes are wet, they cannot see

     I have not got my son with me;

     I have not got my son with me.

There’s a child, wild (by sin he was beguiled)

     In the town, in the town;

There’s a stack lack, can’t afford a snack

     As the famine sweeps on down.

My guts hollow, my clothes not neat

     I have not got much food to eat;

     I have not got much food to eat.

There’s a sly sty, with chummo sitting by

     In the slops, in the slops;

There’s a bright light, his mind’s eye has a sight

     And a smile across his chops.

My father’s men eat well each day

     I shall arise and humbly say;

     Don’t call me son, or send me away

    

With a cough, boff! Still a long way off

     There’s my boy, there’s my boy!

Now my ring, bring, and shoes & coaty thing

     For I kiss my son with joy!

My calf is fat, the fire is lit

     Cook beef upon this rustic spit;

      Not lost nor dead: just the opposite!

Old MacDonald had a Farm

• Traditional 1917

Old Certainman had a farm (nearly lost it, though)

For on that farm he had a son, who wrecked his cashflow:

With a cash stash here and a cash stash there

Here a stash, taking cash –

Dissipated in a flash;

Old Certainman had less farm, sadly watched son go.

Young Certainman blew the dosh

     (reckless youth, you know).

Wildly spending, gambling too, dwindled to zero;

With a poor man here, a poor girl there,

Here deprive, there contrive,

Famine struck: barely alive!

Young Certainman took a job, aiming rather low.

On the pig farm there were hogs, rummaging through slops

Eating pods not fit for dogs; young boy thinks of Pops

‘With a hired man here, some welfare there;

Hard life shun, lunch at one; not worthy I to be a son;

I’ll arise and ask for work, hope dad throws no strops.’

While son’s still a long way off, Certainman was bold

And ran to greet him with a hug; gave coat, shoes and gold;

With a kiss kiss here, and welcome there;

‘Join my staff, for the laugh; spit roast beef from fatted calf!

Son was dead but now’s alive: let joy be uncontrolled!’

Hey Diddle Diddle

•Traditional c1765

Hey diddle diddle, the boy’s on the fiddle

The cash jumped not all that far;

Four little pigs laughed when senses came –

Boy humbly went home; ate fat calf!

The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God

• J Milton Hayes 1911

There’s a farmer with no money to the north of Dissipate

His young son has taken all inheritance;

There’s some wildly wanton spending:

     bars and gambling dens can’t wait

For his cash to be all wagered on a chance.

He was known as Splurge McGowan

     by the ladies of the town

As they helped themselves to drink and having fun

But the money quickly dwindled so the boy began to frown

As the famine struck so fiercely: every one.

He sat upon a log as he watched a skinny hog

Rooting round among the mouldy, rotting veg;

Was close to actual yearning – realised next step: returning -

Work for dad? Yet having wasted all his wedge…

He was feeling awkward, rather,

     when he noticed that his father

Ran with energy and vim and arms outstretched

He tried to say his thing but was greeted with a ring

And coat and kisses; also, shoes were fetched.

‘Well, we won’t do this by half; kill our only fatted calf

For we’ll celebrate ‘til morning comes around;

This son was dead but now I’ve /realised that he is alive;

He was lost, you know, but look! He has been found!’

Jack and  Jill went up the Hill    

• Cullen Boltey c1765

Jack and Jill spent cash on thrill

But found they’d dissipated.

Envied swill and bent his will;

Was humbly animated.

Up Jack got, and home did trot,

As fast as he could caper,

To husbandman, who greeted ran;

     Cooked fat calf with spit and taper.