The Monday Poem – That of a Duel in France by G. E. Farrow


Oh, Fa-la-la! likewise Hélas!
A shocking thing has come to pass,
For Monsieur Henri Delapaire
Has fallen out,—a sad affair,—
With Monsieur Jacques Mallette.
La femme?” Of course! They both declare
They love la belle Nannette.
Ma foi! They’ll surely come to blows,
For one has tweaked the other’s nose,
Who quickly snaps, with fierce grimace,
His fingers in the other’s face.
A duel must result.
A Frenchman’s honour ‘twould disgrace
To bear with such insult.

“Pistols for two!”—in French,—they cry.
Nannette to come between doth fly:
Messieurs! Messieurs! pray, pray be calm!
You fill your Nannette with alarm.”
Parole d’honneur! No.
Revenge!” they cry. The big gendarme,
Nannette to call, doth go.
Quickly a crowd has gathered round,
Pistols are brought, and seconds found;
A grassy space beneath the trees,
Where gentlemen may fight at ease;
Then, each takes off his coat—
Glaring meanwhile as though he’d seize
The other by the throat.
The seconds shrug, gesticulate,
And pace the ground with step sedate;
Then anxious consultation hold
O’er pistols, for the rivals bold
Who now stand white and stern;
Their arms across their chests they fold,
And sideways each doth turn.

The seconds place them vis-à-vis,
And give them word to fire at “three”;
Brave Monsieur Mallette shuts his eyes,
And points his pistol to the skies;
Brave Monsieur Delapaire
His hand to steady vainly tries,
It trembles in the air.
A deadly silence: “Un—deux—trois!
Two shots are ringing through the Bois.
Two shots,—and then two awful calms;
As, senseless, in their seconds’ arms
The duellists both lay.
(Their faces pale the crowd alarms,
And fills them with dismay.)
“Killed?” Goodness gracious—oh, dear no!
This couldn’t be,—in France,—you know,
For pistols there they never load.
But caps were they which did explode:
They’ve only swooned with fright.
See! one some signs of life has showed;
The crowd claps with delight.
They both revive. They both embrace.
Twice kiss each other on the face.
* * *

“Stay! Hold!” you cry. “You said, I thought,
La belle Nannette the gendarme sought?”
She did,—la belle Nannette,—
She sought, and found him—charming quite.
She stays there with him yet.
She “never cared for Delapaire,”
She says with most dégagé air;
And “as for Monsieur Mallette,—well,
He may discover—who can tell?—
Someone to marry yet.”
Meanwhile le gendarme pour la belle,
The fickle, fair Nannette.

The Monday Poem – The World Saw Dance

The World Saw Dance

by Jay Snelling


For an exceptionally

long time this was his name. His

name. Their name is in there and

is what we would APP-

ROACH by way of his dance which

EXCEEDS his movements for the


which WAS all we know

of him and his works coming

from their minds. When he first met

him in the place he was writ-

ing the ending of

what became the basis of

almost everything. Beyond

the works of foreign text and

thinking, perfect terms

and received compliments he


The result was a

piece. Just like he ambigu-

ously asked if they were “work-

ing together” he was e-


hoping that by reinven-

ting plans ahead of time, he

beat them. As he said, he did.


I use chance methods to create my poems and drawings – I’d love to hear from you if you do the same…


The Monday Poem – An Extensive Look at Another Thing from That Department

An Extensive Look at Another Thing from That Department


I informed HER of a general dream

a new thought was going to be formed

it would forcibly cause herself to “shatter careers”.

But it didn’t

and my actions have continued

it is safe

and immediately HER department had reportedly been heard to whisper an executive secret when



by Jay


I hope you enjoyed this week’s Monday poem! Please get in touch if you’d like to see your own work here.


The Monday Poem: The Detained of Release Comes In by Jay Snelling

The Detained of Release Comes In


The extremist’s

offices of thinking show a protester carrying a condemned bottle of the

sacred film.

Your people, and then theirs and all of the political elite are in attendance at the dawn. Despite this, they are very loudly asking for the film

and causing quite an affront.



The Monday Poem – it’s been Jean fangirling over James – a chance poem

it’s been Jean fangirling over James

by Jay Snelling


Some heartwarming

old secondary school friends


until it’s all over and then they call for the

authorities. A clue now:

who posts the letter

and why?

album on the way? Move over be a band – who are playing live accused the dead musician of working on his own corpse.

I call him Buddy because he’s where he wants his own biopic to end up. Straight down the double and through the middle

and share it all

to release their anxiety. But first, I have a new life, a ride on the colour

band’s rim and a

ring to announce the time for

real life. Other lives, they called them all

Valerie. The people

say acts for a huge lightning bolt memorial

he a death of one of his 

own kind. It is not him and it

isn’t class, pay appearance at this

stage. Is it really himself at 32 and can he