Complete list of nominations for August, 2005

AUGUST 2005 NOMINATIONS

Anagrammy Awards >Nomination Archives > 2005

THE MEDIUM LENGTH CATEGORY

1st - Meyran Kraus with:
"If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world." =
And if a man tries to rationalize force to conduct wars, it shows us he is George Bush.

2nd - Tony Crafter with:
A Society couple are making love:
"Darling, do poor people do this?"
"I think so, my beloved."
"Far too good for them, don't you think?"
=
GIGOLO: "Ooh-la-la, my love; you look pretty after drink!"
SHE: "Come come poppet! Forgot so soon? I didn't have
a drink."
HE: "No, but I did."

3rd - Larry Brash with:
The members of Queen: Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor, John Deacon, and Brian May =
A major band, formerly fronted by a magic hormone-enriched queer, endures yet.

David Bourke with:
Eris Fortessimo Neck and Decolletage Firming Cream =
Sag? Get firm! La creme de la creme of skin conditioners!

David Bourke with:
The Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Ian Warwick Blair =
Copper writes, in ire: "Maim Arabic criminals? No, we shoot to kill!"

Toby Gottfried with:
How many anagrammatists does it take to change 'a lightbulb'? =
Two.
TG makes the anagram, and LB ('Laugh Bit'?) says to each, "I NOM it!".

Rosie Perera with:
Dvorak's Symphony Number Nine in E minor, "From the New World" =
BSO perform renowned masterwork on vinyl. I hum hymn in end.

Rick Rothstein with:
George W. Bush, the President of the United States of America =
Pigheaded, obstinate, he recites stuff. Two terms are enough!

Rik Sengupta with:
Truly Neat Line of Fire: Hatred vested on the great City of New York=
I cry in relief, for the threatened key town fortunately got saved.

Chris Sturdy with:
Three blokes met up to write anagrams in a bar.
They were a Yank called Mike, Chris, an Englishman and Michael from Ireland...
=
One fellow muttered 'Basra...Arabs.
Then a reply. Hey! "Marriage...A grim era".
Then 'ladies man' Mick , "Hell, I'm known as 'nice and thick'!"

THE LONG CATEGORY

1st - Ellie Dent with:

A MEDITATION FOR DE-STRESSING

Picture yourself near this quiet stream.
Look at the scene... the beauty of nature helps.
Look up. See a deep blue sky, the birds... how sweetly they sing.
A happy place... away from the usual hateful, unhappy world.
You know no one can bother you here.
Just soothing waterfall sounds echo on the air.
The water's clear.
=
You can easily make out the face of the person whose head you are holding under the water.
Look! It is the person who caused you all this stress in the first place.
What a pleasant surprise.
You let them up... just for one quick breath... then plop! Back under they go....
You allow yourself as many deep breaths as you want.
There now... feeling better?

2nd - Chris Sturdy with:
These five people won the right to enter Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory:
Augustus Gloop
Violet Beauregarde
Veruca Salt
Mike Teavee
and
Charlie Bucket

=
the 'Golden Ticket' group; very average, we feel.
look, see
a fat bastard
a vacuous gum-chewer
a spoilt little shit
a couch potato
one lucky winner, the believer.

3rd - Tony Crafter with:
Lady Legge-Bourke took more than the normal care of her staff, so when Jeeves was hurt in an accident she went straight to the hospital. "No visitors allowed mam, just family," moaned an ill-mannered nurse. "Are you his wife?"
"God no!" said Lady Legge, gliding by; "I'm his mistress!"=
Sir Stuart Haynes-Fyffe, the Lord of the Manor, awoke one morning with a huge erection and immediately called for his butler. "Congratulations sir," said Jeeves; "shall I awaken madam?"
"No Jeeves," said his lordship; "get me my baggy shorts and we'll smuggle this one into town."

Larry Brash with:
Presenter: "A small-time operator who fell foul of Dinsdale Piranha was Mr.Vince Snetterton-Lewis."

Vince: "Well, this day I was at home threatening the kids, when I looks out through the hole in the wall and I sees this big tank pull up and out gets a couple of Dinsdale's boys, and so they comes on in all nice and friendly and says how Dinsdale wants to have a little chat with me, so they goes and chains me up to the back of the tank and takes me for a scrape around to Dinsdale's place and so Dinsdale's there in the conversation pit with Doug, and Charles Paisley, the baby crusher, and a couple of film producers, and a man who they called 'Kierkegaard', who just sat there biting the heads off whippets and Dinsdale says 'So well then, I hear you've been a naughty boy, Clement' and he splits me nostrils open and saws me leg off and rips me liver out and so I tell him my name ain't Clement and then... he completely loses his temper and nails me head to the floor."

Presenter: "He nailed your head to the floor?"

Vince: "At first, yeah."
=

Presenter: "Many of these remarkable tales are about Dinsdale, but what of Doug's ruthlessness? A man who met him was Luigi Vercotti."

Vercotti: "I'd been runnin' an elegant little escort agency... eh, high class business, yes really, top rate girls... we've none of *that*... well, hardly any... so we decided... pardon me, please... hello... not now... shtum... eh, yes, I'll have the watch ready at half-eleven... yes, half-past eleven... the watch... the bleedin' Chinese watch... speak later... eh, Mother. So I made my mind up and opened a posh night club for the well-off gentry with international cuisine and cookin' and top line acts, and not a tasteless clip joint for the toffs pickin' up tarts... that was not on at all, I deny that... and one day in strolls Dinsdale and some big lads, one of whom supposedly had a thermo-nuclear missile. He said I had one of his poker machines and asked me to pay for it. He demanded half a million pounds. Then he told me I had to see... Doug... he knew all the tRick Rothsteins... irony, metaphor, puns, parody, and... satire. He was vicious, hard and... so selfless."

Meyran Kraus with:

Spring is here, ah-spah-ring is here,
Life is skittles and life is beer.
I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring. I do, don't you?
'Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes every Sunday a treat for me...

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
Every Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.

When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide,
But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide...
The sun's shining bright,
Everything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games.
They call it impiety
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon.

So if Sunday you're free,
Why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment,
Except for the few we take home to experiment...
My pulse will be quickenin'
With each drop of strych'nine
We feed to a pigeon
(It just takes a smidgin)
To poison a pigeon in the park!

=

April 2

'PIGEON PREYING' PRACTICE PEAKS

Many people join in the quirky new trend of pigeon slaying, made popular by Tom Lehrer. "I think it's nifty, they're quite easy to shoot", said park ranger Hugh Weiner while skinning a dove.
Meanwhile, elderly women, stuck with extra crumbs, have fed them to insects instead; these, in turn, grew to unwieldy proportions.

April 11

GNAT GANGS GROW GIANT

Huge bugs besiege the city! The mayor reports that nine mosquitoes flew into his house and took off with one of his
wife's Pomeranians.
"Patience, you'll be safe soon - we keep highly trained exterminators, you see", Wildlife Agent Hugh Weiner explained
while unchaining ninety monkeys.

April 20

MAD MONKEYS MAKE MAYHEM

It was definitely not worth it: Apes let loose to end the insects' invasion have spread a heinous plague.
"Oh, there is no need to panic", Senior Wildlife Agent Weiner noted, "It kills monkeys, but it only promotes a mild form of
death in humans."

May 7

PIGEON PLOPS PARRY PLAGUE

A cure has been found to the disease that preyed on our city: pigeon leavings. The news drew people to run into parks, douse themselves with wet cement and pose as statues.
"I commend that dainty bird", said the new Secretary of the Interior, Hugh Weiner, "It truly is a higher being."

THE SPECIAL CATEGORY

1st - Richard Brodie with:
At the age of 15 Lord Byron became enamoured of a distant cousin, Mary Chaworth, who grew tired of "that lame boy" (he had a club foot). She became the symbol for him of idealized and unattainable love. It is probable, though not certain considering all the affairs he had in his short life, that he wrote this poem with her as his inspiration - which is reflected in the usual additional constraint:

She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

=

Mark! How she strides in sabled grace
As, in the late empyrean glow,
Repose within that shadowed face
Youth's luster that's untarnished; Oh
Caressed by that soft-hued embrace
He made the stately sun forgo.

A more, a less, illumined scene
Will make that silken palette fade
Of silver locks bathed with a sheen,
Regaled with white skin half displayed;
Then on her visage shy, serene
Her chaste conceits one sees portrayed.

My queen, with that sweet heart there dwells
Youth's forthright innocence, and so
Love tender now enchanted wells;
Oh noble golden wit that no
Vain homage pays, that girl's worth tells.
Exalted loving pray bestow!

2nd - Meyran Kraus with:
Below is Charles Lamb's poem about a baby's death, anagrammed into a poetic paraphrase of Chekhov's story 'Sleepy' -
which adopts a different perspective.

**Warning** Nothing rude in the anagram, but it's of a disturbing nature.

On an Infant Dying as Soon as Born
Charles Lamb

I saw where in the shroud did lurk
A curious frame of Nature's work.
A flow'ret crushed in the bud,
A nameless piece of Babyhood,
Was in a cradle-coffin lying;
Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying;
So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb
For darker closets of the tomb!
She did but ope an eye, and put
A clear beam forth, then strait up shut
For the long dark: ne'er more to see
Through glasses of mortality.

Riddle of destiny, who can show
What thy short visit meant, or know
What thy errand here below?
Shall we say, that Nature blind
Check'd her hand, and changed her mind,
Just when she had exactly wrought
A finish'd pattern without fault?
Could she flag, or could she tire,
Or lack'd she the Promethean fire
(With her nine moons' long workings sicken'd)
That should thy little limbs have quicken'd?
Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure
Life of health, and days mature:
Woman's self in miniature!
Limbs so fair, they might supply
(Themselves now but cold imagery)
The sculptor to make Beauty by.
Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry,
That babe, or mother, one must die;
So in mercy left the stock,
And cut the branch; to save the shock
Of young years widow'd; and the pain,
When Single State comes back again
To the lone man who, 'reft of wife,
Thenceforward drags a maimed life?
The economy of Heaven is dark;
And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark,
Why Human Buds, like this, should fall,
More brief than fly ephemeral,
That has his day; while shrivel'd crones
Stiffen with age to stocks and stones;
And crabbed use the conscience sears
In sinners of an hundred years.

Mother's prattle, mother's kiss,
Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss.
Rites, which custom does impose,
Silver bells and baby clothes;
Coral redder than those lips,
Which pale death did late eclipse;
Music framed for infants' glee,
Whistle never tuned for thee;
Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them,
Loving hearts were they which gave them.
Let not one be missing; nurse,
See them laid upon the hearse
Of infant slain by doom perverse.
Why should kings and nobles have
Pictured trophies to their grave;
And we, churls, to thee deny
Thy pretty toys with thee to lie,
A more harmless vanity?

=

Sleepy
(Based on a short story by Anton Chekhov)

A shoddy lantern lights the scene.
It's twenty after two o'clock
And nurse-maid Varka, aged thirteen,
Can hardly make the cradle rock.

Her eyelids droop, her fingers slip;
Sleep beckons, but she won't succumb.
Reminded of her master's whip,
She carries on her drowsy hum:

'Oh hush, my little baby, hush
So tender dreams come in a rush.'

The child is crying constantly.
As if bewitched, he won't calm down.
The hollers blend into a sea
In which poor Varka drifts and drowns...

She fights to rifle through the mist
And stumbles on a new display:
A crowd of nomads who persist
To wade along the muddy way.

And suddenly, the vagrants fall
Into the mud, two-inches deep.
"Oh - what's that rite for?", Varka calls.
"To sleep!", they answer her, "To sleep!"

A change of scene - she's in her hut.
Her father's twitching on the floor,
His fists are clenched, his eyes are shut.
A body no man can restore.

Her mother weeps, and by the door
The doctor frowns and seeks his horse.
A fright fills Varka's very core,
It hits her with a stunning force -

She's smacked and wakes. Her master fumes.
"Fie! Nodding off, you wretched thing?"
And in the window - daybreak looms,
To bode dull chores the morning brings:

To boil the tea and wipe the plates,
To fix the fence and mend a vest.
But no command can truly grate -
They get the mind off peaceful rest...

Her neck's quite stiff. Her temples throb.
She chuckles oft, though knows not why.
She calmly labors through each job
Until the day's last embers die.

The crib awaits at dinnertime.
The wee one airs his wail and moan
But now, the lines of Varka's rhyme
Are uttered in a blunted tone:

'Oh hush, my little baby, hush
So bitter dreams come in a rush.'

A flood of thoughts drives Varka mad:
Those drifters on the muddy way;
Her weeping mom and beaten dad;
A lifetime full of vile dismay.

What's keeping Varka tightly bound?
It nettles her; it taunts her so,
Until the simple answer's found.
It's him. The baby is the foe.

Ambition fuels her wearied pace:
One final chore to execute.
A pillow meets the infant's face,
Until the vicious foe is mute.

Then, as exhaustion overcomes,
She's more than willing to comply...
The room goes dim as Varka hums
Her slowly fading lullaby.

3rd - Chris Sturdy with:
A beauty from The Sound of Music

Do a deer a female deer
Re a drop of golden sun
Mi a name I call myself
Fa a long long way to run
So a needle pulling thread
La a note to follow so
Ti a drink with jam and bread
That will bring us back to Do

=
Sham from Lloyds bank

Owe, a debt, an unpaid debt
Pay us sum or go to jail
Fee, add sum for calling late
Far, how near you'd get to bail
Woe, alarm and much to dread
Ta, for selling me full loan
Free, to sink into the red
And once again I'll owe

Gregory Betts with:
I've just come out with a book of poetry, where all of the poems are perfect anagrams of each other. For fun, I thought I'd post a set of the poems to the site to see what kind of response they generate. I should mention that I did all of the anagrams manually, without any computer program assistance. Every single one is totally different, though they are all exactly 525 letters long with the same letter frequency!

You can find out more about the project here

Anagram 1:

The Scrabblelology

Alfred Mosher Butts [formulas herd Betts] anagrammatician and architect from Poughkeepsie, United States, fashioned a game he called CRISS CROSS WORDS. His playful cryptographic investigation of our language and his original tile distribution system compelled generations, billions of games played. Inventors cherish the profitable titan, its intuitive straightforwardness. Poets energize, launch the waffling effect into lingual callisthenics of cut voices. Students listen to pacific hip-hop, flick oily joints, play in school as legitimate fun.

The unambitious watch with faith, inhale the social milieu.

=

Anagram 2:

The Anagram is:

Christian, it re-enacts the resurrection
Buddhist, it embodies the fall of worldliness
Islamic, dwells in constant, humble litany
Oulipian, by following Juno’s code of brouhaha
Post-structuralist, it seizes gesture, takes up the semiograph
Canadian, puffing hash in teepees, it hugs itself
Page Fauna, a pun feud of foliage, interstitial page
Formalist, loving evolving architecture
Post-McCafferyist, a triste erotic to the full
Romantic, speaking in the wind of Goethe
Satirical, employs the ironic against levelling calm
Economic, it shifts nomadic cohesion, sells filthy badlands
Calligraphy: it is “the body which throbs”

=
Anagram 3:

Bonavista Cube Dog Creek Belleville Calgary Ste. Foy Toronto Ungava Sissibo Yellowknife Winnipeg McPhee Ripples Whitehorse Ucluelet Medicine Hat St. Paul Spirit Fundy Ottawa-Hull Fleet St. Gregor Baffin Fredericton Shining Tree Montreal Idol Catfish Ghita Edmonton Tulita St. Hyacinthe Lethbridge Flin Flon [Adanac] Flathead Dominion Holdfast Titian Pelee Mississauga Churchill Spyhill Regina Miramichi Faith Cupids Cypress Falls False Antigonish Hazlet Ruisseau Hinton Pacific Anticosti South Erie Moose Stand Off Bissett Summit Scugog Asbestos Tsiigehtchic Mun Portage la Prairie Charlottetown St. John’s Victoria

=

Anagram 4:

of gods to goddesses piercing through the flammable ether, of hope to portents and the ongoing pressures of standardization, of love the fallible act of defiance, the magical cancellation of impending capitalism, the brilliant charlatan assesses wishes, as souls utilise wait, it records resounding and full rejoice, this yearning for the spirit north, for divinity impressionably manifest, waking alive this pounding out the rhythms of the reverie, like the truth's cue for this significant occasion, accumulating alphabetical accessibility, calculating the statistical well of this beauty-wish, coming up empty, full, implausible

David Bourke with:
'Don't Let's Be Beastly To The Germans' - Noel Coward

We must be kind, and with an open mind
We must endeavour to find a way
To let the Germans know that when the war is over
They are not the ones who'll have to pay.
We must be sweet, and tactful and discreet
And when they've suffered defeat
We mustn't let them feel upset
Or ever get the feeling that we're cross with them or hate them,
Our future policy must be to reinstate them.

Don't let's be beastly to the Germans
When our victory is ultimately won,
It was just those nasty Nazis who persuaded them to fight
And their Beethoven and Bach are really far worse than their bite
Let's be meek to them, and turn the other cheek to them
And try to bring out their latent sense of fun.
Let's give them full air parity
And treat the rats with charity,
But don't let's be beastly to the Hun.

We must be just, and win their love and trust
And in addition we must be wise
And ask the conquered lands to join our hands to aid them.
That would be a wonderful surprise.
For many years they've been in floods of tears
Because the poor little dears
Have been so wronged and only longed
To cheat the world, deplete the world
And beat the world to blazes.
This is the moment when we ought to sing their praises.

Don't let's be beastly to the Germans
When we've definitely got them on the run
Let us treat them very kindly as we would a valued friend
We might send them out some bishops as a form of lease and lend,
Let's be sweet to them, and day by day repeat to them
That 'sterilization' simply isn't done.
Let's help the dirty swine again
To occupy the Rhine again,
But don't let's be beastly to the Hun.

Don't let's be beastly to the Germans
When the age of peace and plenty has begun.
We must send them steel and oil and coal and everything they need
For their peaceable intentions can be always guaranteed.
Let's employ with them a sort of 'strength through joy' with them,
They're better than us at honest manly fun.
Let's let them feel they're swell again,
And bomb us all to hell again,
But don't let's be beastly to the Hun.

Don't let's be beastly to the Germans
For you can't deprive a gangster of his gun
Though they've been a little naughty,
To the Czechs and Poles and Dutch,
But I don't suppose those countries really minded very much.
Let's be free with them and share the BBC with them,
We mustn't prevent them basking in the sun.
Let's soften their defeat again,
And build their bloody fleet again,
But don't let's be beastly to the Hun.

=

'Don't Let Us Be Beastly To America'

Let's have a hi-five for the Yankees!
The US, they're Blighty's bestest friend!
We'll bet (damn sure!) when at war,
On them "doughboys", we'll depend!

They sound similar to the Canadians
(The difference we can't even tell).
From Atlanta to Tennessee, Butte, Duluth, "Noo Yawk",
Gee, dude, guess they're "swell"!

Despite the Indians' reservations (how?)
They truly are first-class.
(But they don't tend to know the difference,
Between a 'fanny' and an 'arse').

They gave us the Seven-Eleven, the Stetson,
Southwestern Bell, Beyonce Knowles,
The Battle of Little Bighorn,
The teepee, the wigwam, totem poles.

The mighty dollar, "E.T.", Las Vegas,
The Broadway Theater, the huge Empire State.
The Niagara Falls, The Hollywood Bowl,
Hubble, Motown, the Golden Gate.

Babe Ruth, the Indy Speedway, the Minuteman,
The Harley-Davidson Electraglide,
The Pentagon, The NFL, The Temptations:
(Bill Clinton, Monica inside).

Then the cattle up Wisconsin,
Down Florida's swamps, them damn "gators",
The Deep South, gumbo stew down "Nawlins",
The Wild West, Rayban Aviators.

Both Laura and Jenna on the bottle,
Eminem, The White House, prohibition,
Tammy Wynette, John Wayne Bobbitt,
The motel, the Challenger Shuttle mission.

The new California State Governor?
That, then, belief 'twould utterly beggar:
- That suntanned, testosteroned Terminator,
Arnold Schwarzenegger!

They're "The Land of the Free", the States,
But most neutral countries must hate their guts.
(That fast-food at McDonalds supersized
Their wobbly bottoms - sorry - "butts").

Meatloaf, and the other lardy fatsoes...
Hey, Tubby! Who ate all the pies?
J. Edgar Hoover, Elvis Presley,
Sinatra. ("Old Blue Eyes").

Then that detested dumdum "Dubya",
Cher, Madonna (nude), sweet Britney,
Then New Edition, Bobby Brown,
Husband of the demented Ms. Houston (Whitney).

When that unfortunate morning at Pearl Harbour,
The Nips destroyed the Pacific fleet,
The then President, Roosevelt, not to be outdone,
Would plan, undaunted, the revenge most sweet...

They went and utterly flattened Hiroshima,
Then at Vietnam, got a damned kicking.
They armed the Contras, then Iraq,
But thus, set the timebomb ticking.

May God bless the gas-guzzling United States,
The last of the world superpowers!
How goes that Freedom monument, then,
At Manhattan, the site of The Twin Towers?

Better be buddies to them "septics", dude!
The Stars and Stripes mustn't ever fall.
We'll salute them annually...every July the Fourth,
Hey buddy! Have a nice day, y'all!

Tony Crafter with:
Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl
But she doesn't have a lot to say;
Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl
But she changes from day to day;
I wanna tell her that I love her a lot
But I gotta have a belly full of wine;
Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl
Some day I'm gonna make her mine, oh yeah,
Some day I'm gonna make her mine.
(Lyrics - The Beatles)
=
Angelina is a Jolie fine girl
Me loves her so many ways;
Angelina has a yummy sassy tummy
To take my breath away;
Me needs to tell her that me loves her and say
I'd just love to get her belly close to mine;
Angelina is a Jolie fine chick,
But Brad Pitt get her heart, the creep, oh my;
Say Brad Pitt get her heart, oh my.
(Anthony Crafter)

Mike Keith with:
Speaking of Paul Erdos... He (who I had the pleasure of meeting once) liked to talk about The Book, an imaginary tome containing "perfect" proofs of various mathematical theorems.

One proof which would certainly be in The Book is also probably the oldest Book proof:
Euclid's argument that there are an infinite number of primes, contained in volume IX of the Elements.

Edna St. Vincent Millay's famous poem on Euclid is anagrammed below into some thoughts on Euclid's proof. In addition, embedded in the anagram is a numeric fraction which hints at this result by explicitly revealing a long sequence of prime numbers.

To see this, take the first word of each line in the anagram, compute its letter sum, and retain the final digit. So EUCLID is 54 (take the 4), ARRESTS is 100 (which gives 0), and so on. This produces the sequence 4 0 9 9 2 0 0 0 4 1 for the first stanza and 9 9 9 7 0 0 0 2 9 9 9 9 for the second. Squish each sequence together, giving the numbers 4099200041 and 999700029999.

Divide the first stanza's number by the second (4099200041/999700029999) and compute the value of this fraction, whose infinite decimal expansion begins

.0041004300470053006100710083009701130131015101730197022302510281031303470383...

Divide this into groups of 4:

0041 0043 0047 0053 0061 0071 0083 0097 0113 0131 0151 0173 0197 0223 0251 0281 0313 0347 0383

and remove leading zeros in each group:

41 43 47 53 61 71 83 97 113 131 151 173 197 223 251 281 313 347 383

Every one of these integers is a prime number (and the sequence continues with more primes: 421, 461, 503, 547, 593, etc).

Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare.
Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace,
And lay them prone upon the earth and cease
To ponder on themselves, the while they stare
At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere
In shapes of shifting lineage; let geese
Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release
From dusty bondage into luminous air.
O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day,
When first the shaft into his vision shone
Of light anatomized! Euclid alone
Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they
Who, though once only and then but far away,
Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.

=

Euclid gazed at Virtue vague, now
arrests all who babble of ideals
and honor; they lie prostrate
on a ledge in humble abandon.
Unlike any before, he drew a
line to infinity, a path ahead in the
void: a euphonous essay on the
unattainable. (One by one we
subtract them, when old or in their
prime.)

See here the flash of a holy
candle, lead a song to enumeration:
Days of endless sights
by Athens' heights,
speeches also to
honor him. Euclid alone
bore fruit so true:
Go then on the chosen path,
View the rank and file of
mortal history: thoughts
nestled here at the Golden Key, by
Rationals Way.

The Anagrammy Awards

AUGUST 2005 NOMINATIONS

THE GENERAL CATEGORY

THE ENTERTAINMENT CATEGORY

THE TOPICAL CATEGORY

THE PEOPLES NAMES CATEGORY

THE OTHER NAMES CATEGORY

THE MEDIUM LENGTH CATEGORY

THE LONG CATEGORY

THE SPECIAL CATEGORY

THE RUDE CATEGORY