The Special Category

Anagrammy Awards > Voting Page - Special Category

An optional explanation about the anagram in green, the subject is in black, the anagram is in red.

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NELSON: Order the signal, Hardy.

HARDY: Aye, aye sir.

NELSON: Just a minute; that is not what I dictated, what is the meaning of this?

HARDY: Sorry sir?

NELSON (reading out loud): ŅEngland expects every person to do his or her duty, regardless of race, culture, gender, sexual orientation, religious persuasion or disabilityÓ. What gobbledegook is this?

HARDY: It's Admiralty policy, IÕm afraid, sir. We are an equal opportunities employer now. We had the devilÕs own job getting 'England' past the EU censors, lest it be construed as racist.

NELSON: Gadzooks, Hardy. Hand me my pipe and my tobacco.

HARDY: I'm sorry sir. All naval vessels have now been designated smoke-free working environments.

NELSON: In that case, break open the rum ration. Let us splice the mainbrace to steel the men before battle.

HARDY; The rum ration has been withdrawn, Admiral. It is part of the GovernmentÕs policy on binge drinking.

NELSON: Good heavens Hardy, no rum? I suppose we had better get on with it thenÉ full speed ahead.

HARDY: Um... I think youÕll find that there is now a four-knot speed limit in this stretch of water.

NELSON: Damn it man! We are on the eve of the greatest sea battle in naval history! We must advance with all dispatch. Let me have a report from the crowÕs nest please.

HARDY: That wonÕt be possible, sir.

NELSON: What?!

HARDY: Health and Safety have closed the crowÕs nest. No harness; and they said that rope ladders do not meet regulations. They wonÕt let anyone up there; not until suitable scaffolding can be erected.

NELSON: Then you must deploy the shipÕs carpenter without delay, Hardy.

HARDY: Um... that wonÕt be possible either, sir.

NELSON: What! Why not, man?

HARDY: He is busy knocking up a wheelchair access to the foredeck, Admiral.

NELSON: Wheelchair access? Humbug! I have never heard anything so absurd!

HARDY: Health and Safety again, sir. We have to provide a barrier-free environment for the differently-abled.

NELSON: Differently-abled? I only have one arm

and one eye, and I refuse even to hear mention of the word. I didnÕt progress to the rank of Admiral by playing the disability card.

HARDY: Er... actually, sir, you did. The Royal Navy is under-represented in the areas of visual impairment and limb deficiencies.

NELSON: Good Lord! Whatever next? Give me full sail. The breeze and the salt spray beckon!

HARDY: A couple of problems there also, sir. Health and Safety wonÕt let the crew climb the rigging without hard hats. And they donÕt want anyone breathing in too much salt Š havenÕt you seen the adverts?

NELSON: Bejabbers! I profess IÕve never heard such garbage! Break out the cannons and tell the men to stand by to engage the enemy.

HARDY: It seems the men are a bit worried about shooting at anyone, Admiral.

NELSON: What? This is mutiny!

HARDY: ItÕs not that, sir. ItÕs just that theyÕre afraid of perhaps being charged with murder if they actually, well... kill someone. ThereÕs a pair of legal-aid lawyers on board, watching everyone like hawks.

NELSON: Then how are we to sink the French and Spanish aggressors?

HARDY: Er... weÕre not, sir.

NELSON: WeÕre not?

HARDY: No, sir. The French and the Spanish are our steadfast European partners now. According to the Common Fisheries Policy, we shouldnÕt even be in this stretch of water. We might get clobbered with a compensation claim.

NELSON: But we detest the Frogs as we detest the devil.

HARDY: Best not let the shipÕs diversity co-ordinator hear that sir. YouÕll be up on a disciplinary report.

NELSON: Don't you consider every man an enemy who speaks ill of the King?

HARDY: Not any more, sir. We need to, quote: 'be inclusive in this multicultural age.' Now put on this padded Kevlar vest, please. ItÕs the rules, and could save your life.

NELSON: DonÕt tell me Š Health and Safety. Whatever happened to rum, sodomy and the lash?

HARDY: As explained, sir, rum's off the agenda. And thereÕs a ban on corporal punishment.

NELSON: And... what about sodomy?

HARDY: I believe that is now legal, sir.

NELSON: In that case: Kiss me, Hardy!

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You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,
Come hither from the furrow and be merry.
Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on,
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
In country footing.

Seven moons of humdrum, yea creep on past
Hurry on by; then year's eighth month, at last
Enforce time off earnt for your weary mind
untuck your usual work shirt, rest unwind.

Cheery, gone, bye!

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Learn To Like
Robert Service

School yourself to savour most
Joys that have but little cost;
Prove the best of life is free,
Sun and stars and sky and sea;
Eager in your eyes to please,
Proffer meadows, brooks and trees;
Nature strives for your content,
Never charging you a cent.

Learn to love a garden gay,
Flowers and fruit in rich array.
Care for dogs and singing birds,
Have for children cheery words.
Find plain food and comfort are
More than luxury by far.
Music, books and honest friends
Outweigh golden dividends.

Love your work and do it well,
Scorning not a leisure spell.
Hold the truest form of wealth
Body fit and ruddy health.
Let your smile of happiness
Rustic peace serenely stress:
Home to love and heart to pray--
Thank your God for every day.

Via, Veritas, Vita


Before www, we used VVV
"Via, Veritas, Vita" earned your degree.


A flatulent flatmate destroys my lie-in,
forlorn, fretty and yelling.

Through Belfast outcry I ascertain;
he's discovered he's Andrexless yet again.

(He's fondly known to us as Sledge.
Gets pulled by cold, scruffy dogs, it's alleged)

Before showering, I shave my soap.
Rory's a red-head, not only on top.


We adjourn to the Union,
to look at Cher ride her cannon.

Rocky is drooling; poor, horny loner.
So I nip for our orders; Four yards of Fosters.

After the orders, I hone my kebabsmanship,
on fodder of donner and curry chips.

A fresh gust of gravity lands me on my back,
The kebab upside up: secure, intact.

Home at last - our heads to lay.
Fulfilled, content: another lost day.

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[The following is from the book "One Hundred Love Sonnets" ("Cien Sonetos de Amor") by the author Pablo Neruda. This is the seventeenth sonnet from the first section, which I have presented first in its original Spanish text, then as the newly anagrammed English translation given below.]

The Original Spanish:

Love Sonnet - Manana XVII
by Pablo Neruda

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de chaveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de si, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que acendio de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber como, ni cuando, ni de donde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
asi te amo porque no se amar de otra manera,

sino asi de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mia,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueno.

Anagrammed sequel arranged into English (enhanced):

Love Sonnet - Tomorrow

I do not love thee as if comparable to a salt-rose or a topaz,
or a carnation's point a flame shoots obliquely off on occasion.
I love thee as certain dark things are made to be loved,
in a magic secret code, between opaque illusion and the immortal soul.

I love thee as if comparable to a quivering coleus that cannot bloom
but possesses a maroon luminescence inside.
Inspired by love and acceptance, a certain solid aroma,
emanates from earth, permeating me, remaining concealed.

I love thee without question, measure or reason;
Unornamented, unadorned love, free from impassioned promises,
complexities, ego needs, or masquerading pride;
just because I can conceive of no other means

than a nearness where "I" does not exist, nor "thee",
so near that your amorous hand on my chest equals my hand,
so near that your amorous eyes acquiesce and close in a slumber also,
as I fall asleep at last.

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Donovan Leitch

Jennifer Juniper lives upon the hill,
Jennifer Juniper, sitting very still.
Is she sleeping? I don't think so.
Is she breathing? Yes, very low.
Whatcha doing, Jennifer, my love?

Jennifer Juniper, rides a dappled mare,
Jennifer Juniper, lilacs in her hair.
Is she dreaming? Yes, I think so.
Is she pretty? Yes, ever so.
Whatcha doing, Jennifer, my love?

I'm thinking of what it would be like if she loved me.
You know just lately this happy song it came along
And I like to somehow try and tell you.

Jennifer Juniper, hair of golden flax.
Jennifer Juniper longs for what she lacks.
Do you like her? Yes, I do, Sir.
Would you love her? Yes, I would, Sir.
Whatcha doing Jennifer, my love ?

Jennifer Juniper, Jennifer Juniper, Jennifer Juniper.
Jennifer Juniper vit sur la colline,
Jennifer Juniper assise tr¸s tranquille.
Dort-elle? Je ne crois pas.
Respire-t-elle? Oui, mais tout bas.
Qu'est-ce que tu fais, Jenny mon amour ?
Jennifer Juniper, Jennifer Juniper, Jennifer Juniper.

Mr Roger Jolly Jr.

Jennifer Aniston gives me such a thrill,
Jennifer, loving girl, why's she single still?
Luscious as fresh guacamole,
I'd ditch Angelina Jolie
If I were Brad Pitt, he's just insane.

Jennifer Aniston, Cupid's arrow missed,
Jennifer, injured girl, who I'd love to kiss,
Is she perfect? Yes I'd hope so,
Is she worth it? Yes I know so,
Jenny I will fix your hurting heart.

I'm thinking I'll pick up my trunk and just journey round,
If I should find her, happy we'll be Jenny 'n' me,
And perhaps I'll pop the question to her?

Jennifer, groovy girl, juicy like a pear,
Well-equipped, cherry lipped, jojoba in her hair,
You were hurt unjustly, Jenny,
Hunks like Pitt are ten a penny,
Dimpled Jenny, how I do love you.

Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer;
Jennifer Aniston, vraiment je t'adore,
Jennifer, oui, je t'aime, tu es mon amour,
Pourquoi pleure-t-elle? Je ne sais pas,
Est-elle heureuse? Je ne crois pas,
Vive la vie et vive La Jennifer!
Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, oh, Jennifer!


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Sonnet Thirty
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.

My Final Answer To My Friends
I, on the edge of a supernal night,
Can't fathom why these relatives and friends
Had wept and wondered how can someone end,
And asked if me I've seen some giant lights...
Essentially, I scoff at this exchange.
Love's peaceful force and faith kept me content;
Ten thousand anagrams I wrote and sent,
Until no words were there to rearrange.
Life was these lights - so, on this heavy note,
Life never ends for someone who is whole;
You only reach a point where life's too numb.
Right now, I wish I'd chased that one big goal;
I wish I had... but now, it's so remote.
Perhaps, for once, I'd lie down and succumb.

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"AUGUST rushes by like desert rainfall,
A flood of frenzied upheaval,
But still catching me unprepared.
Like a matchflame
Bursting on the scene,
Heat and haze of crimson sunsets.
Like a dream
Of moon and dark barely recalled,
A moment,
Shadows caught in a blink.
Like a quick kiss;
One wishes for more
But it suddenly turns to leave,
Dragging summer away."

[Elizabeth Maua Taylor]

A full harvest moon
Gleaming on a gentle lake.
A colourful tableau
In dazzling hues;
Its fallen burgundy leaves
Litter a muddied backyard.
As a sapphire sky turns dark,
A mist of melancholy,
A past of weathered sadness
Consumes me.
Tucked by a crackling fire,
I dream of dusks ahead,
I remember the great autumn equinox.
The chill of old winter
Awaits in the horizon.

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Stopping by woods on a snowy evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Keeping vigil on the night of a wake

Us peers and kin and friendly folk
Have rendezvoused to praise this bloke
And yet, it's quite the downward slope
For all the grief this might evoke.

The key is not to weep and mope
If we are hungering to cope;
We'd sip some beers and have some fun -
He'd like it, too (or so we hope).

And so, we hear the stories spun
Of who he was or what he's done,
Yet know his fable as a whole
Might not be known to anyone.

The heavy loss might take its toll,
Yet we should remedy this hole;
We raise some pints to bless his soul,
We raise some pints to bless his soul.

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The Victor
by C. W. Longenecker

If you think you are beaten, you are.
If you think you dare not, you donÕt.
If you like to win but think you canÕt,
ItÕs almost a cinch you wonÕt.

If you think youÕll lose, youÕre lost.
For out in the world we find
Success begins with a fellowÕs will.
ItÕs all in the state of mind.

If you think you are out classed, you are.
YouÕve got to think high to rise.
YouÕve got to be sure of your-self before
You can ever win the prize.

LifeÕs battles donÕt always go
To the stronger or faster man.
But sooner or later, the man who wins
Is the man who thinks he can.

"They themselves are makers of themselves by virtue
of the thoughts which they choose and encourage." *


The slanderous outlook is
fiendish, wayward, brazenly nefarious.

The cowardly outlook is
wincing, wary, weepy, neurotically cautious.

The indifferent outlook is
an iffy anonymity, obstinately uncurious.

The reverent outlook is
subtle, fair, beneficently contagious.

The courageous outlook is
fortuity, worthy, winningly glorious.

* Footnote: In the foreword of witty Allen's tiny
but noteworthy book, "As a Man Thinketh".
(Buy it now!)

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A SILLY POEM (Spike Milligan)

Said Hamlet to Ophelia,
I'll draw a sketch of thee,
What kind of pencil shall I use?
2B or not 2B?


Ah, Will, methinks, a 'polyglot',
He often made up words, a lot,
For he had capabilities,
Phenomenal abilities.