There was a young man from town
Who wore a perpetual frown.
He went out on the lash
And splashed lots of cash
But he never lost that frown.
(Note: to “go out on the lash” means to go out drinking, frequently with the intention of becoming intoxicated.
To “splash”, in this context means to spend).
There was a young man named Lee
Who wrote a limerick about me.
It was extremely rude
And rather crude
So I can’t repeat it you see!
There was a young lady called Michelle
Who had a friend named Nell.
They lived on my street
And we would meet
By the local wishing well.
—
There was a young lady called Michelle
Who decided her soul to sell.
Having run out of money
The devil paid her in honey,
Or so her friends do tell.
When young
His blood was hot.
He flung
Himself into expense
And many a wench
Did smile
A crocodile smile
As with each python hug
He dug
His own trench.
As he grew older, his blood cooled somewhat
Though heaven knows
That passion hot
Still arose
From time to time
And manifested itself in
What some call sin …
Though to rhyme
Is no crime …
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So many angels with broken wings.
Do fortune’s slings
Bring them low?
Some things
I know
And wish it where not so.
Heaven is here
When angels are near,
But as the years advance
The dance
Is ever more staid.
I have with angels played
And for the pleasure paid.
There was a man who lived in the gloom
As he would allow no light in his room.
Many say that he was a vampire
And very few had any desire
To meet that man who dwelt in the gloom!
There was a young man called Friend
Who did me some money lend.
When I hid away
And refused to repay
It drove him round the bend!
There are calls for the “relaxation” of the rules which protect England’s “Green Belt” (those green areas on which building is not permitted). Such calls (so far resisted by government) bring to mind this poem by Larkin.
A reading of one of Larkin’s most famous poems
We’ve analysed a fair few Philip Larkin poems over the last year or so, and had largely said everything we had to say about his work. But we’ve been inspired to write about ‘Going, Going’ because of popular demand, of a kind. Another of our posts, an analysis of another Larkin poem titled simply ‘Going’, has been receiving a great deal of traffic, but people have reached it by searching for an analysis of ‘Going, Going’. Which is a completely different poem. Since ‘Going, Going’ is fine late Larkin, we thought we’d offer some thoughts on this poem, which you can read here.
‘Going, Going’: the title immediately summons the third, unspoken word in the usual auctioneer’s phrase: ‘Going, going, gone.’ Britain is not quite gone altogether, but it is going, and it is being auctioned off, sold to…
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I find it strange when those who have more than me
Defend Marx’s ideology,
While I, who am admittedly possessed of a sufficiency
Argue for a free society
K Morris - Poet 