N is for Next, Please

British novelist Philip Larkin (1922-1985) left his mark on literature in multiple ways. His most famous books were A Girl in Winter and Jill. He also served as editor of The Oxford Book of Twentieth Century English Verse, a staple for college and university English classes, and received the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry in 1965.

Here’s a classic Larkin poem.

[Mature language warning]

Next, Please

By Philip Larkin

Always too eager for the future, we
Pick up bad habits of expectancy.
Something is always approaching; every day
Till then we say,

Watching from a bluff the tiny, clear
Sparkling armada of promises draw near.
How slow they are! And how much time they waste,
Refusing to make haste!

Yet still they leave us holding wretched stalks
Of disappointment, for, though nothing balks
Each big approach, leaning with brasswork prinked,
Each rope distinct,

Flagged, and the figurehead with golden tits
Arching our way, it never anchors; it's
No sooner present than it turns to past.
Right to the last.

We think each one will heave to and unload
All good into our lives, all we are owed
For waiting so devoutly and so long.
But we are wrong:

Only one ship is seeking us, a black-
Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back
A huge and birdless silence. In her wake
No waters breed or break.
 

Last year’s A to Z post: Naming the Nemesis 

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The Jeanie Johnston

By William Murphy

Favorite Classic Poems

Adapted from ClipArt ETC

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A-Sailed! A Rhymed Repeating of Offshore Eating

 

They won a prize, a special cruise.

“Hooray!” they cried. “How can we lose?”

They danced along the entry ramp,

Like two young kids, attending camp.

 

The noon-day meal was simply great.

She went back for a second plate

Of Caesar salad, lobster claws,

And then they headed for the spas.

 

Mid-afternoon, the call came out:

“The Lido Deck is serving trout.”

They quickly went to find their seats

And stuff themselves with ocean treats.

 

So, satisfied, they hit the pool,

Where sweet confections made them drool.

A waiter passed umbrella’ed drinks,

As they relaxed and turned bright pink.

 

By evening, rang out the bell,

And dinner beckoned them, “Oh, swell!”

They donned their fancy garb again, and then

They headed off to stuff again.

 

The presentation, it was sweet,

With every fish and fowl and meat.

They skipped the salad bar this time

Because the pastries were sublime.

 

That night, she hovered on the deck.

She was a nauseated wreck.

She stood and wretched over the side;

She’d swallowed everything but pride.

 

c2008 by Linda Ann Nickerson