Whenas in silks my Julia goes Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!
In a large and somewhat raucous entry, Herrick’s 17th-century restraint was cast aside in favour of full-on 21st-century vulgarity. Honourable mentions go to Basil Ransome-Davies, John Whitworth and Josh Ekroy. The winners, printed below, take £15 each.Jerome Betts Whenas in shorts my Julia plays A set or two on summer days I think of Herrick’s, who wore stays.
If in a skirt, it’s not that long And struggles to conceal the thong Unknown in Robert’s verse or song.
White hairless legs, below the knees? With us, much more is viewed with ease Than when he wrote Hesperides.
Frank Osen Whenas in jorts my Julia goes, I note she’s sporting camel toes. Whynot, I offer, change your clothes?
Then-at I cast my eyes and see How-of she with her voice makes free, Abjuring me as ‘one of those’, Whilst popping me upon the nose. Therefor, to bleach I’ve now consigned The shirt that she incarnadined.
Martin Parker Whenas in time my Julia grows less lustrous than a dew-pearled rose I’ll be the only one who knows.
For, while her unguents, paint and paste applied with artistry and taste may long conceal old age’s haste
I’ll do what timeless love entails by doctoring her bathroom scales to lie each day ’til Earth’s light fails.
Robert Schechter Whenas in style my Julia dines She says ‘My perfect valentine’s The one who buys me fancy wines,
The kind that make a girl go ape And pray to God she won’t escape The liquefaction of the grape.’
And so, to have a bon, bon soir And end up in my love’s boudoir, I buy her pricey pinot noir.
Roger Slater Whenas in dreams my Julia takes My hand, my heart no longer breaks, And though I’m sleeping there awakes
In me a sense that so-called dreams Are more than merely that which seems But that which is. The rest are schemes,
A bunch of lies that I’ve been fed. But when I wake alone in bed I lie there stunned I’ve been misled.
Roger Rengold Whenas in shorts my Julia strides Or sinuous as a panther glides My aching heart in two divides.
Each half one glorious leg adores, Each half one mighty sole implores, While like a hunter she explores.
She sights me, she is coming near; I trembling wait, in love and fear. O Julia, crush me, I am here.
A.R. Duncan-Jones Whenas, in vain, my Julia pleads With me, when answering my needs, To lift the seat, my mind concedes
She has a point. It isn’t kind, When I have peed, to let her find A splattered seat for her behind.
I tried it for a while, but then She still complained: ‘You wretched men! Why can’t you put it down again?’
Mae Scanlan Whenas in chains my Julia drags Around the prison, dressed in rags, With eyes that droop, and mouth that sags,
I have to ask, why did she slay Her seamstress, who had nerve to say She didn’t look so good in grey?
Had she but kept her rage in check, She’d not, tomorrow, make the trek To wear a noose around her neck.
Alanna Blake Whenas in gear my Julia hies, Those muscled, Lycra-stretching thighs And shapely calves draw roving eyes.
In Nike boots when then she scales The heights, a goddess she abseils, My aspiration almost fails.
But when her size 8 feet are bare I bathe the blisters bursting there: Ah, then she needs my tender care.
You are invited to submit a selection of meaningless, pseudo-profound statements, for example, ‘Attention and intention are the mechanics of manifestation’. Please email up to ten each to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 2 December.
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