In Competition No. 3306, you were invited to submit a poem about procrastination.

Procrastination looms large in Out of Sheer Rage, Geoff Dyer’s hilarious account of his attempt to write a study of D.H. Lawrence, and it struck me as an excellent topic for a competition. As Samuel Johnson wrote, the tendency to put things off is ‘one of the general weaknesses’ that ‘prevail to a greater or lesser degree in every mind’. The assignment did indeed strike a chord, attracting a large entry that was witty and technically adroit. Commiserations to Alex Steelsmith, C. Paul Evans, David Silverman and Frank McDonald who missed out on a spot in the winning line-up by a whisker. The winners, which include Gail White’s nod to Robert Herrick, are printed below and earn their authors £25 apiece.

You say hither, I say thither,
Time will tell, and wait a while:
It’s in my blood, delay and dither,
Yet I’ll get there, tortoise-style.

No use jumping at each hurdle
While there’s time to shoot the breeze:
Allow the freshest milk to curdle,
Or wait for yoghurt, butter, cheese,

Besides, the thing may never happen,
And surely there is space to chill:
No need to copy Max Verstappen –
Energy is overkill.

Here’s a tangent, bright and glossy;
Move tomorrow down the queue –
Leave the gang and drop the posse –
Bother not with ballyhoo.

Bill Greenwell

When we find we’re in range of an unwelcome change

And decide that it’s wise to procrastinate,

We at once hatch a scheme and assemble a team

To examine the matter, then vacillate.

There’s a Chair, half asleep, and a flock of old sheep

Whose sole job is to wax hypothetical

Forging theories which say that it’s right to delay

While ignoring all truths antithetical.

Our resultant report bleats a reasoned retort

To all clamour for change from the polity,

While the drear status quo it cites perfect to show

Its eternal, conservative quality.

Please do bicker and prate, cry reform, get irate

At our complacent tone in authority,

For it helps us opine that our system is fine

When postponement is our sole priority.

Russell Chamberlain

We hit it off quickly, like Adam and Eve,
With a speed of attraction you wouldn’t believe,
And our first night together took us to the stars
Via numerous cocktails in various bars.

‘Amour!’ went my heartbeat, the call of a bird
Who has found his life partner, but sageness demurred.
A man doesn’t truckle. He plays the long game.
A distant demeanour sets women aflame.
Deferring proposals of marriage and such,
I ran the affair with a studious touch.
I blew hot and cold, turning fond then austere,
A lengthy postponement my central idea.

Alas, some flash Harry came into her life
Before I could make my beloved my wife.
He wined her and dined her and bore her away,
And that’s why I’m single and bitter today.

Basil Ransome-Davies

Up, my love, the lark is saying,
see the sun’s bright golden head!
But Corinna won’t go Maying –
she’d much rather lie in bed.

Many a maiden keeps her virtue
when the male goes off her scent.
Many a hero has no spur to
prick the sides of his intent.

Hamlet finds existence chilling,
hesitates to go or stay,
and decides to put off killing
Claudius for one more day.

There’s a tide in the affairs of
men that we must catch or fail…
but the shallows are the lairs of
many a happy stranded whale.

Gail White

The poem I write will blow them all away.
Perhaps, though, I won’t start on it today.
I’ll write exquisitely of joy and sorrow
As soon as I get down to work tomorrow.
My verses, which the world will not forget,
Will live forever, though they’re not born yet.
My lines will vibrate with life’s why and how.
When does their music strike up? Not right now.

Enlightenment will chime in every rhyme,
But at some other, more convenient time.
There is in all the canon nothing greater
Than this new classic I will turn out later.
My words will flow intoxicating, heady.
The tap will open soon; I’m not quite ready.
My poem will ring across the land and sea.
I’ll be inspired to write it presently.

Chris O’Carroll

I can’t think why I find it such a pain
to apply myself to every simple task
that comes my way; there isn’t much to gain,
so why delay my actions, you may ask.
My tax returns, again, are overdue
and car insurance, marked ‘to do’ forever,
subscriptions I’m intending to renew
this week, next week, next month – or maybe never.

I need some help to cope with my complaint:

I missed my wedding, couldn’t make the date;
If someone has a birthday, then I mayn’t
remember it this week, next month – but wait!
I have a competition on my list,
the theme’s ‘procrastination’: write a rhyme –
perhaps, for once, the deadline won’t be missed,
I’ll kick the habit, send it off on time.

Sylvia Fairley

No. 3309: Verse in reverse

You are invited to compose a poem starting with the last line of any well-known poem and finishing with its first line, the new poem being on a different subject from the original. Please email entries of up to 16 lines to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 19 July.