Days by Philip Larkin

What are days for?

Days are where we live.   

They come, they wake us   

Time and time over.

They are to be happy in:   

Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question

Brings the priest and the doctor   

In their long coats

Running over the fields.

I really like the visual this image conveys, a priest and a shrink, running full pelt across a filed to answer life's questions for you 

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Books and Brooklyn

Philosophy and onto a journal received for Christmas, as my other one is falling to bits....

Flowers of evil, TS Eliot, Philip Larkin= lots of poetry. 

It's something frankly that I don't tell many people: that I am slightly obsessive about poetry and write a lot of my own! I need to find a poetry pal. We can get wankered on Rose and read to each other beneath the trees by the sea...

my love all snuggly and warm

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A Philip Larkin poem for you: Aubade

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Philip Larkin

 Some poems for you by a talented and oft misunderstood (perhaps) man

Days

BY PHILIP LARKIN

What are days for?

Days are where we live.   

They come, they wake us   

Time and time over.

They are to be happy in:   

Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question

Brings the priest and the doctor   

In their long coats

Running over the fields.

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