lalalalalalala

No, no, no.

la la la

No, wrong.  

The Lee Lang Night and Weep m'dear, the lee lang night and weep.

Better, try again.  

Lalalalalala.*

Superb.

Hey man, I was just down at the club, and I heard some swingin' blank verse.

Today the Irish people witnessed an eclipse in their senses. The morning came over all queer.  Nobody noticed, except the king of bookworms in the book of Kells, and the mice in the Campanile.   I witnessed the eclipse from a windowless room on the 4th floor of the Arts block.  Edmund Spenser's poem, The Faerie Queene,  shall henceforth be named, Long ****, by jury of 5 English Lit. Students and a Lecturer.  Also, Sinn Fein plans to build Jerusalem in Ireland's green and pleasant land.  

Lines written last night over a cup of sugary tea in a public house in North Dublin.

Mount Blank is beautiful, so I'm told.... and a poem follows

Shelley got away with it - I wouldn't.

There was a man,
who had a book;
The book was bad,
so was the man.

Most people sweat euros and pounds,
I sweat coffee and gin.  
Here I am, in the ooze of my existence,
Laughing and smiling,
counting smiles on my fingertips,
quantifying my existence:
fizzle and pop, smile till you drop.

Here, all the words in the world,
they are no good to me,
more or less, they are useless,
that much is plain to see.  

These barren syllables mock me,
scorn at my delight,
profundity and beauty desert me,
in mouldering hours of night.

Here the gravity of my world,
certainty in despondency,
what a tall and terrible load,
the language of impotency.