This week: Spike Milligan Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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The Abc Poem
By Spike Milligan
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
On the Ning Nang Nong
By Spike Milligan
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong! !
On April 16, 1918, Terence Alan Patrick Seán Milligan, was born in Ahmednagar, India. His mother, Florence Mary Winifred Kettleband, was English. His father Captain Leo Alphonso Milligan, MSM, RA, who was serving in the British Indian Army, was Irish. Terence, who was better known as "Spike" Milligan, was educated at the Convent of Jesus and Mary, Poona, and St Paul's Christian Brothers, de la Salle, Rangoon. Spike started playing in a Jazz band in his teens which he continued into his early twenties. It was in his early twenties that he started writing comedy sketches. During World War II Spike served in the Royal Artillery. While serving in Italy, he was wounded in action. Spike spent a lot of his free time during the war entertaining the troops with his sketches and performing jazz concerts at gatherings.
Upon his return to England Spike was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This led him to have at least ten mental breakdowns. After he was hospitalized for one of his breakdowns, he started appearing in several musical comedy acts. His big break came when he wrote the scripts and performed in the now famous radio show 'Goon Show'. Writing the show each week really started to affect Spike's health causing a series of nervous breakdowns. This led to Spike starting a lithium treatment and it ended up being the most effective thing for him. Spike went from radio to theater. These appearances eventually lead to film and TV shows for the BBC.
Spike also wrote some poetry for children along with several serious poems from when he was depressed. His book Silly Verse for Kids was published in 1959, followed by A Dustbin of Milligan in 1961, then Goblins published in 1978. Spike wrote a series of war memoirs, which included Adolf Hitler: My Part in his Downfall published in 1971 and Rommel? Gunner Who? A Confrontation in the Desert in 1976. Spike also wrote several comedy songs. His song Purple Aeroplane, was a parody of The Beatles' song, "Yellow Submarine." Spike was married three times during his life. He had three Children with his first wife, one with his second wife, and no children with his third wife.
Spike Milligan died on February 27, 2002 of liver disease. He was 83 years old.
Jumbo Jet
by Spike Milligan
I saw a little elephant standing in my garden,
I said 'You don't belong in here', he said 'I beg you pardon?',
I said 'This place is England, what are you doing here?',
He said 'Ah, then I must be lost' and then 'Oh dear, oh dear'.
'I should be back in Africa, on Saranghetti's Plain',
'Pray, where is the nearest station where I can catch a train?'.
He caught the bus to Finchley and then to Mincing lane,
And over the Embankment, where he got lost, again.
The police they put him in a cell, but it was far too small,
So they tied him to a lampost and he slept against the wall.
But as the policemen lay sleeping by the twinkling light of dawn,
The lampost and the wall were there, but the elephant was gone!
So if you see an elephant, in a Jumbo Jet,
You can be sure that Africa's the place he's trying to get!
Granny
by Spike Milligan
Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up nose as well, I fear)
All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)
It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winners of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] are:
Stepping into the dark, smelly, hallway,
Once more uncertain she should be helping.
Wishing she had the power to make him stay.
The courage to stop her heart from melting.
Her shoes clicked on the bare floor as she walked.
Faces gaping at her from the waiting chairs.
She cringed, knowing they listened as she talked,
Arranging his release. She felt the stares.
Then, she too, began waiting like the rest.
Trying not to listen to the voices.
Feeling her heart beating in her chest.
Knowing she had to start making choices.
Questioning whether he was a friend or foe.
Why she responded each time they would kiss.
The fire was quenched and love couldn't grow.
Leaving would be hard; good times would be missed.
He was deceitful, she knew this was true.
For her own sanity, this must end now!
He didn't care what she had been put through,
Or that he hadn't honored wedding vow.
Every time the door opened, all arose,
Expecting their person to enter in.
Then sank back into chairs, arranging their clothes,
To start the process all over again.
Now he was standing near her, looking sweet.
She forgot how he always did her harm.
Rising slowly she got to her feet,
Rushed to him and was engulfed in his arms..
Sometimes all logic is defied by love.
To deny is simply to waste your time.
Forgiveness is often sent from above,
Although there may be no reason or rhyme.
Once again they step out into the light.
The promise never to cause her pain,
Will be forgotten when there is a fight,
And she will likely forgive him again.
Ever since I met you,
my world has been
stained
red.
Faces,
and
voices,
automatically
labeled
'foes.'
The pain
in my heart,
a beacon
to
predators—
Shouting,
'This woman
has fallen
for the
deceitful.
This woman
is uncertain,
and
naïve.
This woman
is waiting,
on wits end,
for arms—
any
arms—
that
won't
release.'
This voice,
this beacon,
will surely be
the end of
me.
For,
as soon as
this announcement
is made,
the blood-thirsty
descend—
swaddled
in the
golden-wrappings
of
love.
Then...
I
am
torn
to
p
i
e
c
e
s
.
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Poetry: January 25, 2023 Issue [#11781]
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