Terence Alan “Spike” Milligan KBE, was an English-Irish comedian, writer, poet, playwright and actor. The son of an Irish father and an English mother, Milligan was born in India where he spent his childhood, relocating to live and work the majority of his life in the United Kingdom.
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Famous Spike Milligan Poems
Me
Born screaming small into this world-
Living I am.
Occupational therapy twixt birth and death-
What was I before?
What will I be next?
What am I now?
Cruel answer carried in the jesting mind
of a careless God
I will not bend and grovel
When I die. If He says my sins are myriad
I will ask why He made me so imperfect
And he will say ‘My chisels were blunt’
I will say ‘Then why did you make so
many of me’.
Contagion
Elephants are contagious!
Be careful how you tread.
An Elephant that’s been trodden on
Should be confined to bed!
Leopards are contagious too.
Be careful tiny tots.
They don’t give you a temperature
But lots and lots – of spots.
The Herring is a lucky fish
From all disease inured.
Should he be ill when caught at sea;
Immediately – he’s cured!
Two Children
Two children (small), one Four, one Five,
Once saw a bee go in a hive,
They’d never seen a bee before!
So waited there to see some more.
And sure enough along they came
A dozen bees (and all the same!)
Within the hive they buzzed about;
Then, one by one, they all flew out.
Said Four: ‘Those bees are silly things,
But how I wish I had their wings!’
Porridge
Why is there no monument
To Porridge in our land?
It it’s good enough to eat,
It’s good enough to stand!
On a plinth in London
A statue we should see
Of Porridge made in Scotland
Signed, “Oatmeal, O.B.E.”
(By a young dog of three)
So Fair Is She
So fair is she!
So fair her face
So fair her pulsing figure
Not so fair
The maniacal stare
Of a husband who’s much bigger.
Omen Of Emptiness
The clock has turned enough
to reach a planet
Life is endless night
I hear wings beating in
the dark of my room
A giant Raven is waiting –
for me to fall asleep.
Summer Dawn
My sleeping children are still flying dreams
in their goose-down heads.
The lush of the river singing morning songs
Fish watch their ceilings turn sun-white.
The grey-green pike lances upstream
Kale, like mermaid’s hair
points the water’s drift.
All is morning hush
and bird beautiful.
I only,
I didn’t have flu.
There Are Holes In The Sky
There are holes in the sky
Where the rain gets in
But they’re ever so small
That’s why the rain is thin.
Soldier Freddy
Soldier Freddy
was never ready,
But! Soldier Neddy,
unlike Freddy
Was always ready
and steady,
That’s why,
When Soldier Neddy
Is-outside-Buckingham-Palace-on-guard-in -the-pouring-wind-and-rain-being-steady-and-ready ,
Freddy
is home in beddy.
Standing Room Only
This population explosion
Said Peter to St. Paul
Is really getting far too much
Just look at the crowd in the hall.
Even here, in Heaven
There isn’t any room
I think the world could do with less
Much less fruit in the womb.
Thus Heaven is overcrowded
The numbers are starting to tell
So when the next lot knock at the gates
Tell ’em to ‘Go to Hell’.
Orstralia
Orstralia – Orstralia
We think of you each day
Orstralia – Orstralia
At work or at play.
We think of yew in the morning
And in the evening too
We even wake up at mid-night
So that we can think of you.
Orstralia – Orstralia
We love you from the heart
The kidney, the Liver and the giblets,
And every other part.
Scorflufus
There are many diseases,
That strike people’s kneeses,
Scorflufus! is one by name
It comes from the East
Packed in bladders of yeast
So the Chinese must take half the blame.
There’s a case in the files
Of Sir Barrington-Pyles
While hunting a fox one day
Shot up in the air
And remained hanging there!
While the hairs on his socks turned grey!
Aye!Scorflufus had struck!
At man, beast, and duck.
And the knees of the world went Bong!
Some knees went Ping!
Other knees turned to string
From Balham to old Hong Kong.
Should you hold your life dear,
Then the remedy’s clear,
If you’re offered some yeast – don’t eat it!
Turn the offer down flat-
Don your travelling hat-
Put an egg in your boot – and beat it!
A Combustible Woman From Thang
A combustible woman from Thang
Exploded one day with a BANG!
The maid then rushed in
And said with a grin,
‘Pardon me, madam – you rang?’
Emptiness
I’ve learned mine can’t be filled,
only alchemized. Many times
it’s become a paragraph or a page.
But usually I’ve hidden it,
not knowing until too late
how enormous it grows in its dark.
Or how obvious it gets
when I’ve donned, say, my good
cordovans and my fine tweed vest
and walked into a room with a smile.
I might as well have been a man
with a fez and a faux silver cane.
Better, I know now, to dress it plain,
to say out loud
to some right person
in some right place
that there’s something not there
in me, something I can’t name.
That some right person
has just lit a fire under the kettle.
She hasn’t said a word.
Beneath her blue shawl
she, too, conceals a world.
But she’s been amazed
how much I seem to need my emptiness,
amazed I won’t let it go.
