GENIUS FORUMS

Spike Milligan wrote many funny poems, but the ones I’ve posted below are deeper and more personnel. They show both his spirit, and his intelligence.

Feelings

There must be a wound!
No one can be this hurt
and not bleed.

How could she injure me so?
No marks
No bruise

Worse!
People say 'My, you're looking well'
…..God help me!
She's mummified me -
ALIVE!



When I Suspected

There will be a time when it will end.
Be it parting
Be it death

So each passing minute with you
Pendulummed with sadness.

So many times
I looked long into your face.
I could hear the clock ticking.

-
Sue

LOVE KILLS

my baby works like a miner do
she treats my body like
a mountain range
some people say
gotta look out for her
some people tell me
that my baby's strange

love kills
love kills


my baby stands like an oil rig stands
she drills as deep as the ocean floor
some people say
enough's enough
but my baby she just drills
some more

my baby turns as the planet turns
she rolls the world from day to day
some people say
the earth could move
but i know that's just my baby's way


Tomas (the tank)
VietNam veteran - 1971

sky would have loved this thread

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I can’t imagine she could, for the poems I’ve posted by Spike aren’t like the sentimental banalities she favours. His have a depth and a complexity that is very rare these days. They are serious without being morose; joyful without being hysterical. Because of this, his ‘serious’ poems aren’t as popular. As he himself said, "I don't get recognised because they can't understand - Spike Milligan, being a serious poet? They won't have it."

This is nothing new. A person who takes life seriously is thought to be somehow taking the pleasure of life away from other people. "Lighten up!" they say, “You’re here to enjoy life, not analyse it."

Thankfully, not everyone is so small minded.
-

Here’s another interesting poem by Spike:

Last night in the twilight gloom
A butterfly flew into my room.
Oh what beauty!
Oh what grace!
Who needs visitors from outer space?

-
Sue

Erotic Love

What is the experience called love but the experience of emptiness; a momentary escape from loneliness into merging with another?

Yet such "relief" is no better than an illusion.

She knows your lusts, not your mind.
You create her mind, not her lust.

Her lust is for your mind, what others call your soul.
After all, her mind is what you make of it, as there is nothing there, like the vacant staring of cows.

A man coupled is a mind halved.
A woman coupled is a woman momentarily fulfilled.
A man coupled is another unfulfilled woman.

So goes the starburst of man from generation to generation,
whose brilliance diffuses into her warm embrace like rays into vast space with nothing whatsoever to illuminate.