"milligan" poems
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
*Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 2:09 AM UTC
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
There’s a sickness
or a ringing
in the early hours of night
and it creeps and creeps and creeps
till you’re begging for the light.
There’s a pinging, pinging, triumph
of wisdom in your eyes.
You have grown and now you know
not to take me by surprise.
It’s a slow infatuation
seems to ebb and flow with tides
or with the special flitter-flutter
of un-all-knowing minds.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 6:48 PM UTC
Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be be better
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
Ponder the difference between want and need?
Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.
Dust if you must, but the world's out there
With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come around again.
dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go - and go you must -
You, yourself will make more dust.
- Rose Milligan
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
~
October 2025
HP Poet: Pagan Paul
Country: UK
Question 1: We warmly welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Paul. Please tell us about your background?
Pagan Paul: "I am from Bristol, England. I have always been a Free Spirit and never really settled into the society into which I was born. I am neuro-diverse. I am generally quite a shy and private person. I also write a little comedy and love listening to old comedy radio shows. I like cheese (especially vintage Chedder)."
Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?
Pagan Paul: "I have been a member of HP since August 2016. I started writing poetry in around 2012, but not regularly. I think it was around 2015 I became more prolific and took it more seriously."
Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).
Pagan Paul: "My inspiration comes from many sources. Nature, mental health, relationships, experiences, articles, books and my interests. But also from the mess that is my mind."
Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?
Pagan Paul: "What does poetry mean to me? Escape and expression for my creativity. Its a chance to write down things in a way that makes more sense to my neuro-diverse mind as well as to explore and experiment with ideas, concepts and imagination."
Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?
Pagan Paul: "I do not really read much in the way of classical poetry (Byron, Keats etc) but do tend to read some from ancient Greece and Rome like Callus, Praxilla, Virgil etc. I also tend towards the more abstract or psychedelic poetry of James Douglas Morrison. As mentioned I am a fan of comedy poetry by people like Spike Milligan, Henry Normal and Pam Ayers always raise a laugh."
Question 6: What other interests do you have?
Pagan Paul: "My main interest is music and the consumption thereof. I listen to a lot of different music from different genres. I have always regretted never learning an instrument or music theory. I also read a lot, especially with regard to the ancient world. The old myths and legends and folklore are also a source of inspiration for my poetry."
Carlo C. Gomez: “We would like to thank you Paul, we really appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! It is our pleasure to include you in this Spotlight series!”
Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Paul better. We most certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez
We will post Spotlight #33 in November!
~
Oct 1, 2025
Oct 1, 2025 at 3:41 PM UTC
“Mrs. Tubb, prepare my raincoat,” he said, “I’m going under the carpet.”
His ears were steaming.
“I’ll be waiting by the hanged stag,” he said. “If it gets to six and I'm still not home, put tobacco in the telephone.”
Down there, at the foot of the stairs, Mrs Tubb’s tears fell to the flattened backwards.
In the middle of the night, whilst she was sleeping,
And without her permission,
He had changed her name to Margot St. Vincent.
“Take off that murderer’s moustache and stretch out on the infamous Chelsea Blackmail Floor.
Ask the biggest bugs to dance,
You may never get another chance.”
The quietly handsome and magnificent Millicent Milligan was feeling rather ill again.
She had been dreaming of the brittle marigolds of Saint Petersburg.
She had been dreaming of pine cones and boiling marmalade.
Her home had fallen into a hole.
It was on the evening news,
But by the following morning they had lost interest,
A mountain had struck a commercial airliner and so no one was much impressed by her Home in Hole Hell.
355 were dead,
And possibly a well known racehorse,
And a corpse in transit who, of course, was already dead, but still, it was vexing for the family.
They found a priest in a poplar tree,
And the head of a hand model at the back of a cave.
(The hands were still intact and were couriered to their agent in a special flask).
Half in, half out of her delicious stockings
Wendice Titian cuts out scissor clippings of her
Sinister yellow sister.
Overnight the years twist.
Edgar Snooker has heard he is to play Hitler's dog on the silver screen.
Edgar Snooker is not a dog.
And the screen was never silver.
And besides, it is not true.
Someone is out to destabilise him.
As posh, brainwashed sausages consult
The Punchline Advisor of Dunkirk,
As the Lord is seen on all fours on His moon
Causing daily electrical police misfortune,
As the masses embark on the clamorous, scattered and impossible journey to disappointed purity,
As her money is without temperament,
As the self-conscious guilt daughter unbuttons her plush helmet,
So the richly magnetised stars are winding down.
As candles whisper in the middle of the road,
As Margot St. Vincent revolves the nickel tap
Of the gas powered knitting plate,
So Father Flynn is inconsolable.
He found a photograph of ****** Bob on top of his wife’s hat.
She denied everything,
Including that she was there at all.
Father Flynn fell for it.
That's faith for you.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
the sheer irony kicking pounding slapping biting
from the 19th century, a book entitled the gay science
sits pretty now, pretty with an ironic glee of puffed cheeks
and teeth showing, pretty enough to be a daffodil
smile, and why? why?! but of course the book looks
at 21st century and says: not much gaiety around here,
in the dirge dungeons of expression, maybe i should
be called episteme eulogia / επιστημη ευλογια,
i.e. the science of eulogy, praise indeed,
praised as if dead or dying; where the dionysian madness?
where the randomised polychromatic kandinsky moment
of frenzy? it's all written like vectors of cradle
unto the grave: (a) happend, (b) happened, (c) too
and follow on through to (d, e, f, g)... but where was (a2)
and (a3) a quick moment of (c) but actually following
through into the sub-plot no. 3 tier of (b)?
through and through, i think i'll have to lose all the airy
fairy ******** and dig in, from england all the way
to china, and speak with mao tse tung and emperor puyi
in māori, or sign language, for a bit of a foxtrot,
for a bit of a laugh - should i find any gaiety here,
it would probably sound as dumb as spike milligan's
ning nang nong nim com ****
(shh... they'll discover you're feeding a young angry man persona),
it comes with the face and the age, by the time i'm fifty
i'll just be a cranky old man persona: angry at my bladder,
angry at my legs, my wrinkles my half-witty jests,
i'll be angry at my wife, at my mid-life crisis in the form
of a harley davidson only ridden once, you name it,
anger will turn to crankiness, and it'll be too late to then
poetically confess.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
it was an exhibit
of near limerick
the way those faces
were inked
but the total make
is one masterful abstraction,
abstract enough
to interest one
about deconstructed pieces
that swear
on real construct
of the subjects
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
(cheesy)
Woe
Woe
and thrice
whoa
wait a minute
steady Neddy
this isn't a day at the Coliseum
that's been done,
Hear ye
Hear ye
here,
wait a minute
what's going on
Hello
Hello
Hello
and not in a Seagoon voice
Spike spoke
( a Milligan joke )
Okay so it's nearly early but neither late
I am reading the tea leaves
resistant to fate
and I think I might wait
until the sun goes
down.
know that before the **** did crow
he was just another farmyard bird and yet his crowing's been heard for two thousand years.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
Religions fooled us,
we
used to go to the Sunday school
shoeless
clueless about Jesus
I thought
miracles were what mam made
We sang for our supper
at granny's,
got a cup of cold gravy,
the old lady was going
quite gaga
but
we loved her.
the evening would thrill again
with
Secombe and Milligan
and who
wouldn't I **** to go back
again?
not sure about that.
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC