Category: poems

Millagain …

When I saw the Daily Prompt word was Spike, how could I resist another tribute to the comic genius who kept us UK kids rolling around on the floor in the 1950s? Humour is notoriously hard to explain, so I’ll settle for affection … perhaps you’ll get a warm feeling from these acrostics.

For my earlier tribute to Spike Milligan, click https://davekingsbury.wordpress.com/2015/11/10/spike-in-audience-ratings/?frame-nonce=6d17e5a226

S illy Verse For Kids – we felt the
P ain of laughing till we cried but never had an
I nkling that you wrote the book to
K eep your own kids grinning, in agonised
E xpectation that divorce might tear them from you.

S ometimes the solemn
P retence of adult life
I s given a good
K icking when one of them breaks ranks and starts to
E ntertain his inner child.

S ad little Bluebottle,
P ipsqueak
I n
K neebritches, angry with
E ccles!

 

Image result for Spike Milligan

 

Image: ABC

New Lamps For Old!

A curiously mirthless response to the Daily Prompt Chuckle:

C ompare these shrinking horizons to that wide world where all were
H eroes once upon a dream. Remember how we
U sed to imagine ourselves somehow worth
C elebrating in stirring sagas to be
K ept for perpetuity in many-storied
L ibraries, those grand repositories of glorious
E xample? Hush … don’t snigger!

 

Joyeux Sans Frontieres

I’ll end my week of acrostic poems with this plaintive plea for a pleasant world where you can wander wherever you like with no need of a Passport.

P ersons unlucky enough to be born in
A failed state will continue to be viewed with
S uspicion bordering on contempt until
S uch time as more successful
P owers are mature enough to stop
O perating proxy wars and start enforcing the
R ule of international morality.
T ime heals. Customs posts become viewing hides in nature reserves.

 

Image result for nature reserve hide

 

Image: Attenborough Nature Centre

Unlucky Charms

Perhaps we would do better to take collective responsibility for unfolding events rather than blaming them on the mysterious machinations of Fortune.

F uture days are nothing but fleeting dreams
O f yesterday’s hazy
R ecollections glimpsed in the distorting mirror of
T oday – krazy kangaroo kaleidoscopes!
U nderstandable, then, if we prefer to imagine
N ow held captive by Tomorrow and conceive that
E verything rides on the blind throw of loaded dice.

 

Image result for distorting mirrors

 

Image: John Goto

Gangsta Wrap

You can’t rewrite history. It comes with the Territory, as I hope this acrostic poem shows:

T erra Nullius – a land without inhabitants – or so Old
E ngland branded you, Australia, with scant
R egard to sixty thousand years of thankful stewardship
R egretfully surrendered by your first people
I n the teeth of an offer
T hey couldn’t refuse. No thanks, of course, for passing
O n your Eden – a beauty undimmed, virgo intacta, as
R adiant as the day they set foot upon your sands! So what, some say? I guess
Y ou had to be there …

Image result for terra nullius

 

Image: Mabo