Spike Milligan

He played in Bexhill by the sea,

Blew his trumpet for you and me,

Later atop Gally Hill,

In Bexhill by the sea,

He watched the explosions across the sea,

His call-up came,

Off he went, on a train,

Fear, fighting, crying, laughing,

A manic genius made it home,

He had a way with words,

His part in their downfall,

A poet slept under his pen,

A letter writer for all things good,

He asked them to save the tree,

He told them to fuck off with a please in his eye,

In Winchelsea church there stands a stone,

Six feet under he rests his head,

Just along the coast from Bexhill by the Sea,

He did so much for you and me,

Thank you Spike.




Poetry by Mick Bean
Read 35 times
Written on 2020-05-22 at 15:18

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shells
Thanks for the memories, that infectious humour and his poetry always make me smile and believe it or not I have his shed in my garden!
2020-05-23


jim The PoetBay support member heart!
I love it, thank you.
2020-05-23


Christopher Fernie
Dear Mick,

And thank you for this review of Spike's genius. I wonder what he would have said about the current crisis? Perhaps, 'COVID-19, isn't that a prisoner of war camp run not by Germany, but by many germs?'

Again, thanks for the happy memories.

Chris
2020-05-22