to be read, brought from the MIND charity shop, Alveston

A small book of poams by Spike Milligan, some funny, some serious. Spike has poams about subjects from war to the dog lover, from death wish to Indian boyhood, his poams covers all areas ;

2B or not 2B

When I was small and five, I found a pencil sharpener alive!
He lay in lonely grasses, Looking for work.
I brought a pencil for him, He ate and ate until all that was
Left was a pile of wood dust. It was the happiest pencil sharpener
I ever had.


Christmas 1970

A little girl called Sile Javotte, said "look at the lovely presents I've got"
While a little girl in Biafra said, "Oh what a lovely slice of bread".

Two poams from this great little book,
Going to send it on a Bookring.

When you have read it name your favourite poam and why if you can in your write-up

My favourite poam was
Cristmas 1970 (above) it is simple but shows the value many put on Christmas, just in the material scense, when others are happy just to beable to eat.

RELEASE NOTES:
postal release
posting onto megi53 to start the bookring

Arrived this afternoon -- with a lovely surprise inside!

I have flipped through it and so far, my favorite poem is

Titikaka

Magic green lake
that fell from primeval skies
quenched a burning mountains thirst
and sent a fire king into
untimeable slumber.


On a plane over Mexico
Sept. 1968

I like poems that have a sense of place, so here is my other favorite:

I once - as a child

I once - as a child - saw Mahatma Ghandi
Walk past the Old Sappers Lines, Climo Road -
He was on his way to Yeroda Goal. 'He's not
As black as he's painted' said my kind Grandmother -
But I found out he was not painted -
It was his real colour.


In the Titikaka poem, it brings back happy memories of a place I've seen on my travels and also gives a hint that the fire king may return, which is an exciting idea.

In the Ghandi poem, I can't yet and may never figure out what the last two lines mean. Does Milligan think Ghandi was not a good influence on India? The man did not have black skin. What could it mean? An intriguing puzzle, and it reminded me that the author is indeed a native of Asia.

There were many drawings by the author and by a Laura Milligan. The drawing which opened and closed the book was the same: a lamp thinking, "I am afraid of the dark." I thought it was wonderful and photocopied it to use with my reading class next month.

By the way, cartref, I meant to thank you for the GRAPE surprise; not plum! That's what I get for trying to PM at work.

Mailing to olifant tomorrow morning.

Cartref, what a nice STRAWBERRY surprise, ta! And thanks Megi53 for sending this book, it has travelled a lot of miles.

The Future

The young boy stood looking up the road
to the future. In the distance both sides
appeared to converge together. ‘That
is due to perspective, when you reach
there the road is as wide as it is here’,
said an old wise man. The young
boy set off on the road, but,
as he went on, both sides of the
road converged until he could
go no further. He returned to ask
the old man what to do, but
the old man was dead.

Dublin, Jan. 1972

I like this poem because of the time (past, present, future) aspect.

Maybe cliché (he/she loves him/her so much, he/she has no words for it), but I also like the poem Lovesong: love makes you warm and comfortable and you can lose yourself in someone. At the same time ‘burning’ and ‘drowning’ can be dangerous. You are very vulnerable. I also like the elements fire and water, the setting alight and the extinguishing.

Love Song

If I could write words
Like leaves on an Autumn Forest floor
What a bonfire my letters would make.
If I could speak words of water
You would drown when I said
‘I love you’

I found this book in my mailbox today together with a little lemon surprise. Thank you very much cartref! And thanks to Olifant for sending it to me.

The Soldiers at Lauro

Young are the dead
Like babies they lie
The wombs they blest once
Not healed dry
And yet - too soon
Into each space
A cold earth falls
On colder face.
Quite still they lie
These fresh reeds
Clutched in earth
Like winter seeds
But these will not bloom
When called by spring
To burst with leaf
And blossoming
They will sleep on
In silent dust
As crosses rot
And memories rust.


I like this poem because it shows the utter uselessness of war and the waste of young lives.


Hope

Just when I had made my today
Secure with safe yesterdays
I see tomorrow coming with its pale
glass star called hope.
It shatters on impact
And falls like splinters of cruel rain
And I see the red oil of life
running from my wrists
onto tomorrow's headlines.

I like this poem very much too, because of the images it conjures up. Nothing in life is ever certain. Just when you think things are running smoothly, there is another disaster just around the corner.

the book came in the post this morning, thank you to cartref and suzy26.

Spike has returned home, to complete my 1st bookring. Thanks all whom took part and hoped you enjoyed the book. Spike is going to have a rest before he travells again. :)