SMILE – Spike Milligan

[  # 100 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

 

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This is a wonderfully positive poem, with a delightful premise, wittily expressed by that master of humour, SPIKE  MILLIGAN

SMILE

 

Smiling is infectious
You catch it like the flu

When someone smiled at me today
I started smiling too

I walked around the corner
And someone saw me grin

When he smiled I realised
I had passed it on to him

I thought about the smile
And then realised its worth

A single smile like mine
Could travel round the earth

So if you feel a smile begin
Don’t leave it undetected

Start an epidemic
And get the world infected.

 

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Ralph Roister Doister

 

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Ralph Roister Doister was a bit of a wenching lad
Lived in Tudor London with his dear old dad
Braggart soldier, doomed to fail, upstart braggart and a cad.

His story, our first comedy,
Nick Udall gave it birth;
Joyfully pleasing London folk
With merry quips and mirth.

Mumblecrust and Talkapace
Featured in this play
Raucous, Fun and fluffy –
‘Twas the sixteenth century way.

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See the Wikipedia entry for more on  Ralph Roister Doister 

Ralph Roister Doister is a sixteenth-century play by Nicholas Udall, which was once regarded as the first comedy to be written in the English language.

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What’s In A Name? . . . 3 Limericks

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THREE LIMERICKS

Aloysius Archibald Ash

Was considered exceedingly brash

When he said to his mater

You’re getting like pater

I especially like your moustache.

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Mister Horatio Hess

Lived his whole life under stress

When he tried to slow down

His continuous frown

Meant his face was a permanent mess

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Mister Hieronymus Bosch

Never thought he’d be posh

But his depiction of Hell

Went down very well

And it earned him a great deal of dosh

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Le Mot Juste

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LE MOT JUSTE

As I sit with pen in hand
Considering what my muse demands,

Oft an idea comes to mind;
So many thoughts are inter-twined.

First a ruling I must make,
What form shall my poem take?

Rondeau, ode, or Villanelle,
Sonnet, haiku, kyrielle?

I’m excited, I am ready,
I’m inspired, feeling heady.

Ah, when the mot juste does occur,
How joyously my line will purr.

But then my thoughts will always turn
To all those words which I shall spurn.

Those rhymes which never quite will fit,
And where those phrases should be split

Have I spelt that word correctly?
I must check it out directly.

Then the punctuation too;
Comma or colon?  Wish I knew.

Capitals to start each line?
Will they add to my design?

Perhaps it’ll prove less nondescript
If I centre all the script.

Can I improve the way it flows?
Better check that I suppose.

Then, of course, must choose a title,
That indeed will be most vital.

Decisions made, about to publish.
Please don’t tell me it’s all RUBBISH.

 

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The Imbroglio

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The  IMBROGLIO

 

I’m embroiled in an imbroglio –
Meshed in fuss and stress;
I didn’t see it coming up,
Careless I confess.

I told her not to speak her mind,
Not to tell the tale;
But NO, she had to spill the beans
Our secret to unveil.

Such honesty’s not always wise,
It often leads to pain.
I doubt she’ll ever think of me
Desirously again.

For, admitting to our liaison then,
Over a glass of wine,
Brought calumny upon her head,
And a beating up on mine.

 

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Ed-ingo #2

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Statue of ‘Edward The Peacemaker’ … Tiverton, Devon, England

 

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The Royal Head held proudly high
Atop his sculpted pose;
Reminder of the man of peace
Slumbering on in sweet repose.

But now atop that regal head,
Displayed in pinkest glory,
A wayward bird has just alighted
And I am here to tell the story.

It started as a student prank,
Designed to seek attention
For term end rag week escapades,
Somewhat beyond my comprehension.

How to equate a royal crown
With a vivid pink flamingo,
Defeats my sense of decency,
I cannot grasp such student lingo.

Above the River Lowman here
It cries out to the town,
‘Just look at me, now can’t you see
My new pneumatic crown?’

Perhaps this king who loved a joke,
Despite this loss of pride,
Would now say to the passers by,
“Do not those larkish students chide,

For I was once a student too,
I laughed and loved a joke,
So I’ll be pleased if my new crown
Diverts the canny local folk.”

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Note:   This is a follow-up poem to ‘Ed-ingo #1’ published a few days ago . . . see:  ‘Ed-ingo #1’


 

Edward VII (1841 – 1910) was the great grandfather of our present Queen, Elizabeth II. There are a number of statues of Edward VII around the British isles and Commonwealth Realms. This particular one can be found on a bridge over the River Lowman in Tiverton, East Devon.  Edward was married to Alexandra of Denmark, but had many mistresses.  He was acknowledged as ‘The Peacemaker’ for the considerable efforts he made to maintain world stability at a time when War seemed to be looming.  The peace he had worked so hard to keep was eventually broken with the declaration of the First World War (1914-1918).

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The WISE, The NOT-WISE, and The REST

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The WISE, the NOT-WISE, and The REST

For a life spent in teaching and schools
Dealing with both genius and fools, 
Then without malediction
I can say with conviction,
I never had quite the right tools.

For it took me a long time to find
And the difference was hard to define:
The wise oft were demented, 
The dull – vague but contented, 
And both could be quite asinine.

Whilst the average student was fine, 
‘Twas these others who took up my time. 
The norms kept me sane, 
While the rest were a pain, 
But have given me cause for this rhyme. 

 

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‘A Silly Poem’ . . . Spike Milligan

[  # 94 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

 

‘A Silly Poem’ . . . Spike Milligan

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Spike Milligan … 1918 – 2002

Said Hamlet to Ophelia,

I’ll draw a sketch of thee,

What kind of pencil shall I use?

2B or not 2B? 

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. . .   GENIUS POET – TRULY SILLY POEM !!!bar-yellow N.B.  2B is an indicator used in the primary UK graphite grading scale to measure the hardness of a pencil’s graphite core.bar-yellow

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PC or Not-PC?

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“To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them.”

From Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ – Act III, Scene I..

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Thoughts on Seeing, Fleeing and Being Politically Correct

( Pace tua Wm. Shakespeare ) 

 

To see, or not to see: that is the question : Whether’ tis wiser to look it full in the face, or, to turn that blind eye, which is the kiss of ineptitude, and by ignoring, forget them.

To flee, or not to flee: that is the question : Whether’ tis safer to meet with danger face to face, or, to turn and run, and by escaping, live to flee another day.

PC or non-Pc: that is the question: Whether ’tis better in the end to put up with the hawks and sparrows of mind distortion, or to take umbrage against such hubble-bubble, and by exposing suspend them. 

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FIRKYTOODLING

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FIRKYTOODLING

When I was young and foolish, she was winsome, sweet and cute,
I was given to firkytoodling, a pleasurable pursuit,
Practised by young lovers with a semblance of finesse,
Yet fraught with muffed advances and frustration I confess.

The way matters proceeded was with hesitations fed,
With never a suggestion of retiring to a bed.
No, circumspection ruled and held us all within its thrall,
For fear of finding that we didn’t have the wherewithal.

Not quite understanding as to where it all might lead,
And a minimal perception of what it meant to breed.
Plus a fear of breaking all those long instilled taboos,
Which governed all the protocol on cuddling, smooch and schmooze.

I tried to reason with myself, to tell myself to try,
Just let my wandering hands explore and not to be so shy
For she had let me get this far, an arm around her neck,
So surely now she’d let me have more than just a peck.

So I attempted in the dark, a first-time “Do I dare? “
A fumble here, a fiddle there, the lightest touch in hope elsewhere,
Investigating bra straps and those buttons on her blouse,
Fumbling fingers trying hard her passion to arouse.

Then fatally, I hesitated, faltered, flinched and dithered,
I’d lost my will, my heart stood still, all resolution withered.
I’d been turned on, fluffed chance now gone, and fate got in the way;
The moment passed, and soon I knew, today was not my day.

 

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[  Firkytoodling: a Victorian term for canoodling, or being amorous.  ]

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