Thursday, 28 February 2013

Unto Us...

I am grateful to a comment left by someone signing in as 'Uncomfortably Glum' for recommending this and other poems, which I had not previously known.  His or her comment (here) is worth reading for other reasons, too.

I will post the other poems over the next day or two.

Unto Us...

Somewhere at some time
They committed themselves to me
And so, I was!
Small, but I WAS!
Tiny, in shape
Lusting to live
I hung in my pulsing cave.

Soon they knew of me
My mother --my father.
I had no say in my being
I lived on trust
And love
Tho' I couldn't think
Each part of me was saying
A silent 'Wait for me
I will bring you love!'

I was taken
Blind, naked, defenseless
By the hand of one
Whose good name
Was graven on a brass plate
in Wimpole Street,
and dropped on the sterile floor
of a foot operated plastic waste
bucket.
There was no Queens Counsel
To take my brief.

The cot I might have warmed
Stood in Harrod's shop window.
When my passing was told
My father smiled.
No grief filled my empty space.
My death was celebrated
With tickets to see Danny la Rue
Who was pretending to be a woman
Like my mother was. 

Spike Milligan

3 comments:

Eccles said...

It's unbearably sad.

Richard Collins said...

That hits home hard. Maybe the 40 Days organisers might like to consider handing out leaflets carrying some of these haunting poems.

umblepie said...

Incredibly moving!