Bartholemew - Poem by James Matthews
John Eric Morcambe died
and with him 29.8 million
of the nation, as was the ratings
that Christmas special
he was special, ratings don't lie
Heart attacks and heart bypasses
he was the epitome of success
and none of it grudged, not like today.
The nation still mourns because his
Christmas shows are still shown.
Good show, good Christmas
Bad show, bad Christmas
that's how the festive season was judged
that is a lot of pressure.
I suppose heart attacks were inevitable
there weren't many bad shows
he tried fly fishing to relax
too little too late, he was a performer
and fish don't clap.
I feel for the family, having to share,
I don't know what that could be like.
I couldn't do it, I couldn't begin to understand.
May 1984, I was Eleven.
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James Matthews's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You