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| Roger McGough Poems |
Soil Poem by Roger McGough
Soil
we've ignored each other for a long time
and I'm strictly an indoor man
anytime to call would be the wrong time
I'll avoid you as long as I can
When I was a boy we were good friends
I made pies out of you when you were wet
And in childhood's remembered summer weather
We rough and tumbled together
We were very close
just you and me and the sun
the world is a place for having fun
always so much to be done
But gradually I grew away from you
Of course, you were still there
During my earliest sexcapades
When I roughandfumbled
Not very well after bedtime
But suddenly it was winter
And you seemed so cold and dirty
That I stayed indoors and acquired
A taste for girls and clean clothes
we found less and less to say
you were jealous so one day
I simply upped and moved away
I still called to see you on occasions
But we had little now in common
And my visits grew less frequent
Until finally
One cold bright April morning
A handful of you drummed
On my father's waxwork coffin
at last, it all made sense
there was no need for pretence
you said nothing in defence
And now recently
While travelling from town to town
Past where you live
I have become increasingly aware
Of you watching me out there.
Patient and unforgiving
Toying with the trees.
we've avoided each other for a long time
and I'm strictly a city man
anytime to call would be the wrong time
I'll avoid you as long as I can.
The Sound Collector Poem by Roger McGough
The Sound Collector
A stranger called this morning
Dressed all in black and grey
Put every sound into a bag
And carried them away
The whistling of the kettle
The turning of the lock
The purring of the kitten
The ticking of the clock
The popping of the toaster
The crunching of the flakes
When you spread the marmalade
The scraping noise it makes
The hissing of the frying pan
The ticking of the grill
The bubbling of the bathtub
As it starts to fill
The drumming of the raindrops
On the windowpane
When you do the washing-up
The gurgle of the drain
The crying of the baby
The squeaking of the chair
The swishing of the curtain
The creaking of the stair
A stranger called this morning
He didn't leave his name
Left us only silence
Life will never be the same
Roger McGough
