Poem of the Week 113

The Sound Collector

Roger McGough

 

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 window-pane

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.

 

 

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Poem of the Week 98

The Leader

Roger McGough

 

I wanna be the leader
I wanna be the leader
Can I be the leader?
Can I? I can?
Promise? Promise?
Yippee I’m the leader
I’m the leader

OK what shall we do?

Poem of the Week 90

A Good Poem

Roger McGough

 

I like a good poem,

one with lots of fighting

in it. Blood, and the

clanging of armour. Poems

 

against Scotland are good,

and poems that defeat

the French with crossbows.

I don’t like poems that

 

aren’t about anything.

Sonnets are wet and

a waste of time.

Also poems that don’t

 

know how to rhyme.

If I was a poem

I’d play football and

get picked for England.