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Best Famous Roger Mcgough Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Roger Mcgough poems. This is a select list of the best famous Roger Mcgough poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Roger Mcgough poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Roger McGough poems.

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by Roger McGough |

The Leader

 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?


by Roger McGough |

The Identification

 So you think its Stephen?
Then I'd best make sure
Be on the safe side as it were.
Ah, theres been a mistake.
The hair you see, its black, now Stephens fair .
.
.
Whats that? The explosion? Of course, burnt black.
Silly of me.
I should have known.
Then lets get on.
The face, is that the face mask? that mask of charred wood blistered scarred could that have been a child's face? The sweater, where intact, looks in fact all too familiar.
But one must be sure.
The scoutbelt.
Yes thats his.
I recognise the studs he hammered in not a week ago.
At the age when boys get clothes-conscious now you know.
Its almost certainly Stephen.
But one must be sure.
Remove all trace of doubt.
Pull out every splinter of hope.
Pockets.
Empty the pockets.
Handkerchief? Could be any schoolboy's.
Dirty enough.
Cigarettes? Oh this can't be Stephen.
I dont allow him to smoke you see.
He wouldn't disobey me.
Not his father.
But that's his penknife.
Thats his alright.
And thats his key on the keyring Gran gave him just the other night.
Then this must be him.
I think I know what happened .
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
about the cigarettes No doubt he was minding them for one of the older boys.
Yes thats it.
Thats him.
Thats our Stephen.


by Roger McGough |

You and I

 I explain quietly.
You hear me shouting.
You try a new tack.
I feel old wounds reopen.
You see both sides.
I see your blinkers.
I am placatory.
You sense a new selfishness.
I am a dove.
You recognize the hawk.
You offer an olive branch.
I feel the thorns.
You bleed.
I see crocodile tears.
I withdraw.
You reel from the impact.


by Roger McGough |

Mrs Moon

 Mrs Moon
sitting up in the sky
little old lady
rock-a-bye
with a ball of fading light
and silvery needles
knitting the night


by Roger McGough |

Let Me Die a Youngmans Death

 Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death

When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party

Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides

Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one

Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death


by Roger McGough |

Kinetic poem no.2

 with love
give me your hand
some stranger
is fiction than truth

without love
I'm justa has
been away
too long in the tooth.


by Roger McGough |

Goodbat Nightman

 God bless all policemen
and fighters of crime,
May thieves go to jail
for a very long time.
They've had a hard day helping clean up the town, Now they hang from the mantelpiece both upside down.
A glass of warm blood and then straight up the stairs, Batman and Robin are saying their prayers.
* * * They've locked all the doors and they've put out the bat, Put on their batjamas (They like doing that) They've filled their batwater-bottles made their batbeds, With two springy battresses for sleepy batheads.
They're closing red eyes and they're counting black sheep, Batman and Robin are falling asleep.


by Roger McGough |

First Day at School

 A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go.
(To go where?) Why are they all so big, other children? So noisy? So much at home they Must have been born in uniform Lived all their lives in playgrounds Spent the years inventing games That don't let me in.
Games That are rough, that swallow you up.
And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters? Things that carry off and eat children? Things you don't take sweets from? Perhaps they're to stop us getting out Running away from the lessins.
Lessin.
What does a lessin look like? Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass.
Imagine.
I wish I could remember my name Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies.
When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies.
I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher.
The one who makes the tea.


by Roger McGough |

Cake

 i wanted one life
you wanted another
we couldn't have our cake
so we ate eachother.


by Roger McGough |

Beguiling

 She is so beguiling 
That when she beckons
I can run a mile
In twenty seconds.