Thursday, January 15, 2015

Book: It Never Rains by Roger McGough

This book of zany poetry by Roger McGough reminded me of the great Spike Milligan. Here some of my favourite scribblings:


Last verse of Ex Patria

Like tiny chauffeurs, the mosquitoes will soon arrive
and drive us home. O England, how I miss you.
Ascot, Henley, Wimbledon. It's the little things.


Away from You
Away from you
I feel a great emptiness
a gnawing loneliness

With you
I get that reassuring feeling
Of wanting to escape.


I join the queue
We move up slowly

'What are we queueing for?'
I ask the lady in front of me.
'To join another queue,' she explains.
'How pointless', I say, 'I'm leaving'
She point to another long queue
'Then you must get in line'

I join the queue
We move up slowly.


Uncle Jed
Uncle Jed, Durham bred,
raced pigeons for money.

He dies a poor man however,
as the pigeons were invariably
too quicky for him 


Hill of Beans
'Life ain't nuttin' but a hill o'beans.'
drawled Granma, and removing
her corncob pipe, spat a stream
if baccy juice into the empty firegrate
before settling back with a jug of bourbon
into her old rocking chair

To think, only this time last year
she was working for the Welsh Water Authority


I think about dying.
About disease, starvation,
violence, terrorism, war,
the end of the world

It helps keep my mind of things



Out of work
usually pissed.

He aimed
low in life



Where would we be without worry?
It helps keep the brain occupied.
Doing doesn't take your mind of things,
I've tried.

Worry is God's gift to the nervous.
Best kept if bottled inside.
I once knew a man who couldn't care less.
He died.

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