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Best Poems Written by David Mchattie

Below are the all-time best David Mchattie poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | David Mchattie Poem

The Old Bear

The Old grizzled Bear... was now keenly aware
as he lay in his Cave all alone.
Where his time as King... was a mere passing thing
and must choose another to take up the Throne.

He had eaten no food... which did not temper his mood
as the Bear's stomach was prone to rebel.
He was somewhat depressed... and in need of some rest
and was not feeling at all very well.

As was his long habit... he called in dear Rabbit
to tell of his anguish and pain.
The Old Bear said... 'No matter what you have read,
I have come to the end of my reign.'

'My time grows shorter...so we must gather the Reporters
and even though they show no respect.
We must promise the Press... a most rigorous test
to whomever I choose to select.'

The Press was informed... and the Forest was forewarned
for every species to send forth their best.
And the Old Bear fervently hoped... the Animals would cope
when he was finally laid to his rest.

The Forest had been blessed... and now felt quite distressed
as the Animals gave into their fear.
There would be great strife... should the Bear lose his life
and they all shed a great many tears.

Before the Old Bear... had taken them into his care,
there was widespread chaos and tension.
But the King had brought order... to defending their borders
and thus became worthy of praise and attention.

There was much discussion... on possible repercussions
and how long the recruitment would last.
But no one was in a hurry... to show they were worthy
and face a Press who would dig into their past.

Finally some showed nobility... and embracing humility
stepped up to put forward their names.
But the Reporters took to lying...as none were clearly aligned
with the views the Press had inflamed.

At the Rabbit's direction... they came for the selection
and the Animals gathered at Government Rock.
Where they saw all that were left... for the Bear to select
were a Skunk, a Pig and a Fox.

The Press thought it historic... and were plainly euphoric
on these three they had pushed from the start.
They had been kept safe from attack... from the Media Hacks
and would serve them well once the Bear would depart.

The Old Bear was frail... and knew he had failed
when he saw the three from whom he must choose.
He lowered his head... and was filling with dread
knowing it would be the Forest Animals who would lose.

As much as he dared... the Old Bear boisterously declared
he would select the one who was wisest and brave.
And only after passing a test... to see who is best
one would emerge as King from his cave.

The Pig, Skunk and Fox... quickly left Government Rock
entering the Cave with the Bear closely behind.
And once they were there... all were told to prepare
to each answer the question assigned.

The Bear turned to the Pig... who was dancing a jig
and moved with a big smile on his face.
The Bear quietly asked... 'What would be your first task
if chosen to serve in my Place?'

'I haven't a clue,' said the Pig. 'But the first thing I'd do
is get rid of those I considered a threat.
Then to quickly begin... by hiring only my Kin
and use the Forest's money to pay off my debts.'

The Bear now confronted the Skunk... who was clearly a Drunk
and was snickering as if telling a joke.
'I don't wish to seem rude...but could you ensure there was food
and not tax the Animals to the extent they go broke?'

The Skunk's answer was sparse... as he continued this farce.
'I can definitely ensure that none will be famished
because... if you're not my Supporter or a friendly Reporter
the chances are good you will just up and vanish.'

The Bear was getting disturbed... and feeling perturbed
and asked the Fox who was trying not to laugh.
'Can you follow our Code... where no freedoms erode
and choose only the wisest of Staff?'

With not an ounce of chagrin... all three wore the widest of grins
as the Fox spoke to challenge the Bear.
'No matter your choice... we will speak with one voice
and rule as Gods and take more than our share.'

'We will steal your thunder by engaging in plunder
to loot and pillage for us and our friends.
We will make it much rougher and the Forest will suffer
as everything will be ours in the end.'

'The rules are clear... so no matter your fear
we will win with whomever you choose.
So it's time we got started... just admit you've been outsmarted
and allow us to begin our great ruse.'

Outside of the Cave... the Animals remained brave
but were unsure on what could cause such a ruckus?
So their breath they were holding...as events were unfolding
and hoped their new King would do them all justice.

But they had nothing to fear... as the Old Bear appeared
and walked towards Government Rock.
He stood there a while... was now wearing a smile
while the Animals looked on in wonder and shock.

'I'm feeling less beaten... now that I've eaten
and not the least bit tired or nervous.
But as for those three... I think we can all agree
they have gone on to serve a much higher purpose.'

The Animals were excited... and almost all were delighted
except the Press who went completely berserk.
There was thunderous applause... from the clapping of paws
as the old Bear would continue his work.

Now some were amused... on how the Press was confused
on why the Animals would not give their support.
So the Press thought it imperative... to keep pushing their narrative
and obtain their agenda by stacking the Court.

The End

*Inspired by Aesop's fable 'The Lion, the Fox and the Beasts.'

*For those who might be interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's Your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.

Details | David Mchattie Poem

Whisper of Death

My life spirals ever downward...
The grave taunts me with its laugh.
Death's bony fingers are affixed my throat
As the jester of my unmerited epitaph.

My angst at my ever-flounder appears
Well-earned and justly placed
Where the rabid minions of an avenging God
Will no doubt make bold of my disgrace.

Have I lived too long a life so plain
Where my soul was too confined
And any realistic hope of eternal bliss
Seems mere folly at this time?

To live too long is an old Man's curse
And bound to evoke some industry
Where best intentions are set adrift...
To partake sweet ecstasy.

These stains that commemorate my Earthly Sins
Are laid denuded for all to see.
I drag them unceremoniously into an afterlife
That may not wish to bolster me.

But who among us hasn't stumbled
With Death's foot ajar the door
With temptations strewn like pearled oysters
On life's repugnant shores?

The righteous path is straight and narrow
And a vehicle for all those bold and brave
But only appeared crucial and strategic as
I stand with one foot in the grave.

How happier were those days gone by
When I was young and free from vice.
If I had only maintained such vernal guileless
To insure a place in paradise.

But I have come to this conclusion
As Death's whisper slakes my soul with dread.
Too much time has been my nemesis and any
Last minute burbling is better left unsaid.

So at this hour... this late late hour...
I now confront an awful truth.
I might have had a better chance at Heaven...
Had I perished in my youth.

                       The End

Ever-flounder: A bad situation of one's own making.

*I wrote this poem from the perspective of someone who fears their sins are 
  too heavy for God to bear.
*Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's Your uncle.

Details | David Mchattie Poem

The Night Santa Brought Us Weed

Twas the night before Christmas and all were in need
as we waited for Santa who had promised us Weed.
Our parents were sleeping with not a clue in their heads
that their children were Stoners and away from their beds.

The cheetos had been placed on the table with care
with an idea dear Santa soon would be there.
The winter was cold with no time for a snack
hoping Kris Kringle would come with fresh Pot from his sack.

I had been to the Bank and had obtained hordes of cash
with a fervent desire St. Nick would bring the best of his Stash.
We had our concerns for a reasonable fellow
who was honest and straight... no harshing our mellow.

The time had been set as I looked at the clock
knowing the waiting was tense and we needed our Pot.
And then from the porch a strange sound did we hear
but it was only friend Jim who had gone for some beer.

I stared out the window and peered through the snow
and we were greatly concerned whether Santa would show.
And then from the street... what did I observe?
A '72 ford Pinto... which was stuck on the curb.

The engine was smoking and the tires were flat
and with the windows quite frosted... I reached for my bat.
This didn't look good as I gave way to doubt.
Wondering who was the driver and who would come out?

And who should come forth? But Santa himself
who was all bearded and fat, a jolly old Elf.
He climbed to our rooftop... was nimble and quick
thus avoiding the doorbell... this fella was slick.

He was now in the chimney and this lightened our hearts
and we knew he was close when we heard the Elf fart.
And then in an instant the Big Guy appeared
but asking double the price for which we had feared.

We told him our troubles as he pondered our point,
he then lowered the price on every third Joint.
The payment was made and the dope was obtained
and up the chimney he rose unconcerned for the flame.

I'll remember that night... for it was a doozy
when Santa came through... and brought me a Doobie.
As he drove out of sight... I heard him calling my name...
Merry Christmas to all and goodnight Mary Jane.

The End

*For those who are interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.

Details | David Mchattie Poem

A Time For Heroes

The child stands valorous before the door
    With nary a tinge of fear or dread.
Armed with a spatula and a pancake flipper...
    She wears a stewing pot on her head.
Her hands are protected by leather gloves
    With her Father's boots to guard her feet.
Her swimming goggles are securely placed
    And beneath her shirt... a cookie sheet.

With a determined sigh she cracks the door
    And peers suspiciously through the night.
She momentarily thought the coming battle
    May be best done in the bask of morning light.
But time was short and with each passing hour...
    Others would surely die.
So she begins her journey to confront this beast
    Who has taken many lives.

She makes her way through the wretched gloom
    Giving thought to her parent's fears.
She had never seen them so full of doubt
    In all her seven years.
But the time had come to join the fight...
    To aid those who gave protection.
And she was well aware of its woeful lair
    Where she would fight this damn infection.

A nurse stands wavering from a vengeful night
    As another dozen deaths has left her cold.
But she then heard a voice so free of fear...
    It brought a peaceful solace to her soul.
'I wonder if you would be so kind
    To take this moment and give me some direction.
For I am stout and brave with pluck and daring
    And will help defeat this cursed infection.'

The nurse's eyes welled up at such a sight
    And a smile reached across her face.
As by her side now stood a child
    Who would defend the human race.
So remember this when all is lost
    And the best of us lose heart.
A unsung hero will rise to bring us hope
    And inspire us all to do our part.

                The End

Details | David Mchattie Poem

Ignorance Is Overrated

Some people take to Facebook
In an effort to create
A safe and pleasant habitat
Unfriending those who wish debate.
But still rile against a college chum
Who's not lost their winter weight.

We drone on about the weather
Far too often before we die.
Talking incessantly about our children
To those unfortunate to catch our eye.
But fail to address substantive issues
And I have to question why?

No religion, politics or talk of sex
To free us from our doubt.
Avoiding issues that may offend
Seems the safer route.
But spotting the neighbor wearing spandex
Deserves a rapid shout.

No fossil fuel or global warming talk
To change us from our course.
And any attempt to grow our minds
Is met with dogged force.
It's far better to speak of gardening tips
Which we heartily endorse.

We close our eyes and dim our ears
To the thornier things in life.
And may indeed find sweet sanctuary
From unwanted social strife.
But rest assured we'll have wasted much
In a desire to escape our neighbor's knife.

We avoid such talk and play it safe...
Our true essence hidden from the fray.
But I have to tell... my greatest fear
That haunts and tasks me to this day.
Is when we stand before the gates of Heaven...
We'll have nothing much to say.

                   The End

*Check out my cartoon on Webtoons Dave McHattie.

Details | David Mchattie Poem

The Poo Poo Bird

They pursued it with vigor, they pursued it with crass
They hunted with valor and hope
They proceeded with a dose of good Knightly sass
They chased it with tackle and rope

Now King Arthur declared in a boisterous voice
He was tired of the usual meats
And would now on demand a much wider choice
On what he desired to eat

'Bring me fresh meat,' the King so declared
'Or I will boil your bones for my broth.'
They all knew the tale... when a previous knight failed
And his life was forsaken and lost.

They brought the King frogs, giraffes, snake meat and ferrets
As well as meat from a bear, two bats, beaver and quail
Also baboons, moose, sharks and one lonely parrot
Who told a story about the flavor of snails.

'No!' The King cried in sovereign disgust
As his anger began to accrue
'If you value your lives and desire my trust
You will find me fresh meat for my stew.'

The Green Knight stepped forward to answer the call
And tell of a valley that was narrow and dark
Where a Creature existed who was prone to appall
As its manner was fearsome and stark

'The Poo Poo bird is the one who you need
As its flesh is both salty and sweet
If we are brave and you let us proceed
We will bring back the most chosen of meats.'

The Black and Green Knights were given the right
To participate in their King's meaty quest
They put away fear, they put away fright,
They were ready to take on the test.

'Off with you and be on your way,'
Said the King to the Knights of the round
In the morning they would journey for several days
To the dark valley where Poo Poos are found.

It was commonly known to those with some say..
These Knights were not the sharpest of wits.
This came to a head after a couple of days
When both horses just gave up and quit.

'I have to admit,' said the Black Knight in haste
'I have no knowledge that Poo Poos exist.
I know nothing of their height, weight or even their taste
And whether the King would find them hard to resist?'

'Be of good cheer,' the Green Knight replied
'I saw a Poo Poo when last on this trail
I barely escaped and I have to confide,
It ended my search for the Grail.'

'The Poo Poo is an odd looking bird
Quite worthy of poetic lament
But as to its mood, it's both frugal and shrewd
And would not lend you a farthing or cent.'

'It knows nothing of manners and fashion aside
And wears a hat that is far out of date.
The bird is especially bad at trying to decide
Whether to wear boots, sandals or skates.'

'The Poo Poo has a tendency to whistle at night...
Depriving others of much wanted sleep
And to make matters worse, it's often contrite
But in the day makes nary a peep.'

'Its political bent makes not a smidgen of sense
As its vote can never be bought.
This gives rise to an even greater offense...
A mentation of broad-minded thoughts.'

Now the days turned to night and back into day
As the Sun and the Moon took their usual turns.
While they followed the trail, slowly making their way...
Through the woods, the trees and the ferns.

They reached the valley with the light of the Moon
Where they would look for the Poo Poo that night.
Hoping the hunt would end fairly soon
Slaying a Poo Poo before dawns early light.

They lumbered about in a state of disgrace...
Making enough noise to wake a laburnum tree
They were blind as a bat but continued the chase...
Seeing neither a figget, flapper or flea.

They pursued it with vigor, they pursued it with crass.
They hunted with valor and hope.
They proceeded with a dose of good Knightly sass.
They chased it with tackle and rope.

The Sun rose in the East as it most often does
To warm the Knights who were spent from the grind.
A long night of hunting had yielded nothing because
The Poo Poo bird was one step behind.

The Poo Poo bird said, 'You look tired and lost.
Are you sure what you seek demands your attention?
It's been my experience to pay such a cost
Is too much work and defies social convention.'

'Stand fast,' the Green Knight said with conceit...
'We have come to make short work of your life.
Our King demands a prudent taste of your meat...
We will carve you up with clever and knife.'

'That's shockingly rude,' replied the bird as it should
'I am the only Poo Poo left of my breed
If a Knight is known to do nothing but good,
An extinction seems the most heinous of deeds.'

The Green and Black Knight lowered their heads
Knowing the Poo Poo had made a strong case
But disappointing the King now filled them with dread
As their necks would be stretched from their face.

'I have something,' spoke the Poo Poo to lighten the mood
'It is a delicacy and a most wondrous invention
Give this to your King... he will enjoy such a food
And you'll avoid any sovereign type tension.'

They returned to the castle with their lives to defend...
Presenting the King with what the Poo Poo had given.
Thinking the story would end with their glorious friends
All excited to see they were still living.

The King was upset and poured on the heat
As he let fly a most odious rant.
For the Knights had the gall to present a strange treat...
A burger made from an edible plant.

'What is this?' The King yelled in disgust
'Do you take me for some poor pastured cow?'
'Please give it a try,' said the Knights... ignoring his fuss
'It is a food worthy for one such as thou.'

Should you meet such a bird fresh from its lair...
Offering up plants thought to be beef.
Beware of the Poo Poo and the gifts it may bare...
But be not fooled... it tastes nothing like meat.

They pursued it with vigor... they pursued it with crass.
They had hunted with valor and hope.
They had proceeded with a dose of good Knightly sass...
But ended their lives at the end of a rope.


                           The End

Details | David Mchattie Poem

The Child

A child lights our way in life...
The greatest gift there is to be.
They suppress our selfish inclinations...
They set our passions free.

They give sense to our mortality.
They put narcissism in its place.
With a child... you're a family
To mark your time and space.

There's nothing more unsettling
Than those who die alone.
it's the instinct of every child
To make a house a home.

They often try our patience.
They find danger everywhere.
A filter for an anxious world
To make better our affairs

As your fading star dims evermore
And partakes a final breath. It's the
Child who keeps the dream alive...
Giving memory to our death.

               The End

      The Hummingbird

There's nothing like a hummingbird...
Though diminutive in size.
It makes bold of Nature's bounty...
It is wondrous to our eyes.

How does one so frail and small
Confront this world full of dread...
While we who have advantage...
Barely make it out of bed?

             The End

                 Misery

The ghosts of my transgressions
Haunt and task me to this day.
They desire to revel in my misery
And content to have their way.

They pursue me like a puppy...
Not ones to make a sound as
They bedevil my fractured spirit
With a weight that holds me down.

               The End

     No Stone Unturned

Leave no stone unturned...
Make bold of what's to come.
Find a road you wish to travel...
Here the call of distant drums.

Don't fret the destination...
The journey be the thing.
Open your mind to possibilities...
Take in the wonders it will bring.

With adventures to task the senses
And your curiosity to augment.
The path to true enlightenment
Lays on this path you now ferment.

Tell those you pass along the road
To not be idle in their ways...
But embrace the odyssey life provides
Before Death sends them to the grave.

                The End

                 Socks

Does hosiery have a Heaven?
Is there somewhere they can go?
Is the afterlife for socks a thing?
Does anybody know?
I have a chest of many drawers
Where my orphan socks abide.
Their mates have disappeared...
Finding somewhere new to hide.
For a time... I blamed myself...
Was it something that I said?
Was my nature too demanding?
Did I task them in their stead?
But on further examination...
And I know this to be true.
It is the hosiery themselves...
Who hold a different view.
Socks are keen and fleet of foot
To flee when chance presents.
They demand a solitary existence...
They will not share the rent.
They vanish not by twos... but one...
Which has led me to believe.
These socks face inner turmoil
Which has nothing to do with me.
I'm not privy to their troubles...
Why they do not get along.
But considering our example...
They are right where they belong.
They make up a house divided...
They would rather be alone.
With irreconcilable differences
To pervert both house and home.
I know nothing of their struggles
As I load another wash.
Knowing before they reach the 
Dryer... another sock is lost.

             The End

     No Urchins Running Wild

My friends... the alarm bell sounds...
You will hear no absent cheering.
Be aware... there are those who care
To flaunt social engineering.
The missions clear... the goals are set
To brainwash every child.
Telling them what to drink and what 
To think... no urchins running wild.

There are rules to control the schools...
They follow them to the letter.
No chips... no pop... no tater tots...
All banned to make them better.
They huddle as witches to a cauldron...
Casting forth their hellish net.
Children will receive no merit... if they don't '
'Parrot'... the narrative they have set.

Kids need their space... a few dark spots
To call their very own.
To make their mark... to find that spark
Before their dreams have flown.
Stop your meddling... forget your madness
Because I've got a hunch.
You will find... our greatest minds
Were raised on Cap'n Crunch.

                  The End

Details | David Mchattie Poem

Ethan the Cat

Ethan lies upon my lap
in sweet and tender slumber.
This happens all throughout the day,
who can count the number?

I think he's shrewd and his time well used,
more clever than a fox.
Though doubt creeps in, he looks less keen
sitting in a box.

Eating spiders and swatting flies
to his heart's content.
But chasing birds and trapping mice
are the main event.

When by the door he makes his roar
yearning to be free.
But moments later the clamor starts
as he's stuck upside a tree.

There might be string or a piece of thread,
any length of twine.
He goes fuzzball crazy and his eyes get large
now impossible to confine.

To calm him down I know a trick
to alter Ethan's mood.
I go to the kitchen, open up the fridge
and show him there's more food.

Then there's Christmas where he finds our stuff,
a special time of year.
He's shredding presents and chasing lights,
with tinsel hanging from his rear.

I scratch his belly and brush his hair
at times of his own choosing.
With little deference I know for sure
his fealty I am loosing.

There are times when things go well,
I find myself with pride.
But people say... cats are Nature's way
to take the other side.

He lets me know I might lack merit
so he's not afraid to tell.
The thoughts I treasure and my Human worth,
he's eager to dispel.

There are moments when I adore that cat
when he's giving me a break.
His eyes show love as I melt within
even when it's fake.

There are four scratching posts and toys aplenty
that fill up every space.
But no matter what the mortgage says...
I'm living in his place.

The End

*For those who might be interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.

Best Poems Written by David Mchattie

The Turnip and the Cabbage

To Hunt the Bugaboo

The Old Bear

Whisper of Death

The Night Santa Brought Us Weed

A Time For Heroes

Ignorance Is Overrated

The Poo Poo Bird

The Child

Ethan the Cat