Best Happy As A Clam Poems
That mammogram! That mammogram!
I do not like that mammogram!
Would you like it on a couch?
I think that I would still say ouch!
Would you like it with champagne?
I think that I would still complain.
I do not like that mammogram.
I’d rather eat green eggs and ham.
Would you like it with no squeeze?
I think I’d still be ill at ease.
Would you like it fully dressed?
That I think would be the best.
That mammogram! That mammogram!
I do not like that mammogram!
What, then, would you most prefer?
Maybe others would concur.
If I could have a cute masseuse
Who sounded just like Dr. Seuss,
Perhaps that yearly mammogram
Would not be such a cruel exam.
Then I would like it on a couch
And wouldn’t act like such a grouch;
And I would like it with champagne,
Ignoring that annoying pain.
I would enjoy my mammogram.
I’d be as happy as a clam;
But ‘til that time, I will protest
Each time that tech does squish my breast!
A Fond Farewell
By
M P Walsh
I text her every day at Ten, just to say good day,
Ask how’s it going, Nana, is everything okay?
Did you sleep the sleep of slumber, or stay awake ‘til 10,
And by the way the real good news, the Red Sox won again!
She answers back and I could see the tiredness in her text,
I woke again, she tells me, for that same old 5 AM.
I offer her a fix to keep her sleeping through the night,
But she writes it just won’t work for me: “I’ve already tried it twice.”
I send her back a ha, ha text to let her know I care,
She then sends me a big red face (I guess I wasn’t fair).
She asks me if my walk went well and did I wave at cars,
I answer her with big bright eyes, emoji eyes not mine.
My Nana Jo, a precious jewel, whose friendship means a lot,
We seem to get along most times but scold me when I’m not.
She is one of my darling Angels number one to be exact,
The other two are there for me but Nana tops the lot.
All three Angels are my friends we share some precious dates,
Like birthdays and of Christmas time with dinners to celebrate.
We laugh and joke and smile a bunch and try to stay at ease,
We’re happy as a clam and snug, my three Angels and me!
Of course I’m getting older just not ready to leave the Girls,
They’re also over 50 but they just don’t look their age.
I celebrate my life and pray that I will go with ease.
Because after all is said and done, it’s where I want to be.
And when it rains look at the sky to Heaven and beyond,
Because the rain that wets your face is just a gift of mine.
And when the rain lets up and a Rainbow comes along,
Just sneak under the Rainbow, pause, and hear me sing my songs.
I'm fresh as a daisy
and happy as a clam
refreshed and replenished
Enthused is what I am!
It helps I'm off work now
I'm not watching the news
No murders or mayhem
To bring me the blues
Sublimely oblivious
Spells "happy" to the letter
As far as information
Sometimes less is better!
The Possum of Possibilities was invited by Grandpa Troll to visit our brood,
The Possum heard Carol had a dry spell and a terrible writer’s block, so true.
With the troll’s adventures, penguin’s antics, and witches brew...
With Dragon’s mayhem in town, something had to be done, they knew.
Grandpa Troll brought Possum over, for Carol to peruse,
He looked her up, down, and sideways to everyone’s amuse,
Her mind’s wheels were not lined up right, he announced.
You have activity all about you, that's very pronounced.
It is all swirling around and not latching to the cogs.
Ideas and stories are coming in fast and plenty, but…
There are so many and they are acting like a stream of logs,
Her brain is overloaded and getting a little bit clogged.
Possum instructed Grandpa Troll on the best course of action,
But Dragon was nearby and overheard the conversation.
Our fiery friend was planning on how to clear the brain jam,
Then ski-daddle and go on the lam.
Like so many plans before, he knew Carol’s brain was crammed,
And his ideas always ended up like some explosive spam.
Grandpa Troll saw that look in Dragon’s eyes and knew there was a plot,
And said to Possum; “We'll need your help again, before we’re in a spot.”
Over to Dragon Possum went, then a once over, right, left, and top to bottom,
Grandpa Troll reached into a dusty drawer that hadn’t seen light since Suttom.
Out he pulled two pens, one larger than the other, filled with magic ink.
An incantation filled the air – “E pluribus divideous writeous inlink.”
(Basically saying; what stories were divided are now joined by two writers.)
Possum handed one to Carol and the larger one to Dragon.
“With the magic pens, you both will be able to see the stories about you.”
For Carol, he pointed out; now the cogs won't get dinked, as ideas get linked,
And Dragon, a source of the jams, once written down, became happy as a clam.
Both help each other, now, as Grandpa Troll had hoped with all the activities.
And with a little help from an old friend, called the Possum of Possibilities.
A writer’s block that was going on with his dear...
Is a tale that Hubby has now told, and made so clear.
And now another peaceful evening… was suddenly shot all to Heck...
Until Next time…. As Dragon and Carol are now racing all about!
Michael Eastman & Carol Written 7-21-2015
What's all this about, why are we here
Time's much too short till we all disappear
We're having so much fun
Many challenges to be won
We're happy as clams, year after year
© Jack Ellison 2015
It was Friday night in small town, USA. The convenience store clerk was outside in the parking lot, arguing with her boyfriend. Instant recognition, one person is both clingy and aggressive, perhaps slightly inebriated, and jealous or insecure or having some sort of emotional semi-crisis. The other one has responsibilities and places to be, yet still wants to calm the first person down easy, get free for the moment while not burning the bridge just yet. I felt like telling her to drop that loser, but who knows?
Inside the store, three people are talking in a back corner, laughing and leaning against a freezer and the store walls. The now-returned clerk greets the first person in the check-out line, a grizzled older man, wizened, almost, leathery skin over an impression of inner strength still, despite many hard years gone past. An 18-pack of beer and a carton of cigarettes and he's out the door, happy as a clam. Next is an urgent young woman, who just asks, "Where's your restroom?" The clerk points to the back corner where the three people are laughing up a storm. Off the young woman goes, with all possible speed.
Then, a kicking and a pounding, doorknob rattling. "Hey, hey - there's somebody in there!" The three people are trying to set the young woman straight, but she's on a mission, and kicks the door again. From inside the room, another young woman's voice, not too pleased from the sound of it. She appears in a minute or so. Must be a party somewhere nearby - she's got plastic devil horns and a cat face painted on. With Miss Urgency, she exchanges epithets and imprecations, and then she too is out the door.
There is no bar in this town.
Said My distraught Mind, sexual pleasure has now left me blank
My Life,
my virginity,
my honor,
my desires
and your wants.
Traumatic these moments
as I stall to deliberate.
Whiles you’re in a scurry to violate my treasured possession.
Flustering fear banging my heart,
my eyes,
my every muscle.
My discipline
keeping me in constant hesitation.
Yet,
I silently concede my most protected tenure
in the name of love.
With tears that you didn’t seem to notice,
as 10 tons of rushing hormones crashing down on me,
violating my every being,
I struggle to exhale in fright.
Now,
I - a victim of my own weakness.
You,
a smirk spreads across your face
your teeth clenched in ecstasy.
whiles my mind devoured me.
Leaves me in disarray.
My eyes gazing in confusion,
my nostrils smelling the foul air of rotten disgusting semen.
In these said moments,
musty sweat rolls off your wild ecstatic pleasured self,
drips on me,
makes me want to puke.
Wait!
You call this what?
Lovemaking?
Hell no!
This is a sick stomach erupting plague.
Could I hate myself more?
Nope!
His grin made me feel so used
cheap and empty.
Devastated
by self guilt
with every wink of my eyes,
but I cannot hide from myself.
He – nowhere to be found.
His life is happy as a clam.
He deflowered me
and feels nothing but conceited pleasure.
Now I wait the gossips to scar me for life,
sneers that will only adding to my suffering.
Should you be reading this –
don’t let hormones steal your life.
Emphatically!
© Al Juman The "said" Poet 1/7/2019
Swimming happily
in the aqua green ocean
Looking peaceful
and relaxed
Blissful as can be
Magical mammals
Beautiful looking
And spectacular
As long as dolphins
are around
I'll be happy as a clam
Toes are dug into the sand,the sun chases the clouds away.
Traveling along the sugared shore I search for treasures of the sea.
Scalloped edges or smooth as silk I hunt for them the live-long day.
Determined to find what I can for these are just like jewels to me.
Shiny shards of old sea glass or many hued and lovely shells.
Colors of magnificence or pewtered layers in the sands.
I cherish every prize I find that's washed up in the sudden swells.
These treasures are useful to me for things I create with my hands.
The sun blazes and paints my skin as I continue on my quest.
I'll take a dip into the sea to cool down and rejuvenate.
Filtering sand through my fingers I look for and only keep the best.
My bucket's full, I'm happy as a clam now as the day grows late.
This day has been a wondrous journey that I wish would never end.
I love the sea and all it holds for mankind to experience.
Taking my jewels with me now I walk the shoreline 'round the bend.
My heart is filled with gladness and a feeling of peace so immense!
for contest "Write me a summer day"
written June 9th,2013
I really would like to thank you
for taking me out in your car,
I can’t remember the last time
that I got away this far.
And even though I’m not the driver
it’s good to see the town,
No need to hurry back again
let’s have a look around.
Traffic isn’t any more polite
they still insist on blowing their horn.
What the heck is that in front of us?
That car is giant a box of corn.
I really do love popped corn
And at movies I would eat a lot.
But the size of that box of corn
fills up a parking spot.
And there’s a mother and her kids
driving Jell-O pudding packs.
Is this the way to get somewhere,
do people drive around in snacks?
There’s a hippie in his carrot
and I guess I should have known,
His bumper sports a sticker,
“My car was organically grown.”
You should consider getting yourself
a sporty new bag of chips,
Then spend your time driving around
looking for roads with dips.
As for me I know just what I’d drive
and I’d be as happy as a clam,
Because I’d drive a loaf of bread
and go looking for a traffic jam.
Walking with a purpose—
Smiling as I step—
With my feet above the surface,
I dance gracefully with no prep.
Innocent and young I am—
With so much future ahead—
I am as happy as a clam,
And positivity is all I spread.
So as beautiful as I dance—
And my tiny voice so calm—
With every chance I will advance,
Nothing is possible without my mom.
Cup of Joe
Cut to the chase
Between a rock
And a hard place
Back to square one
Piece of cake
Dime a dozen
Truth is stranger than fiction
Cold turkey
Down and out
Down for the count
Down to Earth
Drawing a blank
Easy as pie
Eat my hat
Go for broke
Truth is stranger than fiction
Hands down
Happy as a clam
Hard pill to swallow
High and dry
Head over heels
Toe to toe
Truth is stranger than fiction.
As I remember my quondam days,
I contemplate, I ruminate,
The musings of the bygone time,
Cleaves my heart apart,
With a sharp twinge.
I was tenderfoot, budding,
blossoming.
A bit naive, obtuse,
Savored euphoria in everything.
Being born under a lucky star,
In the cornucopia of,
Love, happiness, and blissfulness,
Was incomprehensible of the,
Forthcoming quagmire.
It came all of a sudden.
Like a bolt from the blue.
Snatched everything from me,
Ripped apart all the bonds,
Left me wreaked, shattered, dismay, lonely.
Those memories haunts me,
Like terrible phantasm.
Fancy to be over the moon,
Yearn to be as happy as a clam,
But how could I?
My Seventh Heaven,
Got burried under jinx.
Date of submission: 19/03/2021
When I was old enough, my mom
Would send me to the store,
Specifically, the bakery,
For treats I did adore.
But first, I had to ask them for
A rye bread they would slice,
With seeds, of course, or else
A pumpernickel would suffice.
And then some Linzer tarts for her,
Those filled with berry jam;
Then finally, the cakes
That made me happy as a clam.
Their name was Charlotte Russe,
A sponge cake in a cardboard sleeve,
With whipped cream and a cherry –
Just too perfect to believe!
They put them in a cardboard box
For me and my two bros
And tied it with a red-striped string,
As all of Brooklyn knows.
Today I wouldn’t like them –
Linzer tarts have more appeal –
But with a Charlotte Russe, back then,
How happy I would feel!
What's all this about, why are we here
Time's much too short till we all disappear
We're having so much fun
Many challenges to be won
We're happy as clams, year after year