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Best Poems Written by Richard Clairmont

Below are the all-time best Richard Clairmont poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Ten Things To Do When a Grownup Gets Grouchy

1)   Find a broom, then go to your room, and give it a good sweep.
 2)   Lie on the couch, when Mom’s a grouch, and pretend that you’re asleep.
 3)   Take a ride on your bike, or take a hike, and best leave the grownup alone. 
 4)   Empty the trash (but don’t ask for cash) when Dad his top has blown.
 5)   Call a friend on whom you depend, then go outside and play tag.
 6)   Find a four-leave clover, plan your next sleep over, throw a stick that your dog  
      can shag.
 7)   Taking a look at a few picture books might pass the time of day. 
 8)   Be cute as a bug, and offer a hug in a roundabout sort of a way.
 9)   Though grownup’s tics are not all yours to fix, you can always sing a song.
10)   And remember that grouchy grownups don't often stay grouchy for long.

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Who, What, When, Where, and Why

Who am I? I am not Fred Flintstone, nor am I Billy Goat Gruff,
And I am not Will Shakespeare, nor a Scotsman named MacDuff;
I am not Tom, I am not Dick, and surely am not Harry;
Not Goldilocks, not Tiny Tim, nor Mary Quite Contrary;
I am not a famous movie star, Bo Peep, or the Tooth Fairy,
And I most certainly am not Frankenstein…you’d find that way too scary.


What am I? I am not a mouse,
Nor a waffle iron, nor a ring-necked grouse;
I am not a little teapot, short and stout;
This is not my handle, and this is not my spout;
I am not a praying mantis, and not a Brussels sprout.
And I clearly am not a billiard ball, that’s just not what I’m about.

Where am I? I am not in Coney Island, in Denmark, or in France,
Nor am I in (I’m glad to say) some weird hypnotic trance;
I am not alone in the jungle, with nothing to eat but roots;
Nor am I weightless on the moon, wearing ridiculous astronaut boots;
I am not in a line at the airport, not Chicago’s or Beirut’s.
I think I’ll stay right where I am ‘til I gets up and scoots.

When am I?  I am not in prehistoric times, with a T-rex for a pet,
Or in the way distant future (at least I’m not there yet);
I am not with Mister Gutenberg, who invented the printing press,
Nor am I with Orville and Wilbur, whose airplane flew, more or less.
There are lots of times in history when I might have been born, I guess -
But I’m glad not Pompey when Vesuvius blew. Boy, was that ever a mess.

Why am I? The reason I am upon this earth is a thing I have yet to find,
I may spend my days playing baseball, or maybe I’ll help mankind;
Perhaps I’ll find the cure for some terrible disease,
And once that’s done, I’ll buy a yacht and sail the seven seas.
I’ll make new friends and spread good cheer and maybe learn Chinese.
One thing for sure, as life goes on, there’ll be lots and lots of me’s.

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Globetrotter

I love to travel to foreign lands, 
where friendly elephants eat from my hand,
And the undersea monsters come up on the beach 
and stand by my blanket and deliver a speech
‘Bout their standard of living way down in the deep
Where the fish carry lanterns (it gives me the creeps). 
Then I visit the desert where there’s mummies galore;
That mirage in the distance…a candy store?
And now off to Saturn, where I’ll count all the rings,
And wait to be rescued, and think of the things
That happened all day, and ask myself why
My friend was so mean, or my fish had to die, 
Or my sister ignored me, or I missed that pop fly, 
Or lost my best pencil while I was at lunch,
Or never once felt like one of the bunch.
Oh I love to travel to foreign lands
where friendly elephants eat from my hand,
And the undersea monsters come up on the beach.
Yes, I love to travel to foreign lands
With my head tucked way under the covers.

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That Kind of Day

I tried to pound a nail today, but only hit my thumb.
I tried to sneak a cookie, but only found a crumb.
I tried to ride a two-wheel bike, but only scraped my knee.
I tried to sniff a flower, but got stung by a doggone bee.
I tried to show how smart I was, and got treated like a dunce. 
I wanted another helping, but Mom only fed me once. 
I sat and waited for my friend to come, but wound up sitting alone;
I sat and I waited so long for my friend that I lost my muscle tone. 
I tried to read a big fat book, but nodded off at the end of page one,
I tried to eat a hot dog, but it flew right out of the bun.
All day I’ve been trying to succeed at things – I’ve tried with all my might;
When I asked my dad what frustration was, he ran a traffic light. 
I was wearing my seatbelt, I’m happy to say. At least I got that right.

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Merlin Unbound

I am the root.
I am the green fuse. 
I am the stem, the bud,
the dry twig,
and the stealthy footstep
that snaps it in the night.
I am the rising hair on the back of your neck.
I am Merlin, the bard,
and I sing of it all.

I am the bard of warm sheets,
and insincere ones as much.
I am the empty gesture, 
and the chill that sets upon the pillow.
I am Love itself, and the murderer of Love.
I am the arrow on its mark.
I am the dregs of wine
at the bottom of the barrel.
I am the wrong unredressed, 
and the debt long unpaid.
I am Merlin, the bard,
And I remember it all.

I am the vocation unheeded, 
the monk with no prayer,
and the lusty nun, alone in her bed.
I am the trickster.
I am my own mother and my own father,
incubus and succubus, one and the same. 
I am the milky breath of your firstborn.
I am the scent of his decay.
I am Merlin the Conjurer,
and I conjure it all.

I am the rising star in your firmament
and the wellspring of your dreams.
I am the grains of sand in your hourglass. 
I am your merciless mirror, year after year.
I am the green moss awaiting your bones.
I am the greedy worms.
I am your life’s purpose, 
and the odds against it.
I am your last chance.
I am all the times you turned back.
I am your fresh start.

I am the gnome, the sylph, 
the salamander, and the undine.
I am the severed head, the cauldron,
and the threefold death.
I am the angel.
I am the serpent.
I am the hawk that circles in the blue.
I am each letter of your name.
I am Merlin, the bard.
I am you.
And I sing of us all.

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Something I Think About

I don’t quite get grownups, or why they’re in charge;
Unless it’s perhaps because they’re so large.
They strut and they loom and they talk through their teeth
And I really must ask what they hide underneath
All that pomp and that bluster when they’re making a point;
They sure do look funny with their nose out of joint.

Grownups are beasties that have to be tamed,
Want everything their way, and hate to be blamed
For whatever they do that causes a stink;
Is that why they all have their very own shrink?
Grownups, I find, don’t play by the book,
Then fabricate ways to get off the hook. 

Some grownups I guess can be pretty nice
And are willing to offer a word of advice
Even when you don’t want one, then tell you a tale
Of when they were your age, and threw a sharp nail
At the boy from next door, and blackened his eye.
When a grownup gets going, just nod in reply. 

Though grownups may not be always that cool
Who else would we get to drive us to school?
Or buy us our clothes, or bake us our cakes, 
Or when we’re out camping, save us from snakes?
We’ll just have to keep them, these grownups of ours
Though they often do act like they come straight from Mars.