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Best Poems Written by David Maclennan

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

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Water Under the Bridge

Under a bridge where I sit,
Watching the water go by,
When along came a piece of shit
And I had to ask myself, Why?

Till water under the bridge to say,
Did not seem appropriate anymore;
Sitting there amidst the decay,
More turds I saw from the shore.

Now to shrug off, say what?
Like water under the bridge, okay!
But maybe off my damn butt
And clean up the river I'll say.

Till water under the bridge no more,
No longer with a shrug to say it;
I'm getting off of my butt before,
Yet, another Cliché is full of shit.

Details | David Maclennan Poem

The Good Old Days

In relics where memories are found,
And so often said, 'the good old days'.
Yet, here we are still hanging around,
Imagining better were the old ways.

Now change will it ever come?
For this is not how it used to be;
In nostalgia gathering from,
The new day becomes hard to see.

So we draw from old amendments
And older testaments to,
For somehow it compliments,
Our 'good old days' point of view.

Until change of course slow to come 
When conservative in old age yearns;
Yet, great again, we'll beat the drum,
While ignoring that the world turns.

Details | David Maclennan Poem

One Glove

A glove I found in the laundry;
One glove only without a mate.
Now imagine my quandary
For imbalance in life I hate.

So of course the search was on
And that glove's mate I had to find;
Until truly I was put upon
When its partner I left behind.

For time alas was not on my side
And into the cold I had a date,
So with one hand in my pocket beside
And the one glove on was my state.

Till do wah ditty ditty dum ditty do,
There I was strolling down the street;
Feeling like Michael Jackson it's true
With that one glove groovin' to the beat.

And the other hand in my pocket
Maybe a bit like Alanis Morrisette;
Sort of transgender like – don't knock it -
Groovin' along, yes you bet.

Till with one glove hand flying free
And one hand in my pocket,
I have no clue what came over me
When to grab my crotch I couldn't stop it.

Details | David Maclennan Poem

Dicks

The distance between here and there,
A lifetime measured in klicks;
And I guess to be fair,
I should mention some of the dicks.

For travelled along the way,
On this winding path up and down,
Interspersed I have to say
A few dicks I surely found.

But I ask myself; why go there?
When the dicks I have left behind;
Retirement man, I've got to share,
Nary a dick am I to find.

And maybe that's the best thing of all,
Looking back between here and there;
As old age I forestall,
Not one dick story have I to share.

Details | David Maclennan Poem

Batteries Not Included

“Batteries not included,” She said.
Which seemed obvious to me;
Maybe a reason she was unwed,
I mean how laconic can one be?

Till to wind her up you know I thought,
Without them batteries knowing;
And yes a charge so I got
As I tried to get her going.

Maybe I could plug her in
And she would get a tiny boost;
All I hoped for was a simple grin,
And so it was, her I goosed.

Yeah, old batteries not included, man,
Suddenly seemed much more sunny;
A good goose and here I am,
Living with the Energizer Bunny.

Details | David Maclennan Poem

Address To a Puck

Fair Eh your honest, hockey place,
Great Chieftain of the scarring face!
Between the boards with skates to lace,
 Your rubber froze,
And darting dangerous quick of pace,
 In slap shots rose.

The crackling ice on which you slide,
Chased by padded boys well applied,
In loss or victory you decide,
 Yours not to let;
Where shots be accurate or wide
 Streak toward the net.

This disc hits corners left and right
Can cut you up with ready slight,
From in behind burns the goal light,
 Whoa, bulging twine!
This, the lonely goal tender’s plight,
 Guards the thin red line.

Quick hands and fast of foot to flop,
Who are said to be o’er the top,
On grenades hurled they’re known to drop,
 And fallen beneath;
With bodies bruised, brave lads will stop,
 And trade precious teeth!

Your powers make cold winter fair,
In boyhood dreams young and old share;
With pride our true colours to wear,
 On Habs or Leafs stuck;
This, O Canada’s common prayer,
 Blessed be a puck!

Details | David Maclennan Poem

The Wind Beneath My Wings

The wind beneath my wings was a fart
And excuse me is all I could say;
Flying here where worlds apart
As the good folk looked on in dismay.

For they had expected much more,
Loftier goals had been set for me;
But in the end where meant to soar,
I'm about as high as I can be.

And for those who looked at the updraft,
Thinking more height I could attain;
You know I look abeam and abaft
And am content in these clouds to remain.

For here with the wind beneath my wings,
In amongst these clouds to dart;
I know there are much higher things
But still amused I am by a fart.

Details | David Maclennan Poem

Courage and Common Sense

A rock and a hard place between,
It seemed a limited choice,
But a burning bush he had seen
And lo it was he found his voice.

And though unpopular indeed
With constituents one and all;
Courage enough to take the lead
And for what's right he'd take the fall.

For children dying on the streets,
No longer as a hostage held;
Party politics with the deadbeats,
The lies alas must be dispelled.

For rights of others, yours and mine
To walk in safety come what may;
Never more to tow the line,
He's standing up to the NRA.

A hero of the people yes,
In a filibuster what suspense;
This Republican who god bless
Has finally shown some common sense.

Details | David Maclennan Poem

Reflecting Pool

At a reflecting pool long I stood,
Well, at least that's what the sign said;
A reflecting pool in that quiet wood
Where down a winding path I'd been lead.

Until how I got there reflecting upon,
That reflecting pool with its sign;
I wondered if it would have dawned
On me without that sign to remind.

But when in Rome as they say,
Staring into that pool reflecting;
I wondered if I'd have come all that way
If of that pool I'd been expecting.

No probably not as into I gazed
But still reflecting on a whim
At my shallow thoughts amazed,
Pretty soon stones I began to skim.

And there it was in the waters rippled
Across that pool interrupted;
In the face of, surely crippled,
I knew long ago I'd been corrupted.

Details | David Maclennan Poem

Mohammed Ali and Mushroom Bells

Come quick, don’t dilly-dally. 
Yessir, this you gotta see!
Look out there in the valley,
Lord, do my eyes deceive me?
Ain’t that Mohammed Ali?

And ain’t that a boxing ring,
Roped ’round them trees?
And he’s recitin’ something
About butterflies and bees,
When a mushroom bell went ding?

While birds and critters scurried,
Moving closer to ringside,
As Ali strode unhurried,
From his corner stool beside;
Then he danced, jabbed and flurried.

And them critters ooh’d and aah’d,
Such a sight they’d never seen.
It was poetry, by Gawd,
A heavyweight there’d not been – 
Oh, so graceful and unflawed.

There’d be no finer specimen,
This champion of our youth;
Beating odds time and again,
We believed his brand of truth –
And in the greatness of men.

But in that far-away dell,
We good critters heard the chimes
Ringing from that mushroom bell.
When slower became the rhymes – 
And softer became the yell.

Till in your corner we sit,
In this valley’s fading light,
Thinking back to your fires lit
When you showed us how to fight – 
And taught us how not to quit.

So chanting, “Ali bomaye!”
These mushroom bells we hear ring;
And though time gets the last say,
Here in the valley we’ll sing – 
Hailing what grew from the clay.