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Best Poems Written by Brian Mcclain

Below are the all-time best Brian Mcclain poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Brian Mcclain Poem

Word Squirrel

Rodents can be loquacious
That includes your average gerbil
They love to prattle, chat and blather
They really are quite verbal

Hamsters are talkative too
Just as garrulous as can be
With running mouth and wheel to match
They are a sight to see

But I am loath to squander words
Sparing usage is my way
I gather them like so many acorns
Against a rainy day

Yes, word collecting is the passion
Of this precocious squirrel
I garner adjectives, verbs and nouns
Be they singular or plural

The park is fecund land
There a plethora may be found
Vociferous, vehement and vex
I lately scooped up off the ground

The verb tree is prolific
Its discovery quite a boon
The other day it bestowed upon me
Flaunt, foster and festoon

All along the sidewalks
Concrete nouns lie strewn about
How blithely I did snatch up
A lummox, a laggard and a lout

To command a better view
I nimbly scampered up a pole
From this lofty perch I spotted
Wheedle, coax and cajole

Away in the distance
I spied a tempting pile
Heaped up for the taking were
Enticing, alluring and beguile

What do I with so much verbiage?
You would be fair to ask
Squirreling away so vast a lexicon
Must prove a mammoth task

The answer lies in my arboreal abode
Where these many words I stash
In alphabetical order they are arrayed
From zealous to abash

In a capricious mood one day
I grouped them by part of speech
Such a cacophony arose from clustering
Banter, badger and beseech

No matter how I sort them
The wasting of words I spurn
Reserved for rarest use I keep
Reticent, laconic and taciturn!

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by Brian McClain - Feb 17, 2016


Originally posted Feb 17, 2016
Accidentally deleted Feb 22, 2016
Reposted Feb 22, 2016

Details | Brian Mcclain Poem

Threadbare Clouds

Gray smeared sky like a quilt of rags
Winos sip rot gut from brown paper bags
Threadbare cloud crotch splits up the side
Rain pours down, you got nowhere to hide

Cheap umbrella from a street corner pimp
Turns inside out before going limp
Putrid puddles, soggy doggy doo dollops
Are artfully dodged by high-heeled trollops

A rat scurries by with a piece of bread
Like the ant that totes a leaf on its head
You too once held big dreams in your grasp
But they got drowned with a gurgling gasp

You told me before, no you don't stutter
Your genius ideas got washed down the gutter
Now like a scavenger after a flood
You salvage what's left from out of the mud

Ashes to crashes, lust to rust
In the end it only goes bust
Caught in between the future and past
You start out just fine but finish dead last


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by Brian McClain - Jan 23, 2016

Details | Brian Mcclain Poem

Crack House of the 13 Gables

I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:

This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve

But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails

It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk

So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind

Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle

I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded

There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice

And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark

I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat

Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe

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For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman

Details | Brian Mcclain Poem

Word Hoard

They say if you don’t use a thing for a year
It’s time to get rid of it, just to be clear
Feel free to sell it or give it away
But to get clutter free, just don’t let it stay

So, I checked my garage for stuff I could lose--
and found hundreds of words I simply don’t use!

Lilliputian and Sprightly stood on a shelf
Elbow-to-elbow with some wry little elf
Bucolic and Bumpkin were squirreled away
Beneath a big bale of bright yellow hay 

Garish and Gaudy were in a glittery box
with Trinkets and Baubles set with fake rocks
Surreptitious and Unobtrusive tried to avoid being seen
But I caught 'em sneaking off with Clandestine

Beyond these loose words, which filled many a bin 
Lay whole turns of phrase like Much to My Chagrin
I held up to the light a Gossamer Veil
Then dumped it in a Perfidious Betrayal

An Ethereal Cloud, glued to the ceiling
I scraped off with an Ambivalent Feeling
I rolled back the rug to see what I'd missed,
There before me stretched a Yawning Abyss

Into a huge crate, these big words I did toss
Bobbing on top were Flotsam, Jetsam and Dross
Fatigued by these labors, I took a short break
But that little respite may have been my mistake

Soon I was deep in most Pensive Reflection
On how Assiduously I had built this collection
In crept Myriad Doubts about so brash a move
What if I meet some Cad I need to Reprove?

What if some Craven Cur should Incur my Wrath
But words fail me due to this Ill-Chosen Path?
Well, soon that old crate was quite empty once more
And cluttered again were bin, shelf, drawer and floor

But one thing has changed, this is Palpably Clear
My Leviathan Word Horde I now Deeply Revere
Intrepid and Dauntless, I sling without fear
Iota and Mote.. I dust off once a year!


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by Brian McClain - Feb 2, 2016

Details | Brian Mcclain Poem

Free Verse Ranch

Hear the clip-clop of iambic beats
Sounds like Shelley with a side of Keats
Is that the scritchity-scratch of a goose quill flickin’
Or just the tippity-tap of some mouse you clickin’..?

So you a prophet poet, regular Marley meets Dylan
Writin’ about oppression and unjust killin’
Shootin' the Sheriff with a Reggae song
Inspirin' your generation with a sing along

A shot of tequila with a wedge of lime
Saddle up and bide your time
Every line don’t need to rhyme
I can give you a million examples

You don't seem like the lyrical type
Kickin' cold turkey with oranges ripe
That's the fruit that rhymes with nothin’
Fresh squeezed it's good for somethin’

Citric flashback, Tang for the brain
Hyperspace wormholes one cannot explain
Sun dippin' below the rim of a rhymeless plateau
Cow skull and cactus, a timeless tableau

In the twilight gloom, a weather-beaten sign
Free Verse Ranch is the place to dine
Gorge on rhyme-free wordplay victuals
Linguistic linguini and cage-free visuals

Specialty of the house: lemon chicken couplet
With a side of mashed onomatopotatoes--plop!
Gravy sloppin’ down slopes like molten lava
Washed down with mugs of fresh-brewed java

Buzzards circlin' the sky in a lazy ellipse
Moon moseyin' in for a total eclipse
Flee in the dark, take a steed for a ride
Jump the split rail fence to the other side

Leap back in time to a buzzin' hive
Looks like the vortex, circa 1995
Can barely think amid the din
Perfect time for the ‘shrooms to kick in

Tie-dyed girl where I left her spinnin' in place
Band still playin' a trippy Drums n Space
But how strange that I cannot feel my face
How did twenty years vanish without a trace?

Tumbleweed twirlin' down the rutted street
Empty rocking chair swayin' skee-reet skee-reet
'Taters still steamin' like a mini-volcano
Room reeks of whiskey stronger than Drano 

Spilled orange juice tricklin' a fly-food slurry
Someone cleared outta Free Verse Ranch in a helluva hurry
The clip-clop of iambic beats, Sheriff on my tail
He wouldn't shoot an unrhymed man, would he?

Details | Brian Mcclain Poem

A Rabbit Named Bunny

Dogs dogmatically guard the home
Sounding the alarm with a growling bark
As owners are alerted to the threat
Miscreants flee into the dark

Cats are categorically useful too
Their mouse-tracking skills renowned
When a feline is prowling on patrol
Rodents scurry underground

But rabbits are a tougher sell
Their herbivore hunting skills quite moot
Unable to save the day or keep vermin at bay
They mostly sit there looking cute

Rabbits are thin-skinned as well
There's one faux pas you must not commit
Please do not call them rodents
Order Lagomorpha is where they fit

Why then do we delight in ours
The doe we call simply “Bunny” ?
It's cuz her antics provide comic relief
When she yawns it looks so funny

Bunny blithely flips her little plate
A curt review of pet shop food
She’s holding out for blueberries or kale
Depending on her mood

Baby carrots and parsley sprigs
Make for a tasty Bunny lunch
She regales us with her table talk:
Munchity, crunchity, crunch

After a hard day’s work, I come home
To my gray-and-white-furred friend
She’ll run to be picked up and petted
And my stresses are at an end

Yes, Bunny is priceless to us
And she certainly earns her keep
Familial duties done for the day
On a little throw pillow she falls asleep

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for contest: Furry Friend
Sponsored by: Royal T

Details | Brian Mcclain Poem

Thought Bubble Wrapped

The lock clucks once as if to chide
You best let bygones be
The door growls loud as if to warn
There's nothing here to see

Peering through the dim-lit gloom
I heave a quizzical sigh
A mocking echo parrots me:
Where memories go to die

Forty years stacked and packed
Thought-bubble-wrapped collection
Brooding bronze, mahogany desk
A dense mass of recollection

Now, where is that which I seek...
My parents’ old photo book?
Where everyone looks so hale and young
It will take some time to look

French armoire, Persian rug, Chinese chairs
A frightful Congo mask
Searching on such a global scale
Is quite the daunting task

The storage fees are adding up
I should sell it all, I should
Let it all just fly away 
On wings of copper, silk and wood

But all this meant so much to them
Mosaic memory of vanished days
Within these walls, as in my heart
The echo of them yet stays

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For contest: Any Poem Meaningful to You
Sponsored by: Broken Wings

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Originally posted: Feb 23, 2016 
(subsequently deleted)