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Best Poems Written by John Smith

Below are the all-time best John Smith poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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As I Paddled the River Nile

As I paddled the river Nile
I met a monstrous crocodile. 
She smiled at me enticingly.   
I smiled deferentially.  
Through large white teeth to me she said, 
"I want you in my river bed." 

"We are not acquainted enough
for such intimate, tasteless stuff," 
I cried.  A hippopotamus 
opined, "Hey, we're amphibious. 
We're inclined to romp through marshes; 
come, let's crush some reedy rushes." 

I paddled hard away.  The Nile 
now swirled by rapidly awhile
to the sea.  There where its two brinks 
grow apart it flows past a sphinx 
who lies prone and thinks endlessly 
deep thoughts about eternity. 

For eons and eons his mind 
thought thoughts about how to unbind 
gravity from mentality    
throughout universality, 
that we might freely float;  
no more need to paddle my boat.  

Unfortunately, he has no gumption 
to follow his least assumption; 
but we do chat on fluently
of, to wit, stuff way beyond me 
like hieroglyphic-ally writ 
papyri.  When he will not quit 

I wander alone to a tomb 
where lies Cleopatra, of whom 
each schoolgirl knows; how her last gasp 
came as she clasped to breast her asp. 
Grasp that story's significance
twixt geometry class and dance.

Whilst she patronymic-ally 
reigned, a most royal Ptolemy; 
she told Marc, "My new last 'nym' now'll
be 'Anthony'."  This, post her roll 
out, quite nude, from Julius' rug.  
His offer of sex met her mere shrug.  

I stood amid a pyramid 
or three and pondered where they hid, 
these pharaohs, all their treasury. 
Was power or mere pleasury 
their true architectural plan? 
To ever tell, no pharaoh can.  

These writs I write as my boat drifts
midst original hieroglyphs 
through the Mediterranean.  
I don't need a librarian  
to see, no sociology 
compares to Egyptology.

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Beer Keg Legs

Meg has two old battered beer keg legs
that don't look to hold much more than dregs. 
But when Greg comes along 
she begs; "Please, please, belong 
to me.  I still gotta lotta eggs.”  


*Written at Elizabeth Wesley's request.

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Neapolitan

Block of Neapolitan Ice Cream; 
to my diet, a scream in a dream.  
Chocolate, strawberry
and vanilla; very 
delicious.  Then I bust out a seam.

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Gaddafi

Muammar Muhammad Gaddafi; 
'Brother Leader', dog of Tripoli.    
People of Libya 
happily say, "See ya! 
Here's for Flight 103 - Lockerbie."  


*Dead 10/20/11

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Bye Gadaffi

Gadaffi!  That hole in your temple 
will put a full stop to your trample 
of the poor Libyans.  
So, now the Syrians 
say, "Assad, step aside; that's a sample."

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Dr Ram Mehta

Dr Ram Mehta 
we like your rhyme and meehta.  
Your poems ought to be 
in an anthology.

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Andrea Dietrich

Your poem, Andrea Dietrich, 
put flame to my candle stick's wick; 
and shed light 
on my plight 
that my Poetry Soup's too thick.

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Eiffel Tower

Gustave Eiffel's tower's an eyeful.  
The view from its top makes me stifle 
a gasp when I look down.  
My stomach flips around; 
I might just lose it in a trifle.

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Guillotine

Robespierre, Danton and all of those 
crazy French revolution 'heroes' 
had thousands guillotined  
by La Machine that gleaned 
heads; then 'offed' their own midst their wild throes.

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Plastic Surgery

When my body begins to burgeon, 
I go to see my plastic surgeon. 
His magic tucks and nips 
will make me smaller hips;
but he just smiles and says, “Stop splurgin'.”