Best Smacked Poems
There's a pesky mosquito hoverin' around our ears
If he keeps it up he'll soon be splattered in smears
T-Buzz tries to draw our blood
When he gets hit with a THUD!
We'll celebrate his demise with a party ~ Cheers!
by Lin Lane
A mini vampire with wings,
in annoying high notes he sings.
Tries to fly incognito,
this imp called mosquito.
With blood thirsty appetite stings!
by Carol Connell
That darn mozzie was buzzing like hell
Til I sprayed him with a can of Repell
He can no longer fly
I watched that mozzie die
I’m happy he’s gone – you can tell!
by Jan Allison
That skeeter was in for a thumpin'.
I swatted, but he just kept jumpin'.
I got out the spray,
winked, said, “Come my way”.
And now I'm no longer a-grumpin'
by Dale G. Cozart
There's a pesky bug upon the lawn
One his mother should have never spawn
making noises here and there
wish he'd just disappear
One big ol' zap and poof he's gone
by Tim Smith
T-Buzz flies around in pestering irritation
One good swat'll take care of his elimation
No more buzzin' sound
He's garbage can bound
Thank goodness there's no reincarnation
by Marti Sutherland
I was singing karaoke, acapella
While eating a sandwich of mortadella
Along came a mosquito
Named Little Esposito
I smacked him cuz he wasn't a nice fella
By Mystic Rose
A skeeter singing for a favor
Was wanting blood for a caper
He's playing with fire
His future is dire
Joining others on my wallpaper
By Cheryl Hoffman
A mosquito was buzzing loud
Of his bugle, he felt so proud
My hands would squash fast
That buzz would be his last
Soon, he'd be covered with a shroud
by Jo Daniel
If anyone dislikes the buzzing of a mosquito, join in the collaboration by sending me your lines in a SOUP MAIL.
Dracula needed dentures,
That's the story I've been told
The man was getting up in age,
Nearly seven centuries old!
He refused to see a dentist,
While losing his fatal bite
He soon became a laughing stock,
Not a soul feared him at night!
The Transylvanian Drooler,
His newly appointed name
He lost his reputation,
His bite was rather lame!
Each time he'd suck a neck,
His victims failed to succumb
He had no fangs to penetrate,
For all he could do was "gum!"
No more humiliation!
It was time to buy some teeth;
His remaining shred of dignity,
Sank to the gutters beneath!
A brand new set of choppers,
Created a lovely smile
Soaring back to action,
Has always been his style!
Behold, another damsel,
How could she escape?
He swooped around the corner,
Binding her with his cape!
He took one mighty bite,
With very little effect
When he tried to pull away,
His teeth were stuck in her neck!
His face turned red as a beacon,
What a mockery to the undead
His victim cried with laughter,
Then smacked him across the head!
Dracula quit the business,
Heeding retirement's call
Suckin' down Bloody Marys,
Toothless and gummin' a straw!
Put on his red bathers you're joking
Too tight something out front it was poking
found another old pair
to cover up pubic hair
He's now off to the ocean for soaking
Now he's looking quite bronze and quite fancy
Ready to meet his girlfriend who's called Nancy
on the sand they will walk
hold hands while they talk
One day she might be his fiancee
Find a spot that's private and shady
to skinny dip with his beautiful lady
several others have come
they see his lily white bum
His girl's given surname it's O'grady
From ocean water body's cool, appetisingly salty
Sun burnt skin's feeling sore and quite faulty
He wants to bonk on the shore
She says no that's for sure
He says your excuse is unloving and paltry
His ex girlfriends name was Cecelia
Too often he wanted to feel her
with legs very bandy
he was often so randy
In the sun in in the hay made love to this sheila
Now this oversexed man so begotten
So naughty they smacked his big bottom
but he wasn't deterred
still did what he preferred
Loved underwear made out of soft cotton
Now it's summer he's feeling quite warm
Many old tricks he does often perform
out in his work shed
there's a double sized bed
Where they shed all the clothes that are worn
It's now time for a warm summer party
Can attend it's casual not arty farty
still daylight at nine
have a whopping good time
Good conversation and laughter that's hearty
A little grey mouse
snuck into the house
to get himself out of the cold.
Then the house cat
Who saw where he sat
pursued him I am told.
The lazy old dog
who sleeps like log
was startled by the chase,
So she woke up
her own small pup
and they joined in the race.
My sister the baby
decided that maybe
she would give it a try,
She started a spat
And was scratched by the cat
and then she started to cry.
That’s when mom
called to Uncle Tom
to come and lend a hand,
With a straw broom
mom circled the room
knocking plants from off a stand.
In came my dad
and he was quite mad
because the house was in disarray
He was vexed
with what happened next
But it happened just this way.
Our two brave bowsers
chased the mouse up dad’s trousers
He thought he’d be safe in there.
Until Dad started to dance
with the mouse in his pants
Then he jumped up on a kitchen chair.
Mom smacked dad’s seat
and then came a repeat
And the mouse climbed out of his pocket.
Unseen by all
he started to crawl
into the wall through an open socket.
Later that night,
With no one in sight,
I put out a nut for the little mouse.
I had no hate toward him,
And I tried to reward him.
Even if he was trapped inside our house.
I told him my name,
And he did the same,
Then he stuffed the nut into his cheeks.
He said thanks for the food,
And I don’t mean to be rude,
But that was the most fun that I’ve had in weeks.
(This poem was inspired by my friend's grandma who said, and I quote, "You can hug anyone you want to." I dedicate it to all the sweetie poets who give "hugs.")
You can hug anyone you want to.
It's something everyone can do.
(There are many reactions from one act.
Proceed with caution so you don't get smacked.)
You can hug any way you like.
Keep it loose, or grab 'em tight.
Hug with a manly guttural noise,
or hug like a lady with grace and poise.
Sometimes just one hand will do.
Hug the way that best suits you.
Hug to ward off tears and sorrow.
Hug like you're going to die tomorrow.
Hug sister Suzy. Hug uncle Al.
Hug anyone to make a new pal.
Hug 'em big. Hug 'em small.
Hug 'em one. Hug 'em all.
Hug 'em in a group or two by two,
so the pleasure's not all about you.
Hug with a spin. Even make it an art.
Just make sure you hug with your heart.
It's as simple as a shoulder shrug.
Everybody could use a hug.
You can hug anyone you want to.
Watch your back, cuz I might hug you.
"What's your story?"
she questions,
"you seem interesting."
wildflower
in eyes
I reply, "NOW."
often people become confused
by such a unique response
not this one
she's a beauty
shiny minded stone
lives warm under veins
lacks definition of alone
alone she stands
tallest green blade
unscathed
each time the oily blade passes above
erect
she stays the same
tingling pulses exhale her pores
she'd rather sink
than have to think the way of worldly whores
still...
malice skips her
no ripples in the lake
dripping from her face
sunshine slips across tangerine cheeks
gold flows throughout waves
streaming locks
sky clear eyes surprise those
choosing to be consumed
by her entice
hands free of envy
no webs to spin
hips unmolested
thighs slick
turpentine
be warned
she will divide you
no voodoo
or silly twisted games
though safe may escape you
blemish-less
untangled...
the girl
she
Goddess
baby of zero maybes
KNOWS
how?
she knows
as clarity lent us its giant umbrella
her lipstick smacked my tongue
from there
we never looked back
I reached in to pull out my all playing ball …
without alcohol
Head up, I breathed brave and stepped up to the plate …
felt like dodge ball bait
Sunshiny bases enticed my run-gained mount …
on feared three-two count
Bat smacked contact so I ran like a wildcat …
clawed first base splayed flat
I reached in to pull out my all playing ball …
fun enriched windfall -
worth future recall
Brain spatter smacked me in the face
Blood was everywhere, so thick I could taste it
I rolled to the left and with blurry eyes aimed
Eliminating the sniper five seconds too late
I wiped off my face with the sleeve of my shirt
And looked at my friend that lay in the dirt
Headless now, only his tags to ID him -
An image my mind refused to believe in
This jungle would be his makeshift grave
No cherubbed headstone for Henry Mave
Nothing to tell of the soldier he was
The best friend I had, or the son who was loved
I buried his body beneath leaves and vines
Then I went hunting for Viet Cong lines
I killed as many enemies as I possibly could
Like a kamikaze, death was understood
Somehow I survived and went back to New York
Where the horror of war bled into my work
Lost my job, my house, friends, and family
Trying to forget the engraved memory -
I always knew I’d be a permanent guest
Because the instant he died, I became homeless
**Susan Burch**
*Won 8th place in "World of War: Vietnam" contest
I was swimming in the ocean enjoying it so much
I back floated and relaxed with my cousins Mat and Hutch
All of a sudden Mat broke my dreamy thoughts with a scream
The water choppy, he was carried swiftly up stream
Two great whites were fighting over which would eat my poor Mat
So I chased after them and I smacked them with a big baseball bat
Is this human being serious? The biggest shark asked the other
I do not know the other shark replied but she looks like my mother
I am a grandma you dopes I said and I smacked each hard on the nose
This the smaller one said haughtily is not how this kind of shark story goes
So I jumped on his slick back. I bucked, screamed, jabbed, and I kicked
And I punched him and bit him, making him mad; his skin was quite thick
This land polluter is crazy the great whites agreed with some flair
So they gave me my cousin whom they had tossed in the air.
Because I liked it I gave them another bat smack across their noses
She is horrible! The great whites said as I hit them with hoses
Sure I got Matt back but due to those shark bullies he now he had PSTD
His swimming suit was gone, so he was sheepish being nude in front of me
So Hutch and I threw off our clothes and we all swam in birthday suits
But those sharks never came back, so glad they were finally loose
Dedicated to all Soup poets and muse - please continue to help and thank you.
I didn’t know how to write poetry as I was new,
only 6 months in the poetry game so no shame,
many a day after writing I was feeling blue,
I thought I was stupid and everybody was to blame.
Met amazing people here and their care is free,
apparently it’s a rhyming thing or not,
it was driving me up the bloody tree,
thanks to all the positive input I got.
I now know more or less what is required,
I tried “Monoku” oh my, what a mess I made,
struggling to write at work almost got fired,
I was so embarrassed, under my desk I laid.
I tried to write a “Haiku”, I cant even say the word,
but nevertheless I tried, what a load of pooh,
valuable comments but almost meant how absurd,
I know why poets go crazy, and what they go through
I tried to write a “Kimo”, hey whatever,
what the hell is that supposed to mean,
but stuck to my guns and did endeavour,
produced what I thought was clever and clean.
I tried to write a “Verse”, was told to call it that,
submitted to contest, no comments, but N/A, again,
like I was talking to a stranger and saying sorry you just spat,
re-looked at my poems, I’m too stupid to give up and I’m vain.
I tried to write a “Sonnet” about my new sweetheart,
apparently it has only fourteen lines and limited syllables,
took so long she almost left me with a new broken heart,
no fuel in my car, and all the McDonald bills.
I tried to write a “limerick” an apparent popular form,
this is supposed to be funny have rhythm and rhyme,
previously for me anything that rhymed was the norm,
for that my English teacher should be smacked for his crime.
Finally I realised that its not just poetry but expressing life,
all you appreciate, love, you find funny and even hate,
your inner feelings, emotions, caring and your strife,
the special people on this site that help and patiently rate.
Now I do endure to write, and appreciate all and thank all,
for their positive input and renaming my form appropriately,
If my poem does not make it in any way or at all,
I don’t care because I am learning and will continue patiently.
Yes I do know the form is supposed to be "Rhyme" not "I do not know" - that is one of the intentions of the poem
He didn't like the casserole
and he didn't like my cake.
He said my bisquits were too hard
and not like his mother used to make.
I didn't perk the coffee right
and he didn't like the stew.
I didn't mend his socks
the way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer.
I was looking for a clue,
and then I turned around and smacked the hell out of him
just like his mother used to do.
A deluge of love draws out a wry smile
As she walks by
In a world
Of her
Own,
Yet
Takes in
The moment
Of his embrace
Without contact just a wink from his eye
Cheeky bugger she thinks but oh so nice
Turning her head
As she stops
To say
Hi,
He’s
Gob smacked
Her perfume
Drifts on the wind
They move in and touch director says cut.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
Hitch hiking ghosts with a hue of blue
Were picked up on a Sunday in 1952
The driver was my dad, name of Lou
Who enjoyed their company more than they knew.
I heard the story growing up each year
On Halloween, for my daddy had no fear
That anyone else would call him a liar.
Apparently it happened with a flat tire.
They were wandering down the road when it blew.
They ran up and asked if they could help poor Lou.
He was gob smacked when they took over and fixed
His tire quickly. He had thought he was licked.
They asked for a ride to the graveyard name Touse.
He told them he had to stop by at our house.
They rode along and regaled him with best stories of his life.
He raced home to explain the situation to my mom, his wife.
She gave him permission to take them quickly back.
He said they politely refused a quick Twinkie snack.
It was Halloween night which he did not think much of that night.
But whenever I think of this, I get a bit of a fright.
You see the travelers were opaque, and you could see through them.
He enjoyed telling this story to strangers, on a bit of a whim.
They always looked like he was insane, slightly crazy.
But they hired him anyway, for he was never lazy.
Billy left for a little league game. I was coming later with Mom.
Dad was out of town on business.
We got the call before we left the house.
An emergency. Mom left me at the neighbors, ran out crying.
She met the ambulance at the hospital.
Billy was pronounced dead upon arrival.
They had not done it at the field, not wanting to frighten Mark.
Mark was Billy’s best friend; he had swung the bat.
Apparently Billy had leaned his head forward at that second.
Right behind Mark’s bat. He got smacked soundly in the skull.
Two doctors and a nurse came running immediately from the stands.
They pretended he was alive, for Mark’s sake, and for the other Little Leaguers.
Billy and I were a year and a half apart; I did not know kids could die.
Until one did, my brother, my best friend, my comrade in everything.
I did not hear from him for years, until I did. He came to me in my dreams.
Told me everything was okay; he had found the best prize of all.
We had always fought over the prize in the crackerjack box.
He did not visit me again until I was pregnant with my son.
He told me that everything would be fine; he was my son’s guardian.
My husband suggested the name William; nickname Billy, of course.
writing is daydreaming on paper or sometimes straight into a computer.
notes crossed out, smacked around, slashed, re-visited, starred, circled,
checked, underlined, slashed out again, retrieved.
after print has happened, it all begins anew. I count the syllables,
make six hundred tally marks on the page, slash out, cross out, circle,
write OKAY in big letters, draw arrows, put Xs, start rearranging.
Using 1, 2, 3, and A, B,C, as I valiantly try to figure out where
the next line is going, or whether to even keep it.
I sit down to figure it out, and decide it will be easier to begin
again, rather than edit what has already been typed. So I begin again,
slashing, dashing, drawing, starring, circling, smacking, cracking,
discarding, resurrecting.
the life of this writer.