Best Smart Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Smart poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of smart poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Smart poems, articles about Smart poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Smart poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New Smart Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Smart poems are below this new poems list.

Smart Phones by Moorman, Curtis
PLAY THIS SMART by cooper, jack
Smart US by Flame, Poetic
Even Smart Asses Will Bow by Hunter, Daniel
Smart Cookies by Ellison, Jack
Smart Phone And Sleep Walker by CHUAN SENG, KENG
Stupid smart by Hopper, Anna
Try To Be Smart by Behm, Kurt Philip
Smart As A Crow by Ellison, Jack
I know a smart fella called Tom by Talbot, Mick

View all new Smart Poems

The Best Smart Poems

Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Stupid smart

What does it look like
From over there
Describe the sights
No details spared 

How does it taste
Is it always delicious
By the look on your face
I’m a bit suspicious

I happen to be
Opposite to you
On the humanity tree
Like yellow and blue

I imagine your half
An enlightened bunch
No need for math
Just an arrogant hunch

It seems quite ironic
To say the least
That, in fact, you’re ignorant
Yet too smart to see


Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2018


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Self Doubt

It is a fact that before I wrote True Colours,
I was stuck in a world of black and white bipolar,
encaged in my seat on a non stop rollercoaster,
eating one meal a day cooking bread in a toaster.

Do you know if from here I should.....
Nope wait, if it was you then would....
No I hesitate, before I wasn't sure I could
write so shall I carry on with doubt I'm good.

Should I continue to write?
Stick at it and improve I could?
Would I get better each night?
It's tricky to know if I'm good.

I wish for a talent but it's not apparent,
it's something I want but maybe I haven't.

I'm a thoughtful fighter
with a physical dominance,
who puts pen to paper
with a mental confidence.

The anxiety causes stress
and that makes me a messy mess too,
nonetheless I guess all I can do,
is pursue hopelessness whilst I continue
to harness this writing skill and improve,
while I remain myself and stay true,
or I could give up what do I choose?

It's amazing how the praise can make me lazy,
and all because the bar was raised. 
To think that that's where it remains is crazy,
without the application my skill decayed.

Living off past glories and falsely self assured,
hides the fact the present leaves them bored.
The reward is forgotten without consistency
and the reputation plummets into history.

You need to bounce from test to test like a ball,
contest with the very best and prove you're no fool,
then you must not allow the standards to fall,
you must allow a new hunger to be installed.

I continuously doubt what I am all about,
I'm a drought that sprouts limited amounts,
it's the same bounce of the ball in all my bouts,
my mouth shouts in repetition and I've lost count.

I continuously doubt what I'm all about,
I'm constantly worried and living in doubt,
I'm in a black hole will I ever get out,
I continuously doubt so that's what I'm about.

Why would I refuse to continue after I didn't refuse to begin. 




Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Mouse

We have a mouse in the house.
Not an average mouse
But rather a mouse with some nous 
That trips traps as it goes traipsing through the house.
A mouse whose downfall I am planning 
Even while I am jotting.

A foolproof trap I will find, 
Before I go out of my mind. 

It will be one of a kind,
That will attest to my state of mind. 
And show beyond doubt that I have more nous
Than a mouse.

It will send a message to all mouse kind
That it is time to leave this city behind
In case I lose my nous 
And sacrifice the house to get rid of a mouse. 
 



Copyright © David Smith | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Roads

the shortest road
is the one that you know
the longest road
is the one that you love


Copyright © A.O. Taner | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Misjudged by History - NOT

President Barack
Teaches as Mother taught us 
"Speak Respectfully"

contest-Senyru of being misjudged


Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2015


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Aminus Brain

I am of soft, delicate skinned casing,
Housing an iron, logical facing.

I grant my femininity free reign
To follow dictates of my manlike brain.

My seductive charms can attract a man,
But he may run far once I show my hand.

My quick, mental wit delivered deadpan
Cannot be handled by males with no span.

Only those of equal mental process
Will see my smile and know any access.

Feelings don’t phase my skill to analyze,
Even when I flash my come-hither eyes.

I don’t have masculine strength or muscle,
But in games deductive, I can tussle.

Call me feminine, demure or girly,
Such true adjectives won’t find me surly.

Color my world with sheer lace all pearly,
Just remember my sharp brain is burly.



... CayCay Jennings, a Libra
May 27, 2016


Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Smarts



     Intelligence rises from ignorance when elevated by common sense...


     One Liner Contest
     Sponsored By Silent One
     07/11/2016


Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Thoughts on a Jezebel

Because she was a buxom blonde
and he lacked a sage Adviser, 
(like a naïve fresh off the pond)
he fell for and idealized her.

If he had been but the wiser
and much more careful with his heart
as if he were a mean miser,
he’d have ne’er been fooled right from the start. 

Poems for one of cheap, impure heart
make the Poet look un-clever
and like a fool, which is not smart:
hence his case from her did he sever!

A lesson learned late than never
is much better than to be fooled, 
played, conned, gulled and duped forever—
and so in her cheap wont he is schooled.



Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Why Won't You Play With Me

He and I went to the same school,
we were in the same class.

He never studied with me
or played with me.

He was too cool for me
and I didn't know how.

When we each went our separate ways,
back to our homes,
he had help with his studies,
while sometimes I found supper.

He got to sleep with just a blanket,
feeling warm and toasty,
while I slept with just a blanket, too, feeling cold as if I was outside,
perhaps I was.

I never wished I was him,
why would I?
why would I want to be someone,
someone who wouldn't want to play with me?

He never got the higher grade.
Now as he receives his paycheck from me,
he asks me how.
How did I?

I paused and smiled,
you never played with me,
no one did,
so I kept myself busy.

He said thank you for his bonus,
I said, no!
Thank you for not playing with me.


Copyright © Anna A. | Year Posted 2017


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Know IT All

I started to read at the age of three
and know all the winners on Jeopardy
have posters of Einstein all over my walls
the theory of relativity my favorite of all,

Since my parents and teachers and I all agreed
I skipped grades and earned an early Doctorate Degree
I'm a walking talking human encyclopedia
my brilliant brain to yours far superior,

Just ask me anything about history, math or science
I love to hear myself talk even about the latest appliance
in detail I'll explain to you how it all works
as I'll never quite understand your cranium quirks,

The few friends I have all belong to the same club
where the MENSA rules mean an IQ of 130 and above
when I get together with my ordinary family at the holidays
I try to explain the cosmos to them and they all walk away,

I've even heard them whisper he's just a know it all
avoiding eye contact with me as they scamper down the hall
but since I'm a rocket scientist genius I can't help but take delight
in having your full attention as I explain Einsteins theory of light,

I guess my family's new nick name for me is really quite fitting
no longer called Einstein but now known as Sheldon.


11-26-17







Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2017


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

TALKING TO GOD BY A BOX FAN

"TALKING TO GOD BY A BOX FAN"


hi God:

it's 3:33 in the morning and
I don't know what to do. 
everything is upside down.
there are red eyes sitting 
over the kitchen table and
they are all laughing and
eating and singing.
I haven't slept right in weeks 
and you wake me up in the 
middle of the night to write. 
I just took a pill and I'm 
waiting for it to put me down.
no one is around. 
they're out and silent. 
I have my own out and silent 
and it's in this room. 
they create a heart inside a 
man and let him sink.
I need a knock on my door 
from an old face. 
why is it when a man is soaked 
in love the rain never stops?
why is it after they create 
a heart inside a man they 
leave him to write poetry in 
bed at 3:33 in the morning?


By: Chicano Eddie


Copyright © CHICANO EDDIE | Year Posted 2018


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Drunk on my Tractor

I get up early, a rancher with chores
Hay grows in fields, animals shuffle, roars
Dawn breaks its steel grey grip on my land
And I, well, I have a clear bottle clutched in hand
The first swipe, the one that burns the most
Clears the head, lifts the fog, begins my dose
Work ahead, hours on the grind
A key in my hand, the tractor is mine
Muddy boots climb my ass to my seat
Prepared I am, for this summer heat
A seperate, full bottle in pocket, the engine is turned
Key to the right, another throat tickle burned
Through the gate on into field I find my day anew
View as of now, not quite so askew
The rows start straight, a farmers simple task
They soon grow crooked, I can't find my flask
Fuel runs low, a hassle to refill
Inebriated I find it easy to spill
Unwiser still, I light up a smoke
Finding my way, to field with a toke
Stoned and drunk I arrive at my field
I'll try it again, a little more even keeled
A drunken chuckle to nobody in sight
What a great poem, another forgotten to write
A vision of an old boss, his hatred of me
I laugh, again, to no person I see
He works all day at his nine to five
And I'm drunk on my tractor, happy alive




Copyright © Bic Gi-Sa | Year Posted 2017


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Look Spoken And Served

                                     Look, Spoken & Served

            I myself with Oneness, sorting through this mess and disaster, 
              With truthfulness, bringing faster, craftier, eternal factors,
                    Smells like hell departing with ignorant laughter, 
                             Through the storms of days after,
        Into the good news, from the one who knew darkness to outlast ya,
                          With a staunch persona, don’t compare,
                    To any man’s power, its conscious power shared,
                 The brains awake, causing good and evil to circulate,
            Like internal relations, neglect their sight in this earthquake,
                   Swords of wisdom to the hater, in another verse,
            Seeking wise knowledge through this hell for what it’s worth,
                                   Look, spoken and served,
                Clutch another word fighter putting steps to the word, 
                     These are the seeds, Skater styled proverbs,
              The unrighteous pay a ransom to get what they deserve,
                        Bang on about a lord, confined to a cell,
            Subatomic waves sell by wearing a pleasant array real well,
              The exterior can be the teacher, but distortion can spray,
                Like featured deep riddles badly retreat and reach ya,
                  Indestructible feature, I’m the narrator you select, 
           In company with the Upper Deck, I don’t neglect or disrespect,
              The heavens and earth combined, the ultimate divine line,
           The one percenters, promotions of evil grandeur in the airtime,
                     Bear in mind my rhymes, the tools of my trade,
                Aid my veins, insane in this game I came, this is a raid,
          Played out conscious praise in the day, when dues will all be paid.

                                                 Quincy Mac
date written: 4.12.2015


Copyright © Quincy Mac | Year Posted 2015


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Numbers don't lie

This is probably the first second time
On a third bases I have had a fourth thought
On my fifth victorious experience.
My victory proves that numbers don't lie.

Since the sixth sense 
Is not found on Seventh Heaven.
As we wish for an eighth day 
As part of the weekend
For we are doomed on Mondays
Like 9th/11
Deja vu is the tenth occurrence of victory

Utter wonderful words on Twelfth night
With no fear shake your spear on Friday the 13th
No Jason about it
Don't be sad about it, be gay.
No February 14th in my life
Hopefully in 2015
Then my life will be sweet sixteen
Or super seventeen
Then am legally 18 
Get married at nineteenth
Then its goodbye to the teens
But I am still stuck in the 20th century
Cos that's where the true meaning of life is left 
And on right my 21st Birthday I got the perfect key 
The key to open up my door to the 21st Century.
Its all in the numbers of life.


Copyright © Vuyolethu Sithatu | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Intelligence

Intelligence

A superb virtue—
Use for good, and not evil!
Smart is always good . . . 
           Man’s differentiation . . . 
To be nurtured at all times!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
May 15, 2015 (Tanka)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Why Are You Smart

They always ask
Why are you so smart?
But I'm not smart
I'm just wise
Which gives me the common sense I need to know when and not to speak
To know that I should do my homework as soon as I get home and to study with all the time I have to spare
To know I shouldn't waste my time with fools who will only give me burdens to bare
I am wise and I have enough common sense to know that I need to use it so I can be successful and make the right choices in life
On tests
And just before my death
I don't know who I will become in the future
But I know to search for my passion
And to never run away from it
I am not smart
But I know i am wise
So I will at least grow up with common sense
Just enough for me to make it somewhere 
And to help others get there
So you can call me smart
For being wise
But don't just say I'm smart
Because that's not what made my brain swell in the first place
It was what got me from there to here
Then to now
It was I within wise
Giving me this knowledge 
Situations I've been through
Everything that taught me to understand things
So I guess I am smart
But firstly wise
That's why I am smart



Copyright © harmony raymond | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Proud Secret

Ever since my parents bought me a Grundig TV for my room,   
And every week day unquestioned and without fail, 
I've watched the Channel 4 News avidly, glued to it,
From when I was ten when my ship did at last sail. 

I fell in love with Jon Snow instantly as a father figure, 
A socialist or social democratic who would interpret, 
Political and social events in a way that I understood, 
Without any superiority or cold, aloof mood. 

My best subject at university was marketing, 
Came top in my second year Easter class exam
And everyday when I watched it I analysed Jon’s socks and ties, 
Until I was 17, I could predict to myself the next days dyes.

This made me so happy and empowered me to continue, 
In that Christian fundamentalist world of criticism and guilt,
But the C4 News was my little secret which I kept to myself, 
As I was taught not to love things like that, of a worldly, societal lilt.

I was a devious child towards my parents and their religion, 
And lived by admitting only to liking that which I loved, 
So that they could have the satisfaction of disciplining me straight,
But pass me by as someone who religion did very much hate. 

I had my own sequence, mathematical formula in my head,
And the first day I got my television when the light was ahead, 
Because my dad used to monitor what I viewed with intense interest, 
I did not flip channels somedays, to suggest no deviation was in my head. 

And when Krishnan Guru-Murthy joined the show in 1998,
(I had predicted it from his way at BBC news presenting);
As he reported in Newsnight and BBC 24’s current events programme,
And I thought he would compliment Jon Snow and for youth be an emblem.

I'm hesitant to say that I used to be able to, 
Predict when he would grow a beard in playful discourse,
But I knew that he would always shave it off again, 
‘Cos that concerned, innocent face is not for recourse. 

I like Garry Gibbon, love Kathy Newman, Jackie Long and Matt Frei,
And Paul Mason always gets to the roots of the economics issues;
Lindsey Hilsum and Helia Ebrahimi give such good reports,
And Geoff White always excites me with his technology eye.  


Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Operating System

The System Disk

That wide open plan, 
The desktop area so spacious, 
A vast canvas so beautiful;
Why do you sit there, 
Open to all for their curiosity? 
When you to me call.

Oh cupboard, that hard disk brimming with identity, 
Memory no problem, even lacking files;
Proficiently organised with raging delight, 
Amorous filing system which you employ. 

All disks are obvious, seen by me, 
Begging to be viewed, added to or changed, 
Offering usage stats and permissions, 
That are not just the programmer’s privilege,
But any user's decree. 

No LOGO, no dos, 
No text-based system to beat, 
No floppies to be distorted,
By the drives' magnetic wheels. 

Encrypted files are offered,
But that requires some introspection,
About whether or not your loved one,
Would really infraltrate your disk,
And read your documents. 

My computer is a reflection of me, 
My order or my mayhem;
No longer my prowess and endeavour, 
‘Cos my articulations are my graft,
Not the machine’s mechanisations. 


Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Rain

On that same afternoon 
in a commune not too far away, 
hope got caught while 
stealing from the market of desires; 
luck got expelled for
cheating on the bonus questions;
love, on the other hand, turned into 
rain and escaped the cloud 
of acquired fears. 


Copyright © A.O. Taner | Year Posted 2017


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Freeway

I fell asleep in my dream

at the wheel, 
unfolded maps on the car's floor

to wake up to her smile 
not once but twice.


Copyright © A.O. Taner | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

when you are a number in high school

When you are in high school
And you want to grow up to be something you consider even a little bit significant
Your life turns into a list of priorities 
And if your priorities do not result in a good enough gpa 
Or can't fit into tiny boxes on an activities chart 
Then they aren't worth your time 

When you are in high school 
And you want to grow up to be something you consider even a little bit significant
Your parents and teachers and counselors opinions will consume you

When you are in highschool you create your own consequence filter 
All of your obligations go through the filter 
The ones with the biggest consequences you do first 
And the smallest consequences go last
Usually the smaller consequences ones are 
Eating enough
Sleeping enough
And keeping check on your mental health

When you are in high school 
And you want to grow up to be something 
You lie to your parents a lot
You tell them you’re fine
You tell them you go to bed at 10 every night
You tell them the worst part about your day was a class you don't like 
When in reality it was the overwhelming stress of pleasing the adults in your life 

When you are in high school
And you want to grow up 
You earn an obsession with numbers 
Including your  
SAT score 
ACT score
GPA 
AP test scores 
Every big lest 
Every little quiz
Every assignment you put in a basket 
Every notebook you spent diligent hours perfecting
Because all you work doesn't matter if the numbers aren't high enough 

When you’re in high school 
And you want to grow up to be something you consider even a little bit significant 
do NOT  stop and ask who you are doing all this for 
You aren't doing this for yourself 
Just go to class walk through the halls get the good grades
Score high on the SAT, ACT, AP 
You can live for yourself 
When you are doing something significant with your life







Copyright © Emma Kalliway | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Black and White - 3

two souls jack white wears white shirt tie quite bright cites writes loves snacks light verse kind guy won't curse hurts worse wise crack black mac takes no flack flights in ring pulls no stings packs hack of whack in his swing with no back slack his wack watch back 3/6/2016
Two Personalities


Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

POEMS

Eight hundred,

Night hunted!


Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen | Year Posted 2016


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Footprints

It's not footprints that we should be talking about -
They’re personal – my footprints, bold and giving,
Which shape me, make me me - who I am:
They're not Jesus’s, the king of living.

Your personal history partly determines your life,
Helps you, or makes you want to overcome,
Makes you want to become who you want to be,
Because I'm more than just my history’s sum. 

The Jesus that we know is a universality:
Communal, all-knowing and immortal;
But that I evolved and am part of humankind,
Gives me purpose and a rather large portal.

Individual responsibility makes the criminal weep:
His actions are only his, there's no leeway;
It gives the success story her satisfied smile,
At past determination in her disbelieving day. 

Existentialism posits we each exist without divinity,
As self-sufficient entities with meaning as your call;
Supernature strokes the ego, fondles the pride,
So just believe in atheism and be relational to all. 

In Mary Stevenson’s Footprints poem, 
Jesus carries you, with his footprints in yours;
But I think my role-models, physios and teachers,
Along with myself, carried me in theirs!


Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015


Details | Smart Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Miss U

Because tonight;
I’m missing someone I’ve never had a shaking of hands with.


Copyright © Christina Rose | Year Posted 2015