Consider, if you will, the crocodile
who patrols the Nile
and dreams of things
we do not know:
he may give your legs a playful tug,
might look, my goodness, very smug,
but his mind
is far from slow!
Day by day
in his calm and deliberate way
he reflects on depictions
of hieroglyph inscriptions
and, there, in the Nile,
once in a while,
he chews and swallows
Egyptians.
Mister Crocodile
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spencer_broughton
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Haha, I like it. Short and witty. But I do think the line
he may look, my goodness, very smug
breaks up the flow unecessarily.
he may look, my goodness, very smug
breaks up the flow unecessarily.
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twoleftfeet
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Tee hee! Inscriptions/Egyptians - GROAN! 
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Amadeus
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Haha. Good poem. I especially liked the ending, with the isolation of the word 'Egyptinas'. It gives a feel of contemplation of the word, but a cop out, and generalisation. This adds to the comedy, I think.
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HeidiHogrefe
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Humorous and playful. I bet you could write great children's stories. The rhythm is great and good description.
Nice one, ded. The jaunty tone reminded me of this ...
The Yak by Hilaire Belloc
As a friend to the children
Commend me the Yak.
You will find it exactly the thing:
It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back,
Or lead it about with a string.
The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet
(A desolate region of snow)
Has for centuries made it a nursery pet,
And surely the Tartar should know!
Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got,
And if he is awfully rich
He will buy you the creature --
or else
he will not.
(I cannot be positive which.)
But then I started thinking of this ...
A Crocodile by Thomas Lowell Beddoes
Hard by the lilied Nile I saw
A duskish river-dragon stretched along,
The brown habergeon of his limbs enamelled
With sanguine almandines and rainy pearl:
And on his back there lay a young one sleeping,
No bigger than a mouse; with eyes like beads,
And a small fragment of its speckled egg
Remaining on its harmless, pulpy snout;
A thing to laugh at, as it gaped to catch
The baulking, merry flies. In the iron jaws
Of the great devil-beast, like a pale soul
Fluttering in rocky hell, lightsomely flew
A snowy troculus, with roseate beak
Tearing the hairy leeches from his throat.
And that made me think of this.
The Jungle Husband by Stevie Smith
Dearest Evelyn I often think of you
Out with the guns in the jungle stew
Yesterday I hittapotamus
I put the measurements down for you but they got lost in the fuss
It’s not a good idea to drink out here
You know, I’ve practically given it up dear.
Tomorrow I am going alone a long way
Into the jungle. It is all gray
But green on top
Only sometimes when a tree has fallen
The sun comes down plop, it is quite appalling.
You never want to go in a jungle pool
In the hot sun, it would be the act of a fool
Because it’s always full of anacondas, Evelyn, not looking ill fed
I’ll say. So no more now, from your loving husband, Wilfred.
And then, it seems, I stopped thinking. Not before time, obviously.
The Yak by Hilaire Belloc
As a friend to the children
Commend me the Yak.
You will find it exactly the thing:
It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back,
Or lead it about with a string.
The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet
(A desolate region of snow)
Has for centuries made it a nursery pet,
And surely the Tartar should know!
Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got,
And if he is awfully rich
He will buy you the creature --
or else
he will not.
(I cannot be positive which.)
But then I started thinking of this ...
A Crocodile by Thomas Lowell Beddoes
Hard by the lilied Nile I saw
A duskish river-dragon stretched along,
The brown habergeon of his limbs enamelled
With sanguine almandines and rainy pearl:
And on his back there lay a young one sleeping,
No bigger than a mouse; with eyes like beads,
And a small fragment of its speckled egg
Remaining on its harmless, pulpy snout;
A thing to laugh at, as it gaped to catch
The baulking, merry flies. In the iron jaws
Of the great devil-beast, like a pale soul
Fluttering in rocky hell, lightsomely flew
A snowy troculus, with roseate beak
Tearing the hairy leeches from his throat.
And that made me think of this.
The Jungle Husband by Stevie Smith
Dearest Evelyn I often think of you
Out with the guns in the jungle stew
Yesterday I hittapotamus
I put the measurements down for you but they got lost in the fuss
It’s not a good idea to drink out here
You know, I’ve practically given it up dear.
Tomorrow I am going alone a long way
Into the jungle. It is all gray
But green on top
Only sometimes when a tree has fallen
The sun comes down plop, it is quite appalling.
You never want to go in a jungle pool
In the hot sun, it would be the act of a fool
Because it’s always full of anacondas, Evelyn, not looking ill fed
I’ll say. So no more now, from your loving husband, Wilfred.
And then, it seems, I stopped thinking. Not before time, obviously.