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Best Games Poems

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

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New Games Poems

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

The Hunger Games Continue by lowe, millard
Elegy for my shogi games by Machaya, Pheko
Party Games by Dillenbeck, Gerald
One Man Drinking Games by Banks, Russell
Playing games with tennis balls by Harris, STANLEY
Head Games by Heemstra, Robert
War Games by Richards, Carrie
THE GAMES OF LIFE by isaac, atere
Two Games by johnson, curtis
No Games by Nicholls, Tammy

View all new Games Poems

The Best Games Poems

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A row of marbled faces, eerily looking the same,
Vulnerably standing, with no fear or shame.

The King is calm and quiet, simple in his speed.
Short on time and energy, filled with anger and greed.

The Queen beside him controlling, no where she can't go,
She moves with mighty vengeance, a smooth ebb and flow.

The Bishop is almighty; hoping none of them will fall.
Crossing back and forth, giving his blessings to them all.

The Rook is our tower, hidden, way off to the side.
It's there our King can castle if he needs somewhere to hide.

I watch the game play out before me, strategy and endurance.
With a rhythmic to and fro, the battle is a bloody dance.

Protect the King at all costs, that is our passionate creed.
Give to him our faithfulness and he will return our need.

Everyone of us is special, we all play a key role to winning.
He admires and will provide for us, he tells us at the beginning.

When the knight stood in front of me, with his steel sword drawn.
I realized right then and there, all I was is just a pawn.

Casarah Nance &
Tim Smith

Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2014

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Sarcasm bites

Lunging forward a stab to the heart,
vitriol hurled at an unsuspecting soul.
A sarcastic word or comment, thrown in jest,
tearing flesh, leaving a gaping hole.
I was only joking, ha ha, wasn't that fun?
he says to no one.
Why are you hurt?
They're only words you know,
letters put together as one.
Intentional or not, caustic words will burn,
stinging speech cannot be unstung.
Hurtful songs, once sang, cannot be unsung.
Playing the dangerous game of sarcasm,
is like shooting words in derision.
Vitreous feelings are shattered,
only causing hurtful division.
Sarcasm is not innocent child's play,
it bites, it leaves marks, that forever may remain.

Think before you speak there are always consequences to hurtful speech!

John Derek Hamilton  November 18,2015

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2015

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A Golf lesson

Over fifty years have passed,
Tho’ it seems like just the other day;
My father gave me golf clubs,
“It’s a game you need to learn to play.”

He said, “It’s very difficult, but so is life.
There’s more to learn than grip and swing and rules,
Like honesty and dealing with adversity;
Then, pointing to his head, “… and how to use ALL your tools.

Play the Course… and Mother Nature…
Focus on just one shot at a time;
Try to learn from each of your mistakes;
Then, do your best to leave them behind.

These clubs will teach you more
Than our ‘man to man’ talks.
This you'll learn for yourself,
So you can “walk the walk.”

“Practice makes better, but not perfect.
And always remember what they say:
‘”Golf is not a game that we can win.
It’s just a game we play.’”

His lessons served me very well,
Took them to heart and play the game.
And life is much like a round of golf.
Despite the bad shots, I’m always glad I came.


Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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I really am a golfer

I really am a golfer 
And let me tell you why
Its only when I swing a club
I really feel alive

I really am a golfer 
And take my driver out 
I swing my club and hit the ball
As hard and I have might

I really and a golfer
My ball is in the rough 
I swing my metal 3 real hard
To find the grass is tuff

I really am a golfer
My ball goes 50 ft.
It’s out the rough and in the sand
And buried very deep

I really am a golfer 
I take my sand wedge out
I open up the face of it 
And swing it with a clout

I really am a golfer
My ball is on the green
I swing the putter in an arc 
 With boggy on the seen

I really am a Golfer
My put goes 10ft past
I’m looking at a double 
But the Green is just too fast

I really am a golfer 
The balls beside the cup
I make it in the center
And my friends they call it luck 

Copyright © Justin Time | Year Posted 2014

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March Madness

march time
hype time

ball bet 

crowds boo
munch goo

fans cheer
drink beer

poor aims
close games

a pill

time nears
fan fears


the one
not fun!

cut nets
let's jet

Copyright © Thomas Martin | Year Posted 2015

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Without A Clue

The guests were partying in the big house
a burglar sneaked in armed with a lead pipe
Mrs. White in the kitchen bastes a grouse
Colonel Mustard had guests caught in his hype

A candle stick shone while hung from a rope
in the library Miss Scarlett, dressed in red
felt a cold shiver when a hand did grope
then led to the study, she, filled with dread

In the hall a loud bang sounds with a boom
a revolver echoed…  Reverend Green fell
Professor Plum in the billiard room
bled from a dagger…a final farewell

In the lounge, Mrs Peacock ( what a wench )
reflects on her actions, holding a wrench

© 9/6/2014

This sonnet is based on the game of Cluedo it has 
been the source of many hours of entertainment
and the source of many an argument, possibly 
leading to murder.
Mr Green was originally called Reverend Green
it was changed to Mr. for the American market.

Copyright © David Williams | Year Posted 2014

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Flailin’,  flailin’, flailin’;
There goes my ball sailin’
Into a trap, the water or the woods.

Flailin’, flailin’, flailin’;
You can hear me wailin’,
“Why won’t that damn ball go where it should?

Drives go right.  Putts go wrong.
I shank my wedges or ‘skull’em’ long.
My golf game’s just no damn good.

I’m swingin’ too hard & lookin’ up;
As if I’ll actually see it go in the cup….
As if it ever really would.

My alignment’s too far left or right.
My ball can find the only tree or trap in sight,
Even if the shot starts out lookin’ good.

These days, I carry some special tools:
A handheld weed eater with extra spools
And a pruning saw, in case I’m in the woods.  

I’ve even tried to ‘buy’ a better game.
No matter.  My scores were just as lame.
Those new clubs didn’t do what they should.

Bogies & doubles...even triples... are common scores.
I very rarely get pars any more.
Believe me, I’d change it if I could.

My buddies said it must be me,
A teaching pro I should go see.
They said he’d fix my game…..if anybody could.

The pro said, “Hit some balls while I watch you.
Just set up and hit’em like you normally do.
We’ll see if I can do your game any good.”

After the first bucket of balls I hit,
He calmly said, “Take two weeks off…then quit.
Take my advice.  You really should.”

Now, what really has me vexed,
I’m wondering what I’ll try next.
That pro’s advice was no damn good.

So, I struggle along with my flailin’ game;
But, strangely enough, have fun just the same,
Finding hope in rare shots that are actually good.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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Another man's Clothes

The idea behind this poem came from reading a poem of the same title, written by Richard “Canadian Man-god” Lamoureux. Now, his poem went in an entirely powerful, yet other, direction than I thought it was going to go. I happily let him know that. So, he decided to have me touch upon where I thought he was going with his poem. 

Some people really need to be careful what they ask for… ;-) 

On an 8pm, Louisiana dream

Tastes of nocturnal, July humidity
Succumbs flagrant passions 
With moistened grip, they tease

Coltrane whispers annihilate tense exhales
Under concave moon

She threw Mr. So and So onto Pacific Ocean’s waterbed
As if she was a professional baseball pitcher

His exuberance would shatter sound’s tattered walls.

Slow grinds
Chemical reactionary bliss
Similar to Neutron bombs
Minus the consequences

Her tailored skin
Ready for gripped, enigmatic resolutions

But, first,
She had to “freshen up”

“You’re already being fresh, don’t stop on my account”,
He says with Monday mourning frustration

As cedar scented bathroom door shuts with determined patience,
And running water with a mix of Celine Dion hums from her trained throat
He stands to gather his thoughts…

…until his eyes exit stage right towards her opened travel bag

A pair of satin boxers & edible, Cotton Candy hand-cuffs from Target
With a signed, perfumed gift tag,
“Can’t wait for tomorrow, Mr. Such and Such,
-Love, your Hedonistic dream”

As running water came to serenity’s halt,
She exited restroom with shedding curves.

Her strut became dislocated,
As she stared into his trembling pupils
Wiping the cotton coating from his lips

“Too bad you couldn’t chew your way out of this one”,
The other half of the handcuffs smeared in cursive signature
Against yellow-gold gift tag he hands her with unedited closure

With striking slams against Louisiana hotel door
Parallel to Mother Nature’s thunderous clap

He exits stage left
Giving almost-lover
A proverbial slap

©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013

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What's up with Santa

                                 I played a nasty joke on Santa
                                     once on Christmas Eve,
                                  I put some exlax in his milk,
                                       and he drank it clean.


                           Now that’s one Christmas I remember,
                           Dad sat on the Lu till end of December

                              Another time we greased the roof
                                      My brother Clay and I,
                                       Hoping to catch Santa
                                      when we heard him cry.


                         Another Christmas I couldn’t forget soon,
                      Dads leg was in a cast, till the middle of June.

                        The next year we decided to write old Santa
                                    And apologize for our tricks,
                                   I guess old Nick squealed on us,
                                 Cause dad came with THE stick.


                    I believe Santa's still mad at me and my brother Clay
               Cause he never brings our kids, presents on Christmas day.

                                              (Party pooper)

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Contest: What’s up With Santa
G 4

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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One wake-up away
From the best day of your life.
Life’s just a crapshoot. 

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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   relying on chance 
trying to find a needle 
   inside a haystack

a well-balanced choice
  a winner or a loser
   you can bet on it

     when tossing a coin
the most probable outcome
  would be heads or tails

     lack of dialogue
increases the probable
   failure of marriage

        waking up early
does not always guarantee
    you’ll see the sun rise

  weighing pros and cons
when faced with a decision
  between right or wrong

Author: Paul Callus ~ 24th July, 2014
Contest: Haiku on Probabilities
Sponsor: Marvin Celestial
Placing: 2nd

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014

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                        the blue
               cotton - candy clouds 
         in  my pretty rainbow dress, I 
       softly sing along with the anthem 
 of Western Winds.  Airy and light, I'm lured-
      being  invited  to  sway  so  slow,
       swirling in intimate tango with 
            the cool - sweet breeze. 
                 Breathing anew, I
                  clamor for more, 
                   I dip and dive.
 With snaps in my tail, I soar high! High
    like a ship sailing the playful tides 
      of the blowing winds, mounting
           from   lows ~ to ~ peaks
              but as the wind rest
                     to relax
                        I fell
                                  I dare 
                                I will  be

SPONSOR: Broken Wings
Contest Name: Creative Layouts
~~1st Place~~

O.E. Guillermo
6:08 pm, October 20, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015

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                      I am that merry wanderer of the night.                                    
                                        Puck, Midsummer’s Night Dream.

Rob ‘n Good fellow wears no simple guise

and I met him today on even ground,
he tipped a friendly hat, told not a lie,
kindly welcomed me, we spoke in the round.

Rob n’ Good fellow sees through flustered walls,

nudges a cagey fox,  seeds the mad crow,
defends his deep woods where he tenders crowns,
brokers for peace, but readies quick arrows.

Rob n’ Good Fellow, the man about town,

Mischief-in-grin and plan-at-hand,
generous with his liberality,
yet keeps broken humans in his command ...

Still, Rob n’ Good Fellow, imp of affinity.

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2015

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I Saw Butterflies Drinking Rain

I Saw Butterflies Drinking Rain

As a kid, I raced to climb a tree
with joyful spring in my steps.
With sweetest youthful life in me
like wonders from ocean depths.

Loving sunshine and chasing bees
bold was my adventurous play.
Mysteries lurking in the tall trees
new treasure found every day.

I saw butterflies drinking rain
red hawk flying in the air.
Images stored in my young brain
life was sweet and so fair!

Nature taking me into its fold
sent wildlife to show me how.
To touch wisdom before being old
start truly loving life now.

Crossing streams, leaping stones
such pleasures came my way.
Careful to not break tender bones
kneel down and softly pray.

Skies of blue gracing my flights
with cheer in the clouds.
Life was loving these fine sights
gladly avoiding city crowds!

Home is food and safety for me
mother and father so true. 
Finding treasure upon open seas
could never compare to you!

R.J. Lindley
April 25TH, 1970

Found today while searching old poems, had forgotten 
it was even there.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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Plastic Playground - Visual 5

Plastic Playground The plastic playground sits on land, Land now defaced of nature’s scheme. Scheme offers colored shapes pristine— Pristine like board games played inside. © Sandra M. Haight 2015 All Rights Reserved ~6th Place~ Contest: Four Lines Only - Visual 5 Sponsor: Nette Onclaud Judged: 06/12/2015

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

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BIO Of A Simple Man Called Me

            BIO Of A Simple Man Called Me

Coming from a normal family
Perhaps not by today’s standards
I had two loving parents who stayed together 
They lived and died together, that was their choice
And molded me to be a humble man of virtue
Most friends and family call me “gullible”
I believe anything you tell me… but only once
My parents named me Earl and wished me luck
Short stories, plays, novels, and sometimes poetry, is my way of life
I have nothing published but I still like to write
No one will pay me for reading books, so I played the game
Giving people subpoenas, travel documents, all in the same day
A travel manager by day, a constable’s officer by night
I’ve led an interesting, sometimes dangerous life
I’ve even had a wife or two and a couple of children along the way 
I love chess and Zelda video games and played for hours
The Beatles are the best of the very best for music pleasure
Kafka, Samuel Beckett and Hesse are still such fun to read
People still call me gullible and lame
But I’m still standing, still playing in the game

      Created on 10/09/14 for BIO Poems -Poetry Contest 

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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The Battle Begins

The battle begins with an assault on the hill
Our men respond knowing my will
The white warriors continue their drill as before
My men are confident to the core

I order attack on the right white flank
The whites maintain their tightened rank
Generals continue to deploy the men
Since the White attack, this general must defend

My right bank archers saw the chance
Neutralized the left bank Archers in confidence 
The trench warriors were stopped in their tracks
This stalemate will eventually end on the flanks

The White General moved to his right
Surrounded by warriors ready to fight
A squad of tanks guarded his side
The Master General needed to hide

My main power entered the fray
The enemy King cornered in the bay
The battle continued action to action
General to General, Grant and Jackson

Both sides fought to the end
The White warriors had to defend
I saw the opportunity to be great
My final maneuver delivered Checkmate!

A Chess Poem

Copyright © Joseph Guth | Year Posted 2015

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card houses

you build high your dreams
with these card houses
as you stack them against walls

yet your eyes are closed
to life, so how can you see
what it is you hold?

you think you hold all the aces
in those battered fists of yours?
(be careful of the winds)
they may come tumbling down

care to gamble,
take a chance?

I can tell you
before you place your bet
the deck's not full
it never really is
it's just a game
nothing more
nothing less
and you can never win

go ahead ante up
the stakes are high
when the pots full of fire
just be careful of the winds
they may huff and puff
and blow your house down

it was never balanced anyhow
you just never saw

Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2014

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Playing games with tennis balls

>Playing games with tennis balls?

Men, playing games with tennis balls!
Earn far too much dough.
In the game of tennis you know.
Some male players are now acting tough.
Saying they aren’t paid enough.
For playing games with balls not too rough.
Now they say they want more pay.
Than women, who with their balls do play.
Dragon, that last line sounds not right.
Might be read wrong, on first sight.
Guess someone will soon complain tonight.
We’ll blame it on AI, that’s right.
I’m glad they’ve all got the same dough.
When winning Wimbledon you know.
I still feel sorry for all them balls.
When served so fast into the air.
That’s the thing, I don’t think’s fair.
Why is it when men play ball games?
They insult women so.
Them that play tennis, with those tennis balls.
Some men really do you know.
If women should with those tennis balls play.
Men should never complain anyway.
For when women serve those balls so.
Men can volley them back you know.
Women may not be as strong as men.
In all sport games they play.
But neither do they throw tantrums.
If match points, don’t go their way. 
I’m not a keen tennis viewer, that I must declare.
As I watch those poor tennis balls, whizzing through the air.
I had a job explaining that, to my friend Planet Nine.
He thought they were small planets, being hit for fore.
I said that was another sport, best we do ignore. 
I wish all sports ball game prizes, were at least the same.
Played on a fair smooth plain
Not on a plane that flies so high.
You can’t play those ball games, in the sky.
So come on you men, do play fair.
Pay all prize money equally so there.
When women play, ball games with you.
They can be on equal pay too.
What else can I really say?
As I play with balls every day.
But as a poet, I don’t play swell.
Nor am I paid as blinking well.

Well done Dragon and you Spellchecker, sorry but we will have to divide the royalties with Planet Nine. Why? That simple he is bigger than us. Bye everybody. Stanley (The mad Author)<

Copyright © STANLEY Harris | Year Posted 2016

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A Limerick - Green

We went to the football match, I dressed in green,
Everyone laughed, thought I was a poor bean.
I was with a crowd all dressed in blue,
Good grief, I was in some very hot stew.
I stood my ground; Green won. Hooray as I kissed my Celine.

21 March 2016
Sponsored by: SKAT A
Placed 4

PS This is a true story.  My guardian angel saved me from being lynched that day.

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016

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Wretched Creatures That Live To Deceive

Wretched Creatures That Live To Deceive

Tis no wonder that some choose to just go
the bad ones certainly put on a real show.
They depend on those that just do not know
playing as if clean as wind driven snow!

No honor,lies and darkness in their game
doing just as they damn well will.
Nothing they do brings them any damn shame
getting by with dishonor, what a thrill.

Look about and see how sad some humans are
wretched creatures that live to deceive.
Their black souls just one large wicked scar
playing for any gain they can receive.

Sad that, such sad ,evil creatures win out.
They do because good people do not shout!

Robert J. Lindley, 09-26-2015

NOTE: I am quite sick of seeing rascals and liars win out 
especially as they do so by mistreating others! 
Clever in their dark deceit, ego's leading them by the nose.
Game players that truly win nothing with their lies and clever

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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Speak Of Real Bliss

I stopped combing my heart
So my feelings could lock up
And I’d be able to speak of real bliss
Then wrap my love around how unlike
The others you drew no boundaries
But still you knew who you want
And I didn’t have to pull any stunts
Or play these games 
That we all play when the days
Turn to night and her smile
Shines so bright

I’m enamoured 
Losing all my power
But I don’t need this
Lie to steal this kiss
And I don’t have to lie 
Or invent moments that
Speak of real bliss 
Or wish that she was another
Cause she’s the other
I wished they all were

The games I used to stir
My pot of lies
And tries to be the man
I’m not ready to be
You had the foresight to see
That soon I’ll be the man
Who speaks of real bliss
And wants to give you kids
Living the best life  
You’ll ever know
We’ll grow together

Maybe even old
A weathered couple 
Reminiscing about that Tuesday night
We had our last first kiss
The night I learned how
To speak of real bliss.

Copyright © Lyndell Cadasse | Year Posted 2006

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Beast of Burden


Three sisters - two as lovely as the dawn,
the third, a travesty of face and form
and we - a trio of fine gentlemen,
(to all but former flames, who'd disagree!)

Like Musketeers, we fellows made a set -
one for us all and all of us for one!
So too, these ladies, we learned with dismay, 
which left us with no choice but to draw lots...

Good manners and good breeding tantamount,
we chose three cards and tossed them in a hat -
two Queens and one that we had scratched to white
(which would, of course, prescribe the oafish girl)

Sometimes you are the cart, sometimes the ox
and I, a beast of burden soon became!
The first man pulled a heart, the next, a spade
but last to choose - alas! I drew a blank!


Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2016

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The Victory Dance

To play as if today
Is your only chance.
Some say, “It’s just a game.”
Have they done the Victory Dance?

When hard-earned Victory
Was finally at hand,
Have they felt the glory
Raining down from the stands?

To do or not to do….
No one wants to hear, “We tried.”
Effort and dedication will be rewarded… 
They'll make the 'magic' that's on your side. 

Yes, to fall short is still an option;
But much better to succeed.
Heroes are made and remembered
Only by their deeds.

So, just go out and win.
Give your all to each and every chance.
Persevere and achieve…

And do the Victory Dance.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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The Hunger Games-Poem

Enter the arena
Buckle down


A gong sounds
We're off

The Hunger Games have begun!

Blades of swords and knives crash
Arrows whizzing.

Run. run, run
Away from the cornacopia!

Blood splatters, staining the earth
Bodies splayed on the ground

Some survive
Others die right off hand

Only one left to be the VICTOR!
Welcome to The Hunger Games!!!!

This is based on a very good book called The Hunger Games (well good in my 
opinion). This future distopian science-fiction novel is about future North America. 
The Capitol is a very dictator-like establishment and starve their citizens then throw 
them into the hunger games, a fight to the death on live television.

Copyright © The Melody Sings | Year Posted 2009