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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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Playing Games by bauer, ilene
NO TIMES FOR GAMES by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
GAMES AND SUMMER by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Night Games by Davies, Ivor
Fun and games by Seal, Alexander
friendship games by Teagan, Becca
Two Games Of Two Halves by Spangles, Suki
THE CRYING GAMES by mdeyide, odwa
WAR GAMES by Enriquez, Leon
The Games You Play by Pinet, Emile

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The Best Games Poems

Details | Games Poem | |

PUCKISH

                      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.



More great poems below...


Details | Games Poem | |

March Madness

march time
hype time

basket
ball bet 

crowds boo
munch goo

fans cheer
drink beer

poor aims
close games

april
a pill

time nears
fan fears

number
bummer

the one
not fun!

cut nets
let's jet

Details | Games Poem | |

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.

Details | Games Poem | |

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.

                                                (hehe)

                           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.

                                                (Nothing)

                         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.

                                                   (Ouch)




                    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
11.29.2014
Contest: What’s up With Santa
G 4

Details | Games Poem | |

Chess

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.

05-13-2014
Casarah Nance &
Tim Smith

More great poems below...


Details | Games Poem | |

Indulgence

Pushing the power button...purr,
the fan starts humming in a whirrr, whirrr.
The flat screen gives a comforting glow.
Click...click...as I enter a password only I know.

Hiss and fizz as the Dr. Pepper bottle cap pops,
twist off and on until the fresh foam stops.
Pour into a tall glass...crackle..the cold ice,
Ahh, first sip on my lips, so deliciously nice.

The smell in the air as I open a bag of Doritos,
with the first bite of the nacho cheese, desire grows.
Messy fingers, toxic orange both of my thumbs I lick.
Wipe the keyboard down from the sticky ick.

Loading the game, it is Everquest Two,
at night, online role playing is what I do.
Crushing the chips, sipping on the soda pop,
from ten to midnight, oh no I don't stop.

Then I hide my indulgence from little eyes to see,
because this is a treat just for this hard working mommy.


For Contest: Indulgence
Date: Feb 7, 2015

Details | Games Poem | |

Lost in Youth

Lost in Youth

Rainbows in the clouds, walking on  railroad tracks , locomotives up close 
Kickball games , I am left footed, spooky reflections in a mirror, running naked 
Wooden desks and chairs, kids in the classroom , the little girl across the street 
Black and white T.V., Air conditioning , a new blue car, exhaust  fumes
The farm, coal fired furnace , warm heating ducts 
a collie , a cocker spaniel and a horse named Thunder
Dark starry nights , telescopes , comets and satellites
Northern winters, snow covered fields ,sledding, frozen lakes , and Orion 
Camping in fields , mosquitoes bites , quiet dawns and heavy morning  dew,  
Grandparents ,riding  lawn mowers , apple trees , flower and vegetable gardens
 Southern Summers , warm muggy nights , ceiling  fans ,open screened windows
Screened in porches, ancient toys, , tiny  transistor radios, baseball games  talking late into the night 
Badminton , side lawns , and long rides home
Public pools , icy waters and underwater swims 
Trombone , marching band and high school football games
Sleepy classes, friends , lunchroom games, and girls 
High school graduation , college and final goodbyes


Details | Games Poem | |

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 

Details | Games Poem | |

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
Down
The
Middle

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

Details | Games Poem | |

Probabilities


   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




Details | Games Poem | |

Roll'em

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

Details | Games Poem | |

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 

Details | Games Poem | |

Vibrant Verse 2

Crackle, pop, fizz,
the soda pop sweetly
sings.
A tall, ice cold
glass of Coca-cola
sweats beside me.
Circles on the
hardwood floor, I
hide under a pillow.
Father would be
furious, I won't let
him see.

My brother and me
side by side on the
floor.
Too close to the
television, I don't
heed warnings.
The whirlwind of
competition in the
air,
a tornado of
energetic video
games in the
mornings.

My tiny hands grasp
the Nintendo
controller.
The red buttons beg
to be pushed in fast
fury.
Up, down, up, down,
left, right, left,
I'm coded.
Mortal combat, my
character blazed in
a hurry.

Blow by blow,
defeated one too
many times, revenge.
Excited language
spills from our not
so innocent speech.
Pillows between us
start to wrestle
with each other,
In his playful anger
he throws mine out
of reach.

The battle is
heating up vibrant
and controlled.
Colorfully splayed
across the screen,
good times had.
Perfect sibling
competition,
rivalries and pride
tested.
I scream "I've won,
finally!" I was too
loud, I woke up Dad.

Grounded from the
hypnotic lights on
the screen,
Still I grin from my
well thumbed gaming
victory.
It might have been
the first time and
the last time,
But I can say that
at least once, I was
the winner, yes, me!


For Contest Vibrant
Verse 2
08-01-2014

Details | Games Poem | |

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.

Details | Games Poem | |

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
.

Details | Games Poem | |

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.


Details | Games Poem | |

The Hunger Games-Poem

Enter the arena
Buckle down


Ready?
Set?
Kill!

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.

Details | Games Poem | |

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.





 









Details | Games Poem | |

A HOMERUN

A HOMERUN Golden gloves catch. Louisville slugger hits the ball. A homerun made. He shouts home sweet home was my aim. The clouds were clear. The crowd shouted from the stands. This was their hometown and the homerun was made by their player. The American pastime was invigorating. Another Babe Ruth in the mist. He is hitting a hundred this year. Home sweet home he aims. The ball is out the park once again. _________________________________ Penned January 25, 2015!

Details | Games Poem | |

WORLD CUP

Our heroes roar
There they are
Flags held high
Voices raised too high
Eyes raised so high
Heads up in the sky
The spirit of football so much
They are our heroes
To play it all
All mouths are wide open
Throats always yelling out
Our heroes truly roar
Our hearts stir to the rhythm
While we watch the ball
We widen our souls in the stadium
One world on the pitch
We catch the ball in our eyes
We all kick it
‘****in **** we goin to do it’
The cries of victory make us sane
The laughter for the goal
The red card curse
The yellow fuss
It’s in the news ;’what a hurray’
They win or lose
The heroes kick up the wind
And kick up the sun’s rays
Till the sweat reminds us of the power
We want them to get the cup for us
When they do we promise to hail them
Though not all of us can have it
Those who lose want to kill
But we remember more excitedly
It’s better than the world war three
It’s the world cup
Those who put their lips to it
Will play it and play it
Because our heroes roar! And roar!








Details | Games Poem | |

Because They Play the Game

Dedicated to every young man bestowed the honor of wearing 
the glorious Oklahoma Sooners' Crimson & Cream 

--------------------------------------------------------------

Over sixty years, boy and man, I have been a Sooners fan;
And always hoped to be among the truest in the stands.
And while I don’t remember all the Players’ names,
They’re my Heroes, each and every one, because they play the game.
  
When they’re on the field of battle, my Sooners surely give their all;
And when they’re on the sidelines, just waiting for a Coach’s call;
Visions of Glory must be dancing in their heads;
The Glory of the moment and our cheers, the Glory of playing for
   the mighty Big Red.

And for those Sooners who rarely played, whose names were 
   known only by a few,
Make no mistake my friend, each of them is my Hero too.
Like Soldiers waiting in the ranks, but never called to fight,
They ‘re ready and they’re willing, their spirit and their sacrifice
   add to Big Red’s might.

I stand in awe of Sooner Magic.  No, I never doubt it.
My Sooners could have never won so many Championships without it.
But don’t misunderstand when I say Sooner Magic won those games;
It was Sooners players who, once again, rose to the occasion and
   glorified the name.

Sixty years of college football and my Sooners have won the most.
Their fierce pride and performance inspire this simple toast:
“My Sooners Team goes on and on, different faces, different names;
But my Heroes, Each and Every one, for win or lose…
                                              
                                 They play the game.

Details | Games Poem | |

I'm the Power Player

10
I sprint as I cry in pain
Coach yells, “ RUN, PASS, SCORE”
9
Blocking out all the screaming
And the chaotic noises
8
From the sidelines
I dash through five tough defenders
With everything that I have got
7
Out of breath I devour the last of energy 
I can use to score the winning goal
6
Ball zigzags in between my bright orange cleats
As I fly through many obstacles that 
Get in my way
5
Five seconds left in the game
Will it make it in I think as my fingers are crossed
4
All the pressure is on that ball and I
As it soars over the field where I am myself and
Flies to high for the other team players to get
3
The ball tears through the goalie's gloves.
 No one can drop the confidence level I have just received 
2
The ball collides against the net, and I have caught a joyous victory
That exact moment pays up for the backbreaking, painstaking work I've put in
With every goal I score, I rule the world
1
That’s why I am the Power Player of the team
I don’t give up because I’m all determination 
For my love of Soccer

Details | Games Poem | |

The Game

My life has been one enormous charade,
A make believe game,
A play I have played, 
A story I tell myself, day and night,
Hidden from myself, out of sight,
A game of hide and seek,
While searching for something else to eat.

The game,
A cosmic game,
A comic game,
A bad joke,
A puff of smoke,
A laugh,
A bath,
A lonely path,
The Game.

I used to take it so seriously,
Think it, feel it so real, so perfectly,

So certain I that was right,
That I lived in the light,
So convinced that I knew the rules,
So obvious I had all the tools,
That I saw the truth, 
That I saw the light,
Would win the battle, win the fight.


Heard the sound of the distant drum,
Calling me to battle with the devious one.
The walls of my ego were high and mighty,
My dreams and delusions danced in front of me,
Their smooth dark surface impossible to climb,
Images I swallowed and thought were mine.


I made them alive, moving and real,
Twist and turn like a slimy eel,
Just to tell myself that I was still someone,
Playing in the game and having lots of fun,
Just to tell me and to tell you,
That I wasn't a loser,
So I wouldn’t hear the words game over.


Game over,
Check and mate,
Here's the gate,
You have to take,
Out of the Game,
The game of shame.


The game of avoiding being blue,
Of dogging the bullets they shot at you,
The atomic bomb they drop on your head,
The monsters that they put under your bed.


The game of hiding away,
Live to play another day,
Even if it's only make believe,
The prizes in plastic,
And not worth a dime,
At least I have the impression that they are mine,
At least I don't fell the pain,
The pain of shame,
In this perverted game.


So that I don't feel I'm a prisoner,
Tied to this post,
Don't even realise that I'm only a ghost,
That the truth is well hidden,
On the board of the game.

That the prizes are in plastic,
But they are shiny and new,
The paint hardly chipped,
The emptiness hardly shows through,
The laughing is loud,
The smiles are all warm and friendly,
And we are all together,
Joyful and happy.


The illusion is REAL,
And only the mad man knows,
That it's a rotten deal.

more of my poems at http://labyrinthoflies.com

Details | Games Poem | |

Spirit of Sport

Spirit of Sport It was that one day Where the team can't play Then you join To score a point You start to celebrate But then you just get baked But then the game changes U join the game And loose all the shame U dont earn the fame Although it can be tamed Then move your foot And be able to shoot You tame the fame And win the game Don't think of it Just do it.

Details | Games Poem | |

Stripes

They both wear black and white,
Sport’s fans will see some tonight,
As one type skates on frozen water,
The other keeps a herd in order.

The man can get caught up in media hype,
Each has the same angle of stripe,
Only one has them down to the toes,
And tries to out run the foes.

Seeing far away is their asset,
Always watching out for a threat,
While the other kind may need to hide,
Making some calls they seem crossed-eyed.

A zebra is born looking like this,
All the while, hoping their enemy will miss,
Linesmen and refs are known to make a bad call,
In the end, it could be a team’s down fall.