Best Con Game Poems
The mischievous Sandman runs a con game each night
After all the youngsters are safely tucked away
He dances into my room like an elfin sprite
He seizes my hand, tries to lure me outside to play
Then he’s bored on my shoulder at the computer
Threatens to throw pixie dust into sleepy eyes
Quells my muse like a discourteous intruder
I’ve attempted to handle him with a compromise
Just let my muse roam free for a couple of hours
For at this time of night, fantasies flow smoothly
But he feels the need to boast of superpowers
And when I ask for time, he glares gloomily
It’s three in the morning and I should be asleep
This nightly visitor has grown to be a pest
Distaste continues to grow for this pesky creep
And the sandman scowls when I say, “Give it a rest!”
*Entry for Deb’s Fantasy Land Contest
April 29, 2011
Momma tell your son
It's not about guns
It's not about the buns
on his sweet little huns
Momma tell your son
It's not about shame
It's not about the blame
or the old con game
Momma tell your son
It's not about hate
It's not about the things
In his grand estate
Momma tell your son
that satan hasn't won
and it's not too late
to hit his knees and pray
Momma tell your son
It's all about faith
"God is"
the highest power
and will return one day!!!
Testing his role as a friend,
he bluffs his way past mistakes.
Believing friendships end,
he oft gives less than he takes.
Much like a jester of old,
his wit is honed sharp and quick.
And he struts, cocky and bold,
with guile and a tongue too slick.
Chasing love and doing dope,
his future seems somewhat bleak.
For dreams addicted to hope
often devastate the weak.
Conniving for a fast buck,
he treats life like a con game.
And willing to press his luck,
given ash, he'll conjure flame.
His hands are covered in dirt,
yet music plays in his soul.
And broken by years of hurt,
it's clear; time levied its toll.
He is known for cavorting
with women, tall, dark, and lean.
But he's fond of distorting
truths; if you know what I mean.
A fledgling reporter discovered the story of a lifetime
Tim O’Hara came upon an alien aircraft that had crashed
He took pity on the sole survivor who’d committed no crime
Helping him out of the strange orb that in a barren desert smashed
Tim brought the alien home but his identity concealed
Suddenly living with a bachelor, Uncle Martin was his nickname
For four years we laughed as Martin’s odd behavior was revealed
Tim came to love his new “uncle,” realizing this was no con game
Martin, you see, had been blessed with more than telekinesis
His antennae kept emitting radio station songs and news
To hide them, Martin donned a hat that caused antennae creases
And the scope of human behavior Uncle Martin did bemuse
Bill Bixby and Ray Walton quickly stole my heart away
And as a child I could barely wait for the next episode
Perhaps my favorite show explains the feelings I have today
Belief in life on other planets to this TV show I owed
For Michael's "Rhyme Me an Old TV Show" contest
TV Show: "My Favorite Martian"
By Carolyn Devonshire, January 11, 2012
* "My Favorite Martian" was an American television sitcom that aired on CBS from 1963 to 1966. The show starred Ray Walston as Uncle Martin (the Martian) and Bill Bixby as Tim O'Hara (a reporter).
She reminded mi of Liz thou prettier than Liz
She was engrossed in her smart phone... me relaxed
next to her chat chatting business... i could tell shes engrossed
not in her smart chats.... but in my chat with my buddy Sam
her enthusiasm keeps rising unable to hold it any more she joins
Albeit i an offhand sort of way.... Cynthia is in a quest
same as i... in our academic deans office at the varsity
Cynthia is on an errand.. she needs authentication of sorts
Her she is on an errand.. but going by looks i guess she is fun
fun to be with.. and now i do know fun to talk with am so wired
so outgoing is she...the guys at college call it the 'it' factor
it means the different between being labeled charming or...
outgoing, snob, geek, smart or simply amazing.. am not being
judgmental... and am not into labeling but into connecting..
connecting with... and Cynthia is already so connected
Delightful... a carelessly used word by them con artist
but am not interested in a con game but in the lady...
she isn't snobbish... as i do now have the precious number
if love were religion she and i followers.. we would fly on wings
delivered to the city of pleasure.. for keeping ideals of the faith
Of love and morals.. i guess well have to find out but am betting
betting on my mortal name and by the spark of flames in her eyes...
shes fun to be with and your's am not the type to be snobbish.. especially
especially when am dealing with such a pretty girl its till and until.. i know her
we part me thinking... that our encounter is.. for its the predestined path....
lewis nyaga
mku.. 1847hrs
a dedication to Cynthia
Chapter 2
All her emails took months to reveal Chapter One
But the trust between us kept on growing,
On her part, perhaps getting that I really cared,
And for me, con game fear, was a caution.
At the start when she just ask for poetry help
It was certainly innocent starting.
I helped edit her poem on her brother’s death, (1)
Which was hiding an iceberg of feelings,
Little hint, from just it, her whole family died
And that she was the only survivor.
Then she finally shared that her parents were dead
And how she had been grievously injured.
It seemed clear, early on, she was tightly controlled
The relations quite distant she lived with.
But I was not concerned just because of her age
Till she overheard plans for adoption.
They were hoping to access her parent’s estate
Which was hers as the only survivor.
And her trust was so small that she actually feared
Them complicit in death of her parents.
We had talks about how little power she had
I advised her she needed a lawyer.
But she had little way to find one on her own
Even poetry time was restricted.
I felt sure she was hiding her friendship with me
Sometimes days would go by without speaking.
But with culture and distance to keep us apart
There was nobody else I could talk to,
Though a picture emerged of both power and wealth
And a family possibly murdered.
July 10, 2016
Brian Johnston
Poet's Note:
I promise that Neethu's story is not all doom and gloom. The next three
chapters will relate wonderful and amazing changes in fact. Stay tuned!
A perfect man, he pretended to be.
Using a con game on the lonely.
She was trapped in his lies.
Until she saw the evil in his eyes.
"Be careful, you dazed walker. Keep your distance from the stalker."
She is no longer his possession,
but can't escape his deception.
She has to see his dreadful face before calling 911.
When it happens, the damage may already be done.
"Be careful, you sleepy walker. Keep your distance from the stalker."
He wakes her from a peaceful slumber.
A reminder, he has her number.
Solid walls sometimes shake.
Victimized by his quake.
"Be careful, you drowsy walker. Keep your distance from the stalker."
Preying upon her during the night.
Like a vampire, he feeds on fright.
A doorknob turns without a knock.
She is glad the door has a lock.
"Be careful, you narcoleptic walker. Keep your distance from the stalker."
a fad, a cult, a kundalini awakening school
where the sacred is commercialised, trivialised
we are dismayed seeing how the blind lead the blind
later sharing deluded interpretations on the cocktail circuit
the promoters of the con game laughing all the way to the bank
whilst those who sought spiritual enablement, no wiser than before
15-May-2023
Ambush of a lie
North wind does it lie?
Or south leeward it lay?
Where does it lie?
Mounting evidence lying east
A peaking testament laying west
Gusty lies besiege down the crest
Why do Liars conspire against the honest?
Truth grazed in the valley
Squally lies ruffled the prairie
A Liar lurking trapped veracity
Oh how Liars hunt for morality
I felt sorry for you when you cried.
I trusted you & you lied.
Your "I'm The Victim" routine was a success.
You'd make one hell of an actress.
Don't burn your bridges.
Don't give me dirty looks.
Don't push me too far.
The next time you're homeless...I won't be there.
After all you've done...why should I care?
I've tried to be compassionate...
until I've discovered that you're a two-faced idiot.
Don't burn your bridges.
Don't give me dirty looks.
Don't push me too far.
Don't tell me the "My mom doesn't love me crap!"
I can only take so much before I snap!
I'm so sick of your con-game.
I'm not stupid & I'm not insane.
White Elephants
Written: by Miracle Man
11-15-2019
Our lives are now filled,
with “white elephants” today.
Objects desired by others,
so we’ve given many away.
Possessions we had no thought,
of ever letting them go.
Age has rendered them unimportant,
so on others we bestow.
Many weren’t desired,
for their “remember them” stash.
But for a quick sale,
and a little extra cash.
But we could have sold them,
if that were the aim.
Today we feel we’ve been duped,
in a legal con game.
But we freely had given,
with no strings attached.
But we feel somewhat betrayed,
and forever detached.
Being eighty I always assume they’ll keep things until after I’m gone,
But Just because I placed great value on something,
doesn’t mean that to another it won’t be just a $$$ sign.
Tom
Then, he'll tell you how sweet they are, and how much they liked his wife's Beef
Stew. Awww shucks, them boys love it so much they had a second helping, Hot
Diggity Dog going DoDo, and...
how they hope you don't mind, they just had to give them an after dinner kinda
snack or twenty two. The Misses is fixin' em up a couple Pigs Knuckles too.
You will drive for miles, wondering how they could have gone so far so fast.
After an hour, you'll find the house and you'll see them resting in the grass.
They will have licks and wags to give, all kinds of happiness sparking in their eyes
They know they are getting a reward when they see the car pull up the drive.
After all, every time you pick them up, don't they always get rewarded, by
going for a long and windy ride? So far, they haven't been denied...
You can't take it personally, they play this routine with everybody,
So, it's not just something they saved for you.
They do it because they have fun, it must be such a blast.
They're prepared, organized, very slick and way too fast.
They'll do it again, until they know they've been caught on to.
Then they go and figure another way to play the con game on you.
This is what they do.
Lobo Little Man, and his boy Teka Maroo...
Give them even half a chance, and they will con you too.
Loreen Parke
January 18. 2003
Written for my wolf Lobo, his son Teka, and their daughter Aurorah. Also written for
all of the wolf people out there that know exactly what I speak of in this story.
I'm aware of a con artist when I see one.
I'm familiar with the entire con game operation.
and the hard, cold facts of reality
that the public apparently is too blind to see
is that most con artists are now centered in Washington, DC
Every where in the world
When you eat fish
In a restaurant
The restaurant owners
Claim it is salmon or tuna
Or other delicious fish
But the sad reality
60 percent of the time
You are eating fake fish
The fish may be fish
Or may not be fish
But if it is indeed fish
It is probably tilapia
Or some other cheap
Bottom feeding scumbag fish
Filled with toxins
And possibly tape worms
And other parasites
And as you eat your delicious fish
You are eating the fake fish
And helping the fish industry
Continue this con game
But there is nothing you can do
Except for catching your own fish
And preparing it yourself
So, when you eat fish
Pretend if you must
That you eating salmon or tuna
While you eat your tilapia
And pay the salmon/tuna premium price
from my unpublished chapbook, "fake things" available on my web page https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com
I warned you that I’d leave.You’ve made your choice.
I’ve changed my phone number,so I’ll never hear your voice.
Did you really want me to be your wife?
You’ve betrayed my trust and ruined my life.
“Do you think I’m a idiot?” Rob my heart.
I knew I had to leave after your fake suicide.
When there is trouble,you run and hide.
You’re a wimp and our love was a mistake.
Your con game caused me much heartbreak.
“Annihilate my hope”.Rob my heart.
My love for you has already faded.
I know you’re the reason I’m jaded.
Did you ever have a mind of your own?
You’re the reason that I prefer to be alone.