Long Chancer Poems
Long Chancer Poems. Below are the most popular long Chancer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chancer poems by poem length and keyword.
Too little
too late
God said to me
in this dream I had about fate
So I asked him
what did he expect,
A goody two shoes
a prophet
a saint
to be something I ain’t
Not at all he said
I want to be entertained
Eternity is boring
mostly people snoring
especially at night
and during the day on occasion
Look god! I walk around an
Amazon warehouse all day
pigeon-holing tat
picking this and that
How am I supposed to amuse you
Well I do enjoy you
breaking stuff on purpose
sabotaging the line
Bunking off for a smoke
going to the toilet
and drinking erm… doing coke
Ok hands up!
I admit
I’m a total chancer
and do stuff I shouldn’t
But it’s alright isn’t it
that Amazon place is full of s-hit
Yes it is a terrible kip
but more fun when you entertain
Like in your last job
listening to you lie
not taking the blame
asking me to help out
In your moment of doubt
All that stuff you stole
and barely got away with
on the whole
That was quite funny!
Oh the (paper and plastic) I gathered,
before selling it to the highest bidder
Throwing expensive stock out in the trash
The owner was a bastard
all things considered
a miserly swine
But nevermind
Thanks!
I did need a dig out that time
Hey! remember when I was aged about 7
and was told my pal went to heaven
Why did it happen
A year later walking to school with another kid
he was only 8
And that nut-job attacked us with a hammer
Put a hole in my friends head
The blood pumped in fountains of red
I thought he was dead
All the gore I’ve seen
witnessed a killing at 18
Trying to hold down an abattoir job in between
Yes! Life ain’t pretty by design
sometimes the stars just won’t align
Others times they go nova
and leave black holes behind
still you’ll never really understand
The powers in command
So how about this poem
Will it see me home
Does it amuse you
are we cool?
You’re still alive aren’t you!
By
David Kavanagh
I guess we can struggle when we sit down to write
But use your own words - to plagiarise isn’t right
When I read a poem that’s simply too good to be true
I then begin to question, was it even written by ‘you’
If I google a few lines it will give me the answer
You’ve been caught red handed – you were a chancer
I just want to read poems that I’ve never read before
If I find stolen work I won’t read ‘yours’ any more
Why claim words from another writer, as it is a crime
You’ll never find stolen words in any poem of mine
Part 1 posted on soup 7th February 2015
Part 2 ...
To obtain contest glory and gong
You stole another's words, it's so wrong
Plagiarism is vile
You've done it quite a while
I’m hoping this is your swan song
Hollander died aged eighty three
So tell me how could it be
His work’s here on soup
‘you’ wrote it – that’s poop
Soup booted this fraud speedily!
Sadly the culprit has once again been posting stolen work soup even entering it for contests, thanks to eagle eyed souper's he has been removed once more.
30th December 2019
she came from Carlow, wee caitlin girl
one of three sisters gave you a twirl
ancient bridge, river Barrow
she was long, very narrow
still glimpse her glance where wild waters swirl
legend of Dublin lived all alone
yes, you guessed, it's our Molly Malone
Howth to Dun Laoghaire
she hobbled home weary
heaving her wheel-barrow, skin and bone
bareback beauty from Kildare of course
the equine county, she rode a horse
the Curragh and Church of Oak
Hill of Allen, she met a bloke
fell from her mount far into the gorse
wee ossory cat from Kilkenny
he lived in a castle with many
his marbles were off the grid
on festival floors they slid
lost them all, he couldn't find any
sad lad from Laois, brains short of an ounce
escaped from prison hard to pronounce
nailed tight down inside a crate
trickling blood betrayed his fate
men with batons were ready to pounce
canny Longford Lil made you quiver
banjo playing by Camlin River
laid-back lady, bluegrass hair
fortress town and country fair
tickled and plucked she did deliver
this talkative halyon hailed from Louth
he robbed two banks then headed down south
stopped at Dundalk to have a drink
garda grabbed him in a blink
that Drogheda gaol did shut his mouth
Meath mini minx, curious and slim
from Navan or Kells or was it Trim?
crawled into a passage-grave
all by herself, very brave
one leg out, you can still see her limb!
tall Tullamore youth from Offaly
he played around so awfully
he zoomed right in on Zara
next kissed his cousin Clara
then cuddled Brosna unlawfully
Westmeath chancer in boot of his car
some hooch for the folk of Mullingar
for Athlone, fancier grog
illegal still from the bog
smooth smiling man who smoked a cigar
wretched banshee on the Wexford beach
collecting pebbles within her reach
the sea then stole her ardour
he left from Rosslare harbour
lifting her eyes she started to screech!
wild Wicklow wag went out to play
the Arklow shoreline and on to Bray
Sugarloaf, Lugnaquilla
Glendalough, wee tequila
back to Greystones, he's had a good day
People have a tendency to think
they always know what is best
giving their opinion to everyone
putting their point over all the rest
Equality is never even considered
they don't think anyone knows better
but everyone has an opinion
small and great none is their debtor
Everyone has known many a experience
so have right to be given value
to be listened with true attention
real worth is what they're truly due
But they are those self opinionated
having higher thoughts of little old me
than they ought to truly have
for all were created equal you see
Do they really know better?
that question deserves an answer
what can one really say?
just think what a chancer!
The day has finally come
Learn what was and what will become
A small injection that could change lives
With hope and prayer that she thrives
So much depends on this injection
To feel content without any rejection
To make those bipolar voices disappear
And her personality to reappear
The thoughts and voices driving her down
For months no smiling only a frown
Negativity flooding from every pore
This little thing could open a new door
All I need is for her to be safe
A promising outlook without the chafe
A happy and healthy women
And not sink this far mentally again
This type of medication is the last hope
Something that we both need to cope
I do not know what to do if this fails
Or what to do with all it entails
But I’m willing to let myself believe
In order to let myself feel relieved
Fingers crossed this is the answer
Without it is like living as a chancer
I’ve pinned my hopes on this
With hopes and dreams that can be bliss
This is just a small piece of the puzzle
But a giant leap forward in the struggle
Poetry is a calling
Like a moth to a flame, I cannot tear myself away;
I must look again, to see what I was blind to see when insane.
Sanity brings clarity; my eyes are wide open.
Let it all come from studious thoughts
And be written in poetry without reason.
Burn your history behind you, by telling your story;
Without you there is no me. To the end! Forward to glory!
Book up your ideas, in a non-idyllic life;
Cause pain, more forward, suffer pain and write.
Banish bygones to a memory of Hell;
Let all fall before the sword, inside books, under your spell.
Let passion shine through like a ray of sun;
Let no-one tell you to stop your writing, until you are done.
You know everything inside your enlightened mind;
So scars can no longer be formed, life cannot be taken. It’s alive!
Destiny is calling; do not ignore its call.
When words become power, we shall rule the world!
In a land of dis-placed people, searching for any answer,
The chancer takes his chances and the laughing boy becomes the fool.
Poetry is a gift, so embrace the peace, love and empathy within,
Because if you cannot sing or dance,
At least you can write something with meaning.
It is you who is doing this; it is they who wish to do it too.
It is a necessity; it is a thing you love;
You are no longer a Hu-
Man being on this land, you are immortalized.
You have risen up to a higher state of consciousness;
You have learned to fly.
Now you soar above the landscape
And roar out your words.
Let all who hear my call, roar with me,
For we are human no longer; we are birds,
We are fish, we are mammals, we are nature and the unseen.
We are writers, we are poets, we are in tune with everything.
We become something, to feel its thoughts;
We morph before your eyes.
We are constantly evolving;
We know just how it would feel, so we must write.
A calling to all;
You are what we have been waiting for.
Poetry is a calling;
You are an artist…so go show the world.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Written for all people who are sick of being treated badly. Particularly kind people like Lightworkers and Empaths.
If they don't appreciate your presence, you may need to teach them about your absence.
Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity, kindness and respect.
I'll be the one you'll miss
By Michelle Morris
22/11/2024
You say you're not trying to push me away
And yet your behaviour pushes me towards the door
You say that you don't need me
Yet it's oh so convenient when I help without being implored
Are you really that self-absorbed
That you don't see the warning signs?
Are you so ultra self-assured
That you think you'll get someone better in time?
I don't think you realise that
I'm one of the few who'd put up with you
All your strange behaviour
Mixed signals and little untruths
I had hoped that we'd become friends
But I guess I have my answer
I've just been wasting my time here
Being used because you're a chancer
You don't appreciate my presence
So I guess I'll teach you about my absence
You'll be wondering what the hell happened
When there's no one to deal with your lapses
And when you see me leave for good
Don't be surprised when your World crumbles
You'll no longer be under my protection
My Angel Light will be gone and you'll stumble
Don't feel sorry for yourself then
Because Karma can be a little mean
It's going to royally kick you down
Put you in your Cosmic place for real
And when you're down there in the Dirt
Or drowning in the Dark Abyss
Know this my fickle little man
That I'll be the one you'll miss
© Michelle Morris, 2024
A bug who loved to doodle
was floating on a noodle.
He had to get some sunscreen;
the sun was getting brutal.
He could not reach the lotion;
he needed a commotion
to interrupt the pristine,
make waves just like an ocean.
He saw a pretty spider;
he sidled up beside her
to ask if she would help him
because she was a glider.
She glided to a lady
Who was a big fat ‘fraidy.
A-shriekin’ and a-yelpin’,
she made the pool all wavy.
Our bug packed his caboodle,
then hopped out off his noodle.
It seems that he was last seen
astride a golden doodle.
So if you don’t want cancer,
and you’re a take-a-chancer,
a long-haired dog romancer,
doodles may be your answer.
(A lone voice whispers)
In the deepest of my wildest lucid dreams, she always comes my way. And as the waking world dims, her shadow appears like a familiar shade. Slowly walking in.
Like a haunting love song, my soul's only angel over my guarded bed. I can't erase.
Opening a secret portal above where I lie to another realm where we can play. Telling me to take her hand, so we can slip away through its black gates.
No more worn or tired but too brave to consiouness retire.
We always fly as two, entwined into the grey smoke and translucent blue. And as always, while we fly, she always whispers, **"Do you love me as much as I love you?"**
And I always answer like the wild chancer I am.
**"As much as Adam loved Eve, for in me do believe as we fly. The king and You, his queen, into the dark rift of The Great In-Between.**
**As watching angels sing as we are seen.**
**Oh rejoice! They have returned. The two once more reunited until dawn's new light.**
**The white feather and the flame. Praise be their names.**
**Oh, rejoice. Praise be they return tomorrow night.**
**Praise be. Oh, rejoice."**
And so we fly into the smoky halls of the Greatest of Games. Spiritual lovers forever entwined until the day we die.
The White Feather and the Flame.
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
I got mugged in Moenchengladbach
Straight up and down
I got mugged in Moenchengladbach
In a back street of the town.
I’d been drinking with this bird,
Said she was an exotic dancer\
But the way she was supping
I thought she was more a chancer.
I was quite surprised when
She handbagged me to the ground
Just because I suggested
It was time she bought a round.
She was a little upset,
Of that there was no doubt,
She toed me in the ribs
As she stormed out,
And this guy at the bar
Helped me off the floor
And normal service drinking
Resumed once more.
So we’re chatting at the bar
This young guy and me
And he told me about a place
That i just might like to see
So I’m stood outsde
Waving my wallet in the air
Just to prove I had the money
He said we’d need there
He made a quick grab
As he smacked me on the nose
And like a scared rabbit
He’s away off on his toes.
I chased him of course.
What did he expect?
What was surprising
Was what happened next.
He’s hiding behind a car
And he’s collapsed in tears;
I could hear his sobs
As I drew near.
I swear I didn’t touch him,
Not even one little whack,
Just stood there and glarrd
Until he gave my wallet back
.
And then the lesson
That had to be taught
If youre going to roll a squaddie
Don’t get caught;
So he made a contribution
Towards the next few drinks
Not exactly voluntarily
Now i come to think,
As I left him contemplating
His declined wealth
At least when I left him
He was in good health.
We even proposed him a toast
With the drinks he’d bought
Hoping he’d learnt
From the lesson he’d been taught.
I got mugged in Moenchengladbach
Straight up and down
But I made a profit from it
In a back street of the town