Long Conker Poems
Long Conker Poems. Below are the most popular long Conker by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conker poems by poem length and keyword.
When will Baz..Ben & their men ken..learn
Despite or to spite the "has beens" concern
Trouble to rubble only listen to their bubble
That Bazball trite shi*e they're always right
Be true to thine self.. the cover drive shelf
Lack that knack & gift to swiftly shift back
On pacy racy turfs where the conker surfs
Play it late and don't hit it on the up mate
Wafts of wishing fishing on the 5th stump
Down in the dump chump will then flump
Snag trumped by the ball that did rag jump
Nicked to slip or off the glove it did thump
Rascals debacles and wickets castled slump
Head more pizzazz..razzmattazz did gazump
Smoother purer surer bravura groover jazz
Baz did kowtow to an Aussie..now take a bow
OZ's wizard of the wood blizzard was that good
Y'all we should clearly really call it "TRAV or is that CHAV BALL !
the silver birch
it likes to hide
so as you search
at eventide
you find it there with many friends
playing poker through the night
the common oak
a wise old man
an aging folk
since time began
grandfathers of the forest they
speak myth and folklore when they can
the sycamore
with helicopter seeds
sets out its store
among the weeds
then grows to be big and strong
from people’s picnics on which it feeds
the horse chestnut
is the conker tree
the children’s favourite
but too spikey
until they are ready later on
and why kids were late home for tea
the yew
is old
and grew
so slow
its age is in millennia
and battles from the archer’s bow
the hawthorn
its blossom white
and at dawn
as if it snowed all night
then all too soon the white has gone
a desperate case of bad stage fright
the conifer
fir, spruce and pine
a regular
likes mead and wine
to keep it warm in winter then
comes into homes at Christmas time
The woody musty note of fallen leaves
hints that summer’s gone, but no-one grieves;
at least not us schoolboys walking home
as we, those piles of chestnut leaves would comb.
Glossy brown gems inside their prickly husk
we searched for as the day turned into dusk;
if none were found among fallen leaves: a stone
a ball, a stick, into the tree was thrown.
Conkers in autumn, sport of playground kings;
horse chestnuts drilled and threaded upon strings,
in turn dangled like victims from a rope;
each swings his own with scarcely hidden hope
to smash their archfoe’s conker into pieces
thus the value of their own increases.
It goes like this, each day for quite a while,
bruised hands and wrists accepted with a smile.
One day it stops, unwritten, but seems right,
time to start preparing Guys for Bonfire Night.
Jimmy put the mighty back in Blighty
Our riper sniper
Viper and pied piper
Didn't want to budge
Depravity of sporting gravity
But given the nudge
So off he did trudge
Issue won't fudge
Still got a grudge
The king of swing..conker on a string
Chestnuts curve...swerve with such verve
You rarely see him hobble our wizard of wobble
Still wiry and fiery...fit as a fiddle so he can
Continue his riddle out in the middle
Definitely more Harrods than Lidl
It seems unfair the flair.. his control in the air
Precision of a physician...our own homegrown musician
Magician keeping alive a glorious past tradition
With his own fantastic rendition
But Selector Trifecta Sedition
Means we've seen the last edition
Humdinger....swinger...gunslinger
Bellicose blows..predicts & inflicts woes on his foes
Audacious soul...born to bowl
Continues to rage..this sage you can't cage
Yearns to still be on the ultimate stage
Despite...or to slight...in spite of his age
Well why should it encumber..its only a number
Like losing an olden golden friend
We will never ever see his like again
Final fix of his bag of tricks
Reminds me of the Matrix
Masterly plan of this remarkable man
So smooth..sublime
Divinely refined
In the groove..prime grace
Our forever adored Time Lord
Who could bend even space
Ah Mr Anderson
When I was a lad about nine or ten
Summers were long school holidays great then
I played in our street we had so much fun
Me and my mates in the warm summer sun.
We felt really safe as we played in our street
We respected the bobby as he walked his beat
Cricket and football in the street we would play
My mate smashed a window we all ran away.
The girls played skipping with their hair in a bow
We would rather play fight , climb trees you know
We would play marbles and conkers make paper planes too
Me and my mates found plenty to do.
We even built a trolley using wheels from a pram
We chased all the girls they squeled as they ran
The days were so long much time to kill
I remember playing roly poly down that grassy hill.
We tried to build a raft with some oil drums tied to a big plank
We took it to the river guess what it sank
I had so much fun growing up as a lad
I was bit of a rascal but good times we all had.
Bobby is a slang word for a policeman
A trolley is like a gokart but made of wood
A conker grows on a Horse chestnut tree. You thread string through the conker stand facing
another person with one and take turns hitting each others conker until one breaks off the
string
So sorry to see you go Mo
Tally ho & bravo but must let you know
Not being weird...you had a bigger beard
Face more hirsute to boot than even WG Grace.
Gleaming beaming grin..streaming through thick and thin...
Joker scheming and memeing of jolly japes in manic scrapes
Becomes a theme which actually factually shapes the team..
Huge heart but at the start...batting was his art
But got the ball to dart...a sneaky peak of freak tweak
Rev of Revs..runs would leak but could get the conker to squeak
Bunsen burner turner..utterly butterly unique
It went wrong not long after the Swann swansong
Lucky that plucky Mo came along
Should be defended as ended up our number 3 in history
Lyrical levers larruping lush cover drives
Ridiculously pretty on the eye...fragrant flair as fresh as glacial air.
Humility..civility..and fragility...a kinder...peaky blinder..Midlands nobility
No cobblers.. Mo has to be one of the finest lip and cherry
Wobblers to ever come from the city of Brum
Where he was born...bred and buttered
Rally the Mayor to not dilly dally
Name a street Moeen's Alley
Oh and just in case you didn't
Hear in the first place...
Or history does somehow misplace
Mo the face of grace..elan..silky as lace..
Had a bigger beard than even the feared
Revered and rather weird...WG Grace
Reminiscing
Sitting here the sky is grey
Contemplating what to do today
I’ve read some poems this morning anew
They made me think of when I was with you
The love we shared on a grey morn like this
My heart I gave, you gave me a kiss
I spoke those words so hard to get out
I love you dearest, I wanted to shout
You took my words I had given to you
But you buried them away and I knew we were through
The tears slide down my cheeks now anew
I wish I could see you to say thank you
My heart I gave you when I was six
I didn’t know life played awful tricks
I never loved you I know that’s true now
You just had a bigger conker than me it was WOW!
I had a sixer you had a niner
You bragged about it even when it gave you a shiner
It flew off your string and hit you in the eye
I laughed till I wet myself, I don’t know why
Just sitting reminiscing on this cold grey day
Has made me smile with the memories, now so far away.
Written By Mandy Tams 17/02/2012
CONKERS# A childs game played by threading the seed from the horse chesnut tree ie:conker, on a piece of string then bashing the oponnents conker with it. The winner is termed by the amount of conkers they break, ie: oner,twoer three'er and so on.