Long Conning Poems
Long Conning Poems. Below are the most popular long Conning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conning poems by poem length and keyword.
The Socialist gang leaders,
in the House and Senate still sit.
Not respecting the American
Constitution one tiny bit!
Conning their followers that
Capitalism is an evil way to live.
Hitler thought the same, and to
Germany lied and gave them all
a deathly, lying, shive.
I have to wonder, deeply about our
lost and belittled great history
Universities on down, don’t teach
truth but opinions tangoeing in
fabricated mysteries.
I pray our schools return to decency,
not sex continue as sex change facilities.
And more, yet more Americans, pray
to their God on humble knees!
11/17/2022
Written: December 23, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
*************
Castle Ravenloft looms—
a janiform crown of storm-light and stone.
Its spires protrude as if imploring
a cold, unanswering nimbus.
Below, Barovia lies—
a shabby village where cowslips squirm,
and daybreak, under mists,
offers only a brief farewell.
This land’s spirit is sacred suffering.
Hope and death entwine in chiaroscuro.
Symbiosis curdles into a curse,
and the living move with shadows
as though born to them.
Ubiquitous, gelid mists
embed xenogenesis in every breath,
Their jagged deceit conning the brave and mulish.
Dark, shriveled streets of Barovia—
laden with pale wisteria—
echo with inane, forgotten glee,
an odor of treacle, revulsion, and lost joy.
On the edge between night and terror,
a winsome child may hum a chorus—
a fleeting overlap of sorrow and mercy.
But the mists return, hostile and persistent;
after tasting music, street, and soul,
only the castle remains—
a riddle whispered against
a cloudscape that refuses to rise.
After the paint
has dried
all they're left with
are false pictures
Internal fixtures
externalized
masquerading
as truth
The truth is
their mask hides
the lies but exposes
what's true regardless
They're artist of
a different kind
Kind words for those
conning their way
with heartless acts
Me?
I rhyme with facts
not looking to sway
you or any other
I pour from a cup
that runneth over
& spill only what
I intend to tithe
When my cascade
aligns and falls
there's no running
for cover nor packs
in which to hide
What befalls you
is as liquid as the paint
used to tar & feather
I'm transparently lucid
whether you're far
or near sighted
I could never
feel slighted by
eyes in dire need
of glasses
I inspire you
to see without eyes
to counteract it
Those cataracts
insofar as I can see
has blinded them
with fake glee
Slowly but surely
they're starting to see
what it is & isn't
cracked up to be
Feeling blue, caught the flu, head like glue, what to do.
Feel the chill, feel quite ill, take a pill
Bed is best, have a rest, what a pest
Miss the game, what a shame.
Can’t watch telly, aching belly, feet are smelly, ate some jelly
Made me worse, what a curse, throat like furze.
Drank some coke, what a joke, made me choke
Feel so weak, can hardly speak.
Think I’m dying, feel like crying, friends are sighing. WIFE”S not buying
“Stop the moaning, give up groaning, no more conning,
Just be glad, you’re not as bad, as poor old Brad,
He’s got piles." Hides her smiles
Counted sheep, fell asleep, in a heap, nice and deep.
Woke up fine, after nine, drank some wine,
What a day, I have to say, come what may,
I’m still alive, I’ll survive.
Tracie's Contest : Make me laugh- make me giggle Sept 2011
this is an old one but rules say that's okay
Furze- Gorse -a thorny plant
He's so phoney in poems, moaning only,
same tone, same story,
a war he can't endure anymore that beats him sore and sorry,
exploring his core for strength absent before in writes of sheer folly.
Wanting to write powerfully like Churchill or Eminem,
but unable to create an impact as do many men.
It's easy to ridicule the metaphorical irrelevance,
as he revamps old writes lacking in intelligence.
Always using the same twist from behind a different mist,
ending with insistence he can return from great distance,
but he's not fooling anyone,
his fall's evident to everyone.
If he'd focused when he wrote this and applied a thought process,
he might have aspired beyond mono syllable rhyming and formed continuous structure,
but too useless to see it rewrote and tidied of mess,
he tirelessly goes on n on with simple investment of
contagious rupture.
He used to try and rhyme three words in each line,
double-rhyming words that evoke the mind,
concludes over time ease occurred with decline,
now forcing sounds heard or spoke in the rows behind.
By this point in the poem he is aware of his failure,
after reading back the words he's just tailored,
happy to cliche but not be a sunken sailor,
he tells of new fire, desire and determination to respond braver.
Follows the procedure of "seeking the peak",
covering up the fact he's pathetically weak,
forgets he lives worn down, always too tired,
and suddenly he's electrically alive and wired,
the traits of the self conning compulsive liar.
Self critical now in his inhospitable soul,
existing solely pitiful on the whole,
typically critique doesn't motivate towards the goal,
believing he's snowballing too fast to stop the roll.
All he takes from being mentally broken,
is his bravery to tell and let it be spoken,
doesn't care how they judge his way of coping,
because all he has left is being completely open.
Aesthetic expectations, quomodocunquize,
An exasperating farrago of marketing lies,
Conning client desires,
While promising celestial skies.
In the "Selfie Era," so condescending,
Filters sculpting phantasmagoria, never-ending—
Painting a majestic illusion,
Regality of beauty, a fleeting delusion.
"Ageless," a dream that transcends all streams,
Flustering the mind’s membranes, it seems;
Cajoling artists, ripping through pockets,
A glamour tornado that ceaselessly rockets.
Embrace imperfections with pride,
Challenging the conventional tide.
Luminance flows from deep within,
"Mirror, Mirror, let self reflection begin".
she pips in fear for lateness like her peers,
hauteur cloaked with reticence,
her-boo-boo-vague, though walled around and palpable
official Narcissist disguised in rude affronts
Bravado of naughtiness in candour yet tacit
“Free me to free me”, rants in melancholy
as ignorance upsets sorts of sort
Insensibility of differentiating as angels often tastes the gall
By routines of cataract long glare
Sends nostalgia down their spines
Though forgetting the milk and candies of supposed rivals
Doubling as friends in conning angst beggarly in their nature
Nagging and ganging a gang of gossipers
Finding Mutual grounds for their victims
Causing higgledypiggledy where there exist no war
For a suspected compromise of morals
Or a hunting taint of a past paints on Z walls
Where decorum is not a schoolmaster
As official time wastes in visits to motels at un-break break time
With holy bible at desk view to mask hypocrisy
First venerable “Etis” Migrants tasted buds of vinegary as noised by witnessing chauffeur
And guilt cautioned not her thigh with an avalanche of showy attire of a seductress
advertorials of “buried innocence” jagged in curved carbuncle front and back
Banging shoes in unending visits secreted in kitchen
double-faced, loud calls to clients for managerial gratitude
as empty office fill vacuums of fast quickie (sharp-sharp) appointments arranged or rearranged
Ill-mannered, bad-tempered not marriageable, never listen, never patient making enemies
Commandeering, verbose, self-conceited, presumptuous, stout and arrogant
They said they can’t trust what I say
Cus I lie about everything each day
But lying has never been my way
The attention span of adhd
It’s just an effort I don’t make
It drains my energy being fake
It’s much easier to just be honest
So that is me and that I promise
Mates of mine lie as a habit,
Transparent lies so very tragic,
I’d watch them lie as it entertained
sticked to their story which never changed
When caught they just kept going
It was so stupidly mind blowing
Why bother when all are knowing
On and on their lies kept growing
I would just face up to facts
Not interested in blagging back
Nothing ventured nothing to gain
consistently lying is oh so lame
Call me lazy there’s no point at all
You get caught out and look a fool
But pathological liars think it’s cool
It’s makes them think they’re successful
Call them out they get offended
They turn against on the offensive
tell lies about you and people listen
believing it though logic is missing
And the story is spread around
becoming a most common sound
Until all have heard it before
And becomes the truth for sure
And done before you are aware,
Judgement anything but fair,
When you protest your innocence
Lying is what people sense
The lie is that you are a liar
So guilt is the outcome of the trial
And my mates have been successful
Conning stupid and the next fool
Slander is a real life changer
Close people become a stranger
But who needs those one sided people
Who must be sinister or simple
So I don’t try to win over anyone
Why would I when most are dumb,
It rocks your world to its very core
Get up get on and see them no more.
Don't you worry bout my soul
Til you've been down all my lonely roads
And gauged the weight of my full load
Don't you worry bout my soul
.
I see you on the tv conning, talking squawking walking like you really care about me and my kind
You cry your tears like a crocodile empty eyes phony smile,
To me I plainly see you're clearly blind
So don't you worry bout my kind . . .
I see everything just fine
You're busy yelling and a tellin me all the things you think you can see, going on in this ol world you think ain't right
Get the beam on out of your own eye, til you've listened to the children cry, hungry and tormented in the night
Don't you worry bout my eyes . . .
I'm seeing everything just fine
.
Don't you worry bout my ears
Cause you've been deaf for many years
I don't need some deaf man tellin me what I should hear or how to be, when he is only playing on my fears
So don't you worry bout my ears . . .
I hear your deafness loud and clear
.
Don't you worry bout my mind
Though it gets misplaced from time to time
But I think I know what courage means, how heartache feels, when freedom rings
And I know that I am running out of time
So don't you worry bout my mind . . .
I think I'll get along just fine
.
Don't you worry bout my soul
Cause I met the Master long ago
And the one you portray Him to be
Is not the same One known to me
The One Who made me free so long ago
So don't you worry bout my soul.
.
Mathew 15:14
Tired of feeling sleepy today - August 17th, 2019
Lashed with fatigue,
eye cannot fend off lethargy
hazy, hot, humid weather zaps
mental physical, and spiritual energy
even men of cloth
various and sundry clergy.
Undoubtedly summoning Parson Brown
currently out of season,
though stratospheric demand
for his person now
unprecedented as summer
dog days force physical slowdown,
nonetheless he would
experience immediate meltdown
booked solid throughout
"Winter Wonderland,"
when deep freeze
doth make clampdown,
no matter sung by masses
with uncertain reason
caroling 'bout said enigmatic figure
heard in every hamlet
or sprawling boomtown
belted clear as bell
o'er nor'easter howl
undeterred by polar vortex windblown
chilling atlas shrugged
off undaunted facedown
weathering arctic blast
making snow angels
comfortably numb jollity reverses frown
even elderly folks
sport about though grown
spry stick figures shoveling tunnel
courtesy white blanketed lockdown
"careful ma am" not
to fall on keister or crown.
Presence of said parson
linkedin with spate
of blizzard conditions and
Frosty the Snowman,
whose power to bring society
to standstill will not abate
proof positive to commander
in chief who cannot extricate
whether from climate, and trumpets
what he doth cogitate
dismissing global warming -
calling out "end of debate"
twill usher doomsday, cuz he
and trolling henchmen skate
on thin ice, and whose
dawdling crass, base
actions only accelerate
day of wreck conning
when most species will
lack mien ways to acclimate
all the more rhyming reason
to bid mortality adieu
and slumber permanently
battened down hatches
with me sigh ease oompa loompa mate.