Long Snooker Poems
Long Snooker Poems. Below are the most popular long Snooker by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snooker poems by poem length and keyword.
In the ancient city of York
My friends and I have been for a walk
Studying a little Viking history
Instead of returning to the car
We decided to visit a bar
That's when a nice American couple ran into me .
Howdy y'all
In his best southern drawl
Do ya know where we might get somethin nice to eat
There is a restaurant in the bar
and its really not that far
Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding would be a treat.
They were in the dinner queue
When my mate got out his snooker cue
After dinner might our American friend have a game
Of course you can play a frame or two
We'll be at the table waiting for you
but don't you think we ought to know your names .
Of course you should he said
This little lady is Andrea , I am Ed
I'll see ya soon an we'll have a beer
I knew when Andrea shook her head
He might be going shopping instead
but he whispered '' i'll be staying here''
Well he must have talked her round
Or a compromise had been found
Because soon he was telling his tall tales
Ya see American women , He insisted
Love to have their arms twisted
but if ya show em who is master it never fails.
He began to titter
Calling him a quitter
When my mate said he was going to call his wife on the phone
Just show her who is boss
She aint never going to get cross
She will know she has to leave you guys alone.
It was then Andrea came in
Her face as angry as sin
Ed had promised to meet her half an hour ago
C'mon Ed we teased
Show us you're the big cheese
Teach us what us soft British guys out to know.
I have never seen such cowardice in all my life
He was scared stiff of his angry wife
C'mon Ed pull the other one
You are no better than us Brits
You know when to call it quits
but thanks for the memory. It was fun.
Repressed, sombre colours
weep a blurry sadness.
Melancholic, metallic hues
bite a frustrated, untouched lip -
silently surrendering
crimson, golden spheres of promise…
They dissolve, shrinking to watery flakes,
melting to a near oblivion.
Lyrics pin hopes on a pointless map,
touching tender triggers
like hidden, yet potent handguns.
They fire at will, tearing happy slices,
dumping pieces like fly tipping
at abandoned roadsides.
A darkness cloaks a raw nakedness,
reclaiming unwanted goods -
left to rot, depreciate, decay.
Your car mocks in superfluous glimpses,
a fading memory of physicality:
each visual spot pings
like unruly snooker balls
bouncing mindlessly
in a green baize haze.
You are an unpotable black fly
that hangs frustratingly near erasure.
An occasional dark-haired shadow
pricks an interest –
a sickening silhouette
that makes me gag,
choke down globs of feeling
like unchewed mozzarella,
it sinews, rotates playfully,
suppressing breath,
with a Devil’s self-satisfied grin,
rubbing out my pencil markings.
Deep sea dreams
take me to you:
to depths far wider –
than your tattered, single-sided soul.
You exist only here:
in an unreal, dimming realm,
where cruel, captive eyes hide,
blanketing honesty,
burying it in a hellish underworld
beneath stocky pillars of deceit.
I swim by your faded embers,
where you suffocate the kindling flecks,
shadowing in gravestone grey,
snuffling out light, and choosing to
drown in monotonous misery.
In contrast, I sing a mosaic painted lullaby,
dazzling with cacophonous colours:
blindingly real, kicking my mermaid fin –
my scales of beauty speak a frank ditty.
I ascend upwards,
touching truth,
breaking the lying surface.
A portly partridge, a kale coloured koala and a lecherous lion were climbing up a snow covered precipice in a first gear shake. The beating of the engine spike of deathly chills and the iced tipped trees stood erect and only spoke once a day in such adverse weather conditions. Timed well was the trotting mare and hound who signalled maneuvers with hooves and paws which were then simultaneously broadcast in silhouette style across the vast landscape. Thus ensuring that the need for appropriate shoe wear was obsolete and the desire to change into a curtain was quickly alleviated for the rug proved to be a warmer and safer option at this time. Optionally optics opened orifices ornately. And powers arrived in a small jar of white whistling whiskey then whisked was whiskers waiting, warbling and walking. Wallingford castle and heritage began. In a snapped swapped series shown on a watch on a break. For audiences of many many podiums were clapping but assaulting the many written deeds which were then swept up by a six inch metal cuckoo clock. Magnify that then. And the snore from a mn abominable bull was businesses beckoning business in a pound dollar Yuan style but printed paper playing poker was arguing with a simplistic grinning cheese board in a cavern furnished to a very high standard. With a tank of fish overhead. Sharks. A swimming pool. Heated. Like a pool. A large sealed off chamber with an entrance under a road going up up up. And that was the land of the vegetable man with bulbous eyes, the bull in tight fitting suit and the snooker champion with an insect head. Round round round goes the house in a heap. Clapping clams chasing cauliflower club. Haha digital data dog. Haha fork fried xxxxx opticromistical Z z z Z
Form:
To reclaim needless expenditure, allow the MP's to repay
No matter the total, let the law courts have their say
Now our economy has taken a turn for the best
Restructuring internally an injection of zest
Now, let's look after our pensioners, and place them in jail
They'll have showers, walks and hobbies, where their care won't fail
From unlimited free prescriptions, dental and medical aid
Wheel chairs aplenty, not a penny will they have paid
Constant video monitoring, instant assistance if they fell
Bedding washed and changed twice a week, soon they'll be well
Having someone check up on them, every twenty minutes or so
Bringing meals to their cells, watch the smile in them grow
Families visit in a suite, for their purpose and nothing more
Enjoying Snooker, Pool and Sky TV, and a Library to explore
Clothing would be provided, shoes, slippers, PJ's and Legal Aid
It's all free on request, oh my! certainly no charges to be made
They would also have gardens and lovely exercise yards
Computers, TV and Radio and as many as they want, phone cards
No longer would there be a Matron, a board of directors there will be
A code of conduct for the officers, strictly adhered to, you'll see
And what of the poor prisoners I hear your minds start to think
How will they cope, these poor souls left on the brink
Well, they'll get by with cold food, left alone unsupervised
All lights turned off at eight, as they will internally cry
Mind you they will shower once a week, live in a tiny little room
A figure of £600.00 a week they won't flout, with no getting out soon
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/political.php
This is a message to children who lack sincerity in school. Hard work always gives easy success. Whatever hardwork we do during our school days, decides our future for entire life. Its not only about studies but the sincerity which is developed along with it.
This is a story of two brothers.
Who lived together forever.
Both enjoyed the dignity of a patrician.
Well bred with values and tradition.
Sharp contrast of a Strategician and a tactician.
JUXTAPOSITION OF HARDWORK DURING SCHOOL DAYS
Given his druthers, Veerang would skip studies,
Would escape to play snooker and pool with buddies.
A boaster, prodigal spender and his pathological lies.
Hard work during childhood is just about studies, he didn’t realize.
Krishnang, sincere and studious, positive and jovial.
Help to mom, a great company to sisters, extremely capable.
Topper in school, loved by all, he was just so amiable.
Yes, both grew together.
One believed in hard work, another preferred leisure.
JUXTAPOSITION OF HARDWORK DURING ADULT HOOD
With freedom comes responsibility.
It’s not only about us but our family’s and parent’s dignity.
Hard work during childhood decides our ability.
Yes, our capabilities and the possibilities
In a way our acceptability and applicability.
Krishnang, goes for holidaying across nations.
Veerang is still striving to boil the ocean
What an irony, hardwork now is a compulsion.
JUXTAPOSITION POETRY CONTEST
Sponsored by: Silent One
Date: 21st Nov; 2020
If I’d picked up a snooker cue, when I picked up a pen;
and then gone on to build a break of eight or nine or ten.
If I had only listened more to those who understand;
who told me not to play the game by using just one hand.
If I’d just watched Big Break much more, instead of writing
rhyme;
and studied Foulds and Knowles instead of Byron all the time.
If I’d just gone and bought more chalk, and even used a tip,
upon my cue, then thought perhaps to practice just a bit.
If I had researched Virgo’s words instead of Wilfred Owen;
and written many papers on ‘Where’s The cue ball going?’
If I had only listened more to whispering Ted Lowe
instead of sometimes listening to Pam Ayres in full flow.
If I had studied Parrot’s wit and Alex Higgins flair.
instead of Larkin, Betjeman, Wordsworth or John Clare.
If only I’d heard Snooker Loopy played a little more,
instead of writing verses that sometimes never rhyme!
If I had just stayed up all night to watch the grinder ‘Cliff’,
and not penned many rewrites of Kipling’s poem ‘If!’
If I’d just seen the final frame in Nineteen Eighty Five,
and had a longer tape cassette which didn’t then rewind.
If I’d thought of a funky name like Jimmy ‘Whirlwind’
White,
or ‘Scarface’ or ‘The Rocket’, one which would excite.
If I had done these things I’ve said, then yes I’m sure, I
know it.
I would have been a snooker star, and not an unknown
poet!
(Based on Rudyard Kipling’s poem ‘If’)
Think slow lyrics like Leonard Cohen. Think of his melody. His open talk that’s flowing. Now think of your life. Describe it in poem. Will it be happy or sad? Will it be good or bad? So, this one is about Dad. James Gallagher, just Dad. He was a smart boy. He showed love and loyalty. To give his family some joy. Winning contest of math. Prize was cash. To buy meat from the butcher. An insight to his person and hope for their future. I loved you then. Even before I was born. You told me tales of mischief and honour. You taught me how to care and love. You taught me how to hear and see. I see you as a hero. I think of you every day. Remember you told me about the cigarettes and the Christmas tree. Sadly, what you can’t see. Is the man you’ve made of me. You worked tirelessly to provide. You had that laugh that we will always remember. I can see you now. Our favourite time. 25th of December. You gave yourself some time off. Our table, you’re kids and wife. Remember the snooker table. You in your dressing gown. Space, sparse, what a laugh. This is sad, I remember your smell. Musky, cigars and diesel. Dad, we lapped you up. No words can describe how I miss you. Your special chair, Dads chair. I miss the way you combed your hair. Or how you spent time at the door. Seeing us off, checking we’re there. Home, safe, in bed. This is why I’m like you in many ways. I thrive to be as good as you. Better. That’s what you’d want. Hard job. I’ll try.
A smile from a friend cheered my spirit,
And then we chatted about the season;
Then another smile caught me with it,
He must’ve smiled for a good reason.
He gave an invitation into his office,
And although he was much older,
We had similar hobbies and a vice,
Snooker, and I had a roaring whir.
He was the only atheist at the school,
Apart from one another, far away,
So I appreciated his view of yule,
And at Christmas passed by his way.
And at Uni I asked the friends I liked,
Into my room for a chat and a coffee,
When we’d reminisce past Xmas’s liked,
And disclose our presents for the tree.
James used to read the xmas story,
To me from the bible, chronologically,
I mean, first Matthew, then Luke’s glory,
Then Matthew again, then Luke to see.
‘Cos mum would make us read the bible,
Together at Christmas time, irksomely,
So we used our minds to suss the fable,
And read it sanely and intelligently.
James never let on about my question,
Of the consistency of the four gospels,
Since I was too young for that objection,
Which analysis and thought dispels.
So I’m not confused at the nativity,
Or numbed by the repeated interlude,
Given each year with naive brevity,
About a working man’s tale, crude.
So I love my friends at Christmas time,
Have discourse and exchange opinions,
About what’s happening and what crime,
Is topical, we have communications.
OH NO! I’m late for school
I’m in trouble now.
I’ve broken the rules.
I sit in my class try to stay awake.
Eyes are heavy, I begin to flake.
The new girl in class she’s staring at me.
I look back at her my heart my heart skips a beat.
I feel the blood drain from my face.
It’s starting to flow to another place.
Mother of god! It’s happening again.
Control of my body i can’t maintain.
I can’t stand up i cannot move.
The pressure is mounting, please make it drop.
Think of foot ball or snooker it just needs to stop.
I hate my teenage life, being a teenage boy.
Everything is just designed to annoy.
The adults that moan are the Bain of my life.
“If you don’t change you won’t find a wife”.
I want my freedom I want to drink, I want to smoke.
Just chill out with my mates be a regular bloke.
Xbox, Sony or Nintendo Wii.
They’re what I want, they’ll do for me.
I want the pictures.
I want to watch tv.
My Parents embarrass,
They think I’m their slave
But just peace on my own
That’s what I crave.
I lay in my bed I dream of the girl
A hypnotic effect she makes my head whirl
I think I love her, but that is my secret
I can’t tell a soul, this does remain sacred.
I think of her, and I go all aquiver
I go weak at the knees and I start to shiver.
I’ll ask her tomorrow I’ll make the leap
But for now I’ve had a hard day.
I’m going to sleep.
Sure this is just another snooker hall
dark with that familiar smell, smoky stale,
emerald green baize field of play, cue ball
pristine white, cushioned top and bottom rail,
looking around table chalked cue in hand
nerves on edge competent opponent feared,
black ball is superior, in total command
head of table, respect, envied, revered,
players of a game with such emotion,
a triangle of red, heart of the game
waiting in anticipation to be broken
becomes arteries, flowing veins of frame,
protecting games heart is feminism
star of sensual images of soft pink
producer of pessimism, pure optimism
heart raiser missing her your game will sink,
self-centred like middle age sits the blue
game winner, destroyer between pockets,
double edged sword, be absolutely true
like past loves hidden in an emerald locket,
leader of bulk strong resilient games defender
main protector from harm incurred, the brown
discard it's importance no pretender,
game loss creator of nervous breakdown,
on left not insignificant though in disguise
camouflaged the green ball on sea green baize
low valued but important to realise prize
baging this will be envy of opponents blaze,
on right flank of brown, greens bedfellow
though of lower rank, shows no cowardice
this games life giver beautiful yellow,
conclusion of life's game, participation is nice.