Everyone’s complaining
‘Bout how it’s always raining
And we’re all getting soaked to the skin
Everybody’s whining
How there’s no silver lining
Optimism’s growing kind of thin
Everyone is moaning
You hear the constant groaning
Darn it! Can’t you see how it’s unfair?
We’ve all caught the fever
Become a true believer
Then exhale it out into the air…
Got to be a better way…
Everyone is shaking
With childish bellyaching
Looking for somewhere to place the blame
Everybody’s grumbling
Fumbling and stumbling
No one knows the rules to the game
Everyone’s protesting
But no one is suggesting
Any way to fix all that is wrong
Anybody can see
Equally we’re guilty
Of going with the flow to get along…
Got to be a better way…
a Zen philosophy states
that all form is emptiness
yet it’s not
as all emptiness is form
but in essence not
Plato maintained that
its essence
is in its purpose
the idea of the chair
preceded its existence
the idea of the chair
contains its purpose
while the philosophers are bellyaching
over whether one could and
actually should
fashion a chair out of an imaginary log
we have long ago
carved a rocking chair
out of treasured memories
and apricate at leisure
on the front porch of our own reality
When traveling a stretch of life's highway
Does it feel like it's uphill both ways?
Does it feel like winter's twelve months long?
Do you work like a dog for small pay?
Well welcome to a newly formed club
The Association of Chronic Bellyachers
We meet every Thursday at the crack of dawn
We're a bunch of cranky “whine” makers
No grins, guffaws, or laughter allowed
Could be thrown out on your rear
We've a couple of burly guards at the door
Wearing scowls from ear to ear
So if there's really nothing that bugs you
You ain't welcome at one of our meetings
Especially if you're really content with your life
You could even end up with a beating
We take this bellyaching seriously you know
It's developed into a new kind of art
The technique we've developed is really simple
Happiness never invades our heart
Now, if the real truth of the matter be known
With tongue planted firmly in my cheek
I'm really this sweet, kind hearted old codger
Never gripes, never lets out a peep!
Assimilated hope was slowly dying,
it was a famine time of charity —
A moral plague that persisted four centuries
The stench of hatred hung heavy
in the unforgiving air,
as the spittle of anger reigned
over barren hearts
Letting stunted promises drench hollow souls,
whose thirsty craniums
were filled with epidermal fear toxicity
Iron sky yield ... putrid harvest
of melting pot hope empty
Synthetic emotion was the
technological mirage
Shimmering thoughts of inclusion
sprouted a forged bond
of artificial unity
Yesterday tears fell upon
the parched plains: Fallow scroll posterity
filling famished eyes with inundated scarcity
Imaginary field of harmony dream
grim reaped the invisible grain
Uncommon desire withering,
a noble ideal malnourished by
evaporated yearning
Bellyaching pain
caused by bloated delusions
of benign acceptance
Visible spectrum separation
was the preferred national identity
Deferred promises of equity (the framers said)
will always Last Supper portrait be
the knit kindred starvation policy
Driven by unchanging winds of violence,
perpetually overcast cloudy
4-21-21
Grumbles and groans about all she sees.
Bellyaching and complaining
Fussing, kicking and squawking
Peevishly petulant
bitter mudgeon
grouchy whiner
a surly
boorish
gripe
Some, like nothing better than to complain
about allergies, sore backs, or slow lines.
They stress out over and over again
on anything from potholes to road signs.
They seem to think that the sun never shines.
I’m not a big fan of the bellyaching
from people who find fault with everything.
They remind me of the constant whining
of babies chewing on a teething ring,
when they’re not complaining, they’re reclining.
(Dizain)
03/22/2020
Most dastardly
Executive Majesty,
we serve at your pique pleasure
obsequiously so
Yea, Darth Lord,
we be the surreptitious, servile ones:
Leper skin publicans, publicly hiss reviled
Tonsil rear ends torqued low
is our mealy-mouth status quo
We’re liquored up lap dogs
Always lip bent overly yours
Tongue rolls of surfeit flattery,
buttery tones of praise gluttony piled on
Nay, Imperial Vader,
we echo only your strident, bellyaching growls
from our sphincter pie holes
Boast bastardly
King El Presidente,
and we cower at your cheek displeasure
ingratiatingly so
Our speech undignified,
flesh market wench pride
was thirty silver pieces sold
minus six-feet degrees below
Aye, Commander-in-Chief Bellow Nero ...
Imp patient Sanballast ground zero,
your every atomic jinn wish gets grovel granted
We bow mice-men be the fawn minion pagan pawn devotees,
submissively submitting to such spittle humiliation willingly
Ever always lip bent overly yours
Trust is such a deliciously sweet thing
Who
stole
the
strawberries?
Make the yellow-bellied canary sing
Confidence lost in an abandoned mind
Smoky sulfur
and silica methane ...
uptake of noxious fumes to the brain
Pinning blame on the innocent
is such a wickedly gossip thing
Who
stole
the
strawberries?
Make the paid parrots walk the plank
Over the edge,
submersive feeling of a shark bite
Band of brotherly fear: pie-hole footsteps Caine a-coming,
like the razor slice of a sharp knife
A taste for deceit is an acquired appetite;
such a distended, gluttonous thing
Who
stole
the
strawberries?
Loyalty fled, as the cannons started firing
Resentment turned inward,
be a busted gut full of bellyaching —
Sunken boatload of wretched, scurvy self-loathing
Someone coveted the strawberries ...
perhaps it was a fickle foe pretend friend
Check the fingers for the evidence
that is scarlet proof crimson staining
Drink an ask flagon of cherry whine
Who
stole
the
strawberries?
Will be mutineer revealed in due time
Self Discovery
A
Violette Poem
sometimes I remember
our time in September
that became an ember
Faint memories
it's unforgettable
not understandable
We aren't valuable
gone centuries
I gave you everything
my love was bellyaching
you don't give anything
wasted journeys
your love slipped from my hands
please stop violent chants
your downgrading commands
angry flurries
from sunny to aching
I am slowly breaking
stop your selfish taking
dark galleries
hopefully you'll soon go
and I can slowly grow
the old me will soon flow
discoveries
By Sam Tab | April 2, 2018 | love
Plucky
Unlucky
Carry on regardless
What is a sadist
Without his Chargers
Tripping and falling over for the amusement of other's
Fodder for Bird's to drop on
While the bellyaching say
That is supposed to be lucky
But you never see them mucky
Just another day just another way
Life and jokes poke fun at my expense
That I take it with a stoic reticence
Because my life has become a pretense
For hard knocks
And the only thing that shock's
Is the release
Of a peaceful day
Drum's and crack's
With hindsight we avoided
Because they would have destroyed us
And where is the fun in that?
Paper Doll
She was two dimensional at first
Laid flat
Then folded, eyes drawn with black
Lips pale pink
Fragile legs took shape then speed
She ran out of her mother’s stomach
The mother didn’t feel the pain but just the tickling
So she laughed a bellyaching laugh.
And run down her fingers across her little girl’s paper hair
Honey in hue and texture.
She slipped away from her mother’s fingers
And took a road alone to an unknown future
The paper doll.
“I have not given you carte blanche to act however you want!”
Yelled the mother. The doll continued on her path.
“My milk will dry up!” The mother was hapless!
Still the paper doll ran in her path. With each step, her legs gathered pace
Then flesh
Soon she was all flesh and bones
As paper dissolved into particles of azoth
Then she needed her mother’s milk to keep her bones, bones and
Her flesh, flesh. So that she ran back to her mother, pleading
For milk and soul!
Jeeze You've Reached Your Limit
Jeeze
You've reached your limit
Quit your insane bellyaching!
Before you explode
~
You can't spring a swing
Not unless you're in a ring
When you fling your fist
Like Muhammad Ali's hissed
“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee”
~
They'll tell you to bring it on and you'll miss
Put you in a bear hug if you persist
Give you a big kiss
And go away laughing and singing their heads off
~
Be a smart cookie
Stop being crazy and
Give it a rest
Float away like a butterfly
Let the bees make their honey
So they won't give you a sting
By: Eve Roper 8/7/2015
Ramping An Ragging Over A Game Delay
Ramping an ragging
Ragging and ramping
f#@~=%*!` ^& 8®?©
Over a baseball game delay
You’ve been stewing and brewing
What good is doing?
It won’t stop the rain
You’re only babbling to the wind
Let it register in your brain
Quit your shenanigans
Trying to get even
Will only get you breathing and
Heart beating too fast
It’s not difficult
Loosen up and act like an adult
I'm so annoyed
Get over your obsession
Quit your insane bellyaching!
There’s a hundred
Other channels to choose from
8/5/2015
When traveling a stretch of life's highway
Does it feel like it's uphill both ways?
Does it feel like winter's twelve months long?
Do you work like a dog for small pay?
Well welcome to a newly formed club
The Association of Chronic Bellyachers
We meet every Thursday at the crack of dawn
We're a bunch of cranky “whine” makers
No grins, guffaws, or laughter's allowed
Could be thrown out on your rear
We've a couple of burly guards at the door
Wearing scowls from ear to ear
So if there's really nothing that bugs you
You ain't welcome at one of our meetings
Especially if you're content with your life
You could even end up with a beating
We take this bellyaching seriously you know
It's developed into a new kind of art
The technique we've developed is really simple
Happiness never invades our heart
Now, if the real truth of the matter be known
With tongue planted firmly in my cheek
I'm really this sweet, kind hearted old codger
Never gripes, never lets out a peep!
© Jack Ellison 2013
I’ve been watching my weight since 14,
but with all of the diets I’ve seen,
they’ve become a big no-no.
This here dieting yo-yo
has stopped trying to be super lean!
Other problems I’ll change as I go.
I don’t need a New Year to say so!
Said a wise sailor man:
I yam what I yam!
Why improve on a good thing - ya know?
So the cause of the most bellyaching
at this time of the year I’m forsaking.
When you know yourself well. . .
why then go through such hell!
Resolutions I’ll never be making.
For the the New Year's Resolution Poetry Contest of Regina Riddle
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