Best Complainer Poems
When asked how I am today
This is what I say.
Not good
Not bad
Just me.
No one likes a complainer.
No one likes a bragger.
Neither of these will I be
If I'm JUST ME.
Worth and numbers rarely go hand in hand.
Producing seeds which will rot and be eaten by the locust
makes barrenness a special kind of blessing.
So pay attention and lend me your mind oh child
b'cos from it comes the brush to which your life is coloured.
Rights enable you claim your hat
responsibilities show you when and how to wear it.
Manifestation of your works beyond the comprehension of your mates
exalts the power of your mind
but constant announcement of your own achievements
makes you the promoter of their doubts to crown you a liar.
Vehicles driven by words are no match
for the ones handled by deeds.
Let not your free will be cajoled
grudges in a hidden corner after the exhibition of charity
blows out your light with an awful breath.
A non doer and an adamant “no” giver
still possess some honour
when compared to a chronic complainer.
Reputation decorates the corner of an uptight man
but it is slavery when one lives on too many principles.
A good life is one moving on the chariots of freedom
and freedom is running a lifestyle
both within and outside without much notice.
Habits are great managers to conscience’s liquor stores
and character intoxication is closest to the point of irreversibility.
A greedy mind is a warehouse run by waste with no room for left overs.
A tight fisted hand is self limiting, reducing its surface area to receive.
A mind without courtesy to its environs,
spinning the world around its own orbit breeds selfishness.
Corruption builds thorns around the heart
and makes the soul a direct relation to insanity.
If false words were grapes, water would be tastier than wine.
Exaggeration adds a tail to the bird
and makes the dog an Amphibian.
But love gives poisons no ground to strive
satisfaction without it is the existence
of a Leopard in an Elephant’s skin.
The gardens of space filled with little rainbows
cannot outshine its colours;
staying as the only ingredient necessary for the preservation of humanity.
When your mind is at peace with itself,
then is the Joy of my inheritance to you completely whole.
Those winter blahs, they're with us again
They can drag us down without doubt
It makes us feel like cursing bloody murder
Can't take it, I just want to shout
After all these years I still can't stand winter
Indoors for at least six months
As the years fly by, it gets harder to endure
As a kid I enjoyed winter once
Not a complainer, enjoy life to the fullest
But I wish they could cancel winter
Might even try coercing those weather gods
As I let out an audible whimper
I'll continue to try to lead an exemplary life
If winter could just be canceled
Never to complain about the wind and the rain
As long as our winter is annulled
This obviously sounds a bit selfish of me
There's many enjoying the cold
Skiing and tobogganing and having a great time
I'm not cut from that outdoorsy mould
© Jack Ellison 2015
Tea party's house entertainer
Is speaker complainer Boehner
Citizens are strained
Anger's hardly contained
But he's on a right wing retainer
Author's note: Gerrymandered congressional districts have brought us house neo-cons who answer to some very foolish people. Now, these folks will stop at nothing to make their special interests even richer while the rest of us get poorer.
There were two old women in a town.
The healthy one often wore a frown.
She never helped an earthly soul,
nor saw the beauty of life unfold.
All she thought about was herself.
How she could save and keep her wealth.
She cared not for the suffering poor.
The little children she'd quickly ignore.
The other old woman in that town
fed the poor who were all around.
She read and told stories to the old,
and baked children cookies with icing of gold.
She lovingly bandaged wounds of the sick,
and never let her mind nit pick.
She gossiped not about things left undone.
Her only desire was to please God's Son.
Although she wasn't healthy herself,
she never complained or wished for wealth.
She loved the many folks who came
to visit her home no matter their game.
To look at her no one could see
her time on earth soon would not be.
The healthy old woman constantly complained.
The Godly old woman steadfastly remained.
When Agnes died, the whole town wept.
Poor children by her little grave slept.
The dogs and cats in the alley howled.
The complainer around her tombstone prowled.
The complainer lived to be one hundred and three;
each day hating more of the world she'd see.
She never knew what a help she could be.
She was dead while she lived.
Neither kindness, or love had she.
But Agnes, though she died,
lives with God for eternity.
Janet Marie Bingham
They wake up emotionless every morning, guess who,
You don't speak to them until spoken to,
Your right, The Complainer Boo.
Their always right even when wrong, guess who,
that one across the table criticizing you,
your right ,The Complainer Boo.
Nothing pleases them at least for long, guess who,
boredom sets in and the world is wrong,
your right, The Complainer Boo.
Don't think you can change them it will never work,
Just consider your life has a little Quirk....
Wherever you go, don't forget
Bring your own sunshine along
To brighten up the path you travel
Singing a happiness song
It's certainly possible, look at me
Can't wipe this smile from my face
Mona Lisa can't hold a candle to Jacko
Brightening the darkest place
Am I happy with my life so far
Bet yer sweet bippie I am
Was never much of a complainer ever
Or a down-in-the-mouth type man
So wherever you go, don't forget
Give everyone your big high fives
Never leave home without your sunshine
You'll brighten up so many lives
© Jack Ellison 2015
Changers are like the weather…forever changing and never the same, we all must make
a difference in all that we do in our lifetime. Life is all about changes and growth in
our...either you are the mechanism for change or you’re an acceptor or complainer...and
things will forever remain the same. No man has ever completed a journey standing in
one spot.
No dream was ever realized by someone who kept on dreaming, no discoveries were
ever made by a day dreamer...and no wars were ever won by words alone! Changers
make the world a better place to live in, so stop wishing on a star and take a stand for
once in your life! Become a changer and make a change in this world we live in, so our
future generations can have a better life!
I stare at birds flitting branch to branch chirping happily
but birds flitting branch to branch don’t touch me anymore
my calloused senior feelings come more frequently now
just like my urge to pee
Sad, pitiful, stupid stuff enters my mind,
then a good thought emerges, I look for a pen
but often by the time I get pen and paper it has disappeared,
morphed into another brilliant thought hidden in dementia
My brittle hair falls over my eyes; really, thin gray strands fall over my eyes
The sweat mingles with the glue on my “rug” diluting it
The brace on my crippled left calf pinches; it hurts.
My paralyzed left arm pains me too.
Suppertime bell; I race my wheelchair to a place at the dinner table,
when I get there I’m out of luck; no place for me.
I retreat back in my room where the TV is on the blink,
I sit and wait, but what’s a cripple to do?
If there were ice floes I’d insist on being on one.
Am I lamenting my old age at 80 and the tragic stroke that befell me
ten winters ago? No sir, not me, I’m not a complainer
as a kid I wished to be old, I wanted freedom, to be like an adult;
what did I know?
Through my young boy's eyes old was preferable
than living a denied, put-upon life as a child.
In the end, the old people were right, I knew nothing,
old age does bring its horrors, I am experiencing my share of them.
I ask myself, is it better to die sooner or hang around
until your dry, wrinkled skin falls from your bones?
"Sooner, yeah! Later no!," the old man yells in his vacant room
My problem is, life is not through with me yet!
I do cry for respite from my life, but death is relentless
so what can I, a mere mortal do?
I can’t go against the Gods, can I?
Can anything be done for me? Not a damn thing
Life dances and death impatiently waits.
Death delay no more, I plead,
Dance and help this crippled man in need
More punishment don’t mete
He just yearns to be freed.
In a situational disaster
disintegrating faster
I need a little chat
with a mate, I got a bastard!
Who can't give his hand,
time is precious on demand,
not a fan of understanding,
he'll dis you and abandon.
Write it off as senseless,
and somewhat unimportant,
distance himself from involvement
and ignore it.
When you tell him your problem,
he'll tell you it's not one,
your approach is what you've got wrong,
then suggest another option,
Tell you it's all nothing,
because you see it how you shouldn't,
it's your thoughts that make you suffer,
and if he faced it then he wouldn't.
He sees himself superior,
up on his balcony,
living with one clear idea,
deny and lie without relief.
States firmly that what is happening
is not enough to factor him
says the fault is in your handling,
which he's fixed so stop your chattering.
His reality is the only one that's worthy,
his time is his and is not for serving
to any other person,
he'll desert them everytime for certain,
belittle them for hurting,
act like they deserve this,
He's a selfish person!
He acts like he's a mate,
but he doesn't give he takes,
yet he's always owed a favour,
excuses that he makes.
Always a complainer,
but then again he's fake,
turns hostile in behaviour,
mind games to get his way.
creates uncomfortable situations,
shows anger in conversations,
to divert those asking questions,
liars live this way.
Demands the attention on himself,
everytime he's in a struggle,
the seriousness is off the shelve,
must help when he's in trouble,
Unaware you live your life,
faking your stress in depth,
unaware of what he's like,
a victim now you've left.
Avoiding him is so unfair,
all he did was care,
what an absolute delude,
creating all that's there.
Like a beam of light that changes night to day, you too must make a difference in all that you do in life. Life is all about changers...either you are the mechanism for change or your an acceptor or complainer...and things remain the same. No man has ever completed a journey standing in one spot.
They complain in the morning because their night was a fright
They complain at noon because their school lunch was not right.
They complain to everyone who enters their sight
They complain and complain, long into the night.
At first these complainers are rather entertaining
They complain about their umbrellas, and the fact that it’s raining
They complain about others, not ever refraining.
But after a while, others run away from their constant complaining
They complain about the traffic, and see others as bad.
They complain about their children, whose lives must be sad.
They complain about their parents, their mom more than their dad.
They complain until they lose every almost-friend they ever had.
They complain about their life, and the heat of the sun.
They take away our energy, zap our strength, and sour our fun.
They complain about their hot dog, and its tasteless bun.
If you see one, get out of there, fast, on a dead run.
My Will Rogers Poem
Now figure out why I named it that.
Have heard there can be certain degrees
Of what some people may call to appease
And things like paths of least resistance
Coffee and cream combined at a constant consistence.
Substances not pure are considered an alloyed
With an idea while inebriated have often toyed
What would you think should be some sequel
To going on diet after eating many beaks full.
As on you spurred realizing it had occurred
Instead of fine food ended up finding a word
And before word was eaten up and all gone
It for a while you had decided to chew on.
If you tried hard and elected to be energetic
Coming to conclusion poem was pathetic
After shooting and spreading around the dung
Inserted sharp dagger to replace your tongue.
Now out in the meadow when you hear larks
Sounding like they are making cutting remarks
And probably, hopefully with Republican consent
They can allow complainer to run for President.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
You need a category called sarcastic.
If I could sing I'd be king
But I'd never wear my bling bling
Or even keep it in a safe
I mean, what's the point?
If I were a king and rich
Wearing the best cloth next to my skin
Perhaps my siblings would look at me
If not for me, for the things I could give
If I had things to give
I would probably be tired of it
Of being rich
Being able to give
I'd be very likely unwilling
An endless complainer
Self declared victim of love
The kind that follows selfish motives
I'd be sick of things and give
Half of my riches to charity, meet some needs
Watch with a bleeding heart
Because I'd think some was going to waste
Buyer's remorse
It happens all the time
I can't sing but I'm okay with that
The best thing that's happened to me
I mean, look at such and such
(In my country, Covid season is over and we're now in riot season (sigh), but this was for my son's school assignment.)
Covered in fancy spikes like a velcro ball,
you clink to just a few, but affect us all.
Bouncing throughout lands and traveling for free,
I'd love to be like you and sail every sea.
Silent, famous one, you're the talk of every town.
Corona, king of viruses, you boast your power crown.
Like a ruler, you dictate where I can and cannot go.
School has been cancelled as if there had been snow.
Now I type assignments from my busy laptop
and picture my friends at our empty bus stop.
You hold me inside like a vending machine container,
but since I get to miss school, I won't be a complainer.
6/11/20