Best Griping Poems
Life happens when you're busy,
Making other plans,
And things are often side tracked,
By circumstantial demands.
When you least expect it,
And sometimes when you do,
Life throws you a curve ball,
And some folks sit and stew.
They fuss and cuss and grumble,
Stomp their feet and call out names,
When it's just life in one big bundle,
And there's no one to blame.
Stuff happens, that's the way it is,
Grow up and face the facts.
Learn to face it like a man,
Stop putting on an act,
Like everything should be just fine,
Should be a bed of roses,
Well every rose bush has some thorns,
As well as blossoms for our noses.
Life justisn't perfect.
It's just not meant to be.
It's not your fault and it's not mine.
There's no use blaming me.
Relax and learn to smile at life.
Just take it as it comes.
You really have no other choice.
You might as well have fun.
Learn to laugh at life, Chill Out,
You'll come out better in the trade,
If when life hands you some lemons,
You'll make some lemonade.
You'll live a whole lot longer,
And maybe keep your wife,
If you stop your griping,
And accept that that's just life.
Judy Ball
On the first day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, pee-pee under my tree
On the second day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the third day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the fourth day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, four stinky turds, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the fifth day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, five gnawing rings... four stinky turds, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the sixth day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, six tails a wagging, five gnawing rings...four stinky turds, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the seventh day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, seven toys a singing, six tails a wagging, five gnawing rings...four stinky turds, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the eighth day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, eight days of milking, seven toys a singing, six tails a wagging, five gnawing rings...four stinky turds, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the ninth day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, nine walks of prancing, eight days of milking, seven toys a singing, six tails a wagging, five gnawing rings...four stinky turds, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the tenth day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, ten bones he's keeping, nine walks of prancing, eight days of milking, seven toys a singing, six tails a wagging, five gnawing rings...four stinky turds, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the eleventh day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, eleven barks of griping, ten bones he's keeping, nine walks of prancing, eight days of milking, seven toys a singing, six tails a wagging, five gnawing rings...four stinky turds, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
On the twelfth day of Christmas my doggie brought to me, twelve new puppies coming, eleven barks of griping, ten bones he's keeping, nine walks of prancing, eight days of milking, seven toys a singing, six tails a wagging, five gnawing rings...four stinky turds, three bone ends, two licks of love and pee-pee under my tree
A Parody for Soupers based on the song, 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town.'
You better not shout
You better not sigh
You better not pout
I'm telling you why...
PS Admin is makin' the rounds
They are bound
to be making a list
and checkin' it twice
They're keepin' tabs on who's naughty and nice
They'll know when you cause trouble
Someone will pimp you out
They'll take action on the double (not)
Asking, "What is this all about?"
You better not bully
Or use a curse word
Cuz in Poetry Soup
You'll be labeled a turd
You better not be a troll
Cuz it's a crime
Harassment takes a toll
Even if it's done in rhyme
PS Admin wants poets to have a goal
To be nice to each other without blocking
If you do you may find a lump of coal
In the toe of your Christmas stocking
You better not fire your gun
Then your comment gets deleted
That's called a 'hit and run'
An offense that shouldn't be repeated
PS Admin always reads what you're typing
Sent from your IP address
So, you better stop all your griping
Or your account they will repossess
You better not be cruel and mean
Or you'll find yourself in a deep abyss
Kicked out for being a drama king or queen
Having PS Admin's butt to kiss
Every story has two sides
Sometimes they believe the wrong one
The one where the snide villain hides
After their dirty work has been done
They frown on those who harp on negativity
Team Poetry Soup finds it rather banal
For which some among us have a proclivity
In other words, to make it clear, Don't be a.n.a.l
You better not write of hate
It's best not to be accused
So if some of you can relate
It's better known as being abused
If guilty, you'll get nuttin' for Christmas
But if you insist on being bad
There'll be no POTD for you on Christmas
If you make PS Administrators mad
You don't have to worry about Santa Claus
Just don't make Team Poetry Soup frown
Or you'll get kicked out for breaking their laws
Cuz they have the power to shut you down
I remember the time-freezing moment
When Lieutenant Dan made his peace
And opened the dimension of gratitude
The audience experiencing the quickening
I myself have come full circle
And found a tranquil harmony
No longer griping about the government
The church, or scapegoats on TV
How immature for me to think
That fairness grows like a flower
Our souls MUST experience injustice
The reference point of abuse of power
Without a garden of universal cruelty
How could we ever understand love?
So with a heart of gratitude I give thanks
For the blossoming of this compelling bud
Take a moment to lose yourself,
Lose yourself in beauty.
You'll wonder why it took so long,
To see it as your duty,
To look around, be thankful for,
And count your many blessings,
Instead of griping and complaining,
Sounding off and stressing,
Because your life is not the best,
Everything's not perfect.
In everything you see and touch,
You seem to find some defect.
Well every garden has some bugs,
And every rose has thorns.
We all have some cross to bear,
From the moment that we're born;
But there is beauty everywhere,
Everywhere you look,
In the sunshne, in the rain,
The meadows, rivers, brooks.
Take a moment to enjoy,
The beauty of it all.
It makes one ill to always live,
With annoyance pall.
I've got a story, that needs to be told,
about my mean ole granny, she's pushing "83" years old.
She came at me trippin, it was a Tuesday night,
griping up a storm bout her broken, bedroom nightlite.
She claims I attempted to cause her to trip,
with ending up on floor, and a right broken hip.
She waddled down the hall, walker leading the way,
her hair was a wreck, misplaced comb I would say.
I calmly explained light stays constantly lit,
seven days and nights, my excuse, sounding legit.
Before I could say that the little bulb just blew,
she slowly bent down, and grabbed a brown velcro shoe.
Not quite for certain of her plan of attack,
shouldn't be worried, her eyesight, rather unfit.
I went to the kitchen, quickly opened the junk drawer,
located a pack of bulbs, I had purchased a week before.
Staying out of her way, her comments, and aim,
back to her room, the nightlite I had supposedly maimed.
I quickly replaced the old bulb with new,
the light flickered once, twice, then its radiance grew.
I went back to sit, where I was before,
with granny still ranting, barely pacing the floor.
I told her, her light seems to be fine,
that she could go back to bed at any time.
Slowly she dropped the brown velcro laced shoe,
continuing to cuss at me, like a mad trucker would do.
With a final curse word, and a slam of her door,
I sat silently, grinning, and thinking, "grannies' rage", I simply adore.
Six a.m. the alarm click has rung
Time to wake up, time to start being mom
Wake up children
Get dressed, brush your teeth
We haven't a moment to lose
Time to start moving those feet
Jump in the mini-van
Start the engine up
Crap the windows are frosted
It must have dropped temperature
Below 0 again
Kids on the way out the front door
Their pop-tarts just dropped
On the mini-van floor
No need to worry
No need to fret
It looks like this morning
A bagged school breakfast you'll get
Kisses and I love yous
As we pull up to the school
All of this in an hour
My day is not through
Get to the house
Take out the dog
Make up a grocery list 15 feet long
Clean up the bathroom
Gross what's that on the wall
Some disinfected will kill it all
Hubby is home, he's came for lunch
Griping about something to do with his work
Throw in the laundry
It has to smell good
Sit for a moment
Take in the views
Soon school will be over
That means homework and messes
Than dinner and baths
Oh I hate those stresses
All of this while trying
To balance being wife and sex kitten
Finally "WHEW" everybody's in bed
Time to lay down go to sleep
So tomorrow I can do
All this again
Meribah means” quarreling”
Messah “testing”
Istraelites grumbled a lot
It was about the lack of water
Moses responded by scolding them for testing Eternal God
It only incited the people more
Threatened to kill him
Moses petitioned to Eternal God
Who supplies the water they need
When we complain about our less-than-satisfactory situations
Moses is not around to intercede
A bit of complaining maybe helpful; a lot is harmful
Get complains out by writing in journal
Grumbling to myself when I walk
This keeps me from continuing my inner griping endlessly
To prolong it would definitely harden my heart
When I stop complaining
Open up to the quiet presence of the Holy one
I don’t always receive water like the Istraelites
But I do obtain the ability to let go and live more peacefully
Good Question
This is my 40 lines in 40 minutes poem.
How did I start off my morning today
It was the very same and usual way
Turned on coffee pot the did my business
Sat on toilet to be sure I would not miss.
Soon another neat poem started typing
After my mental complaining and griping
Then my coffee I clumsily started to pour
Put right amount of creamer in was sure.
Placed back in fridge after some stirring
Again petted cat after hearing it purring
Drank coffee warm cup that had been hollow
Of course were more poems closely to follow.
Typing poems up have found it hard to do
After I read each line through and through
To see if errors are persistent and consistent
Before to my efforts they became resistant.
Horrors!!! Typing my poems up must be done
Which really to me never ever has been fun
Once you did see my display of dexterity
You would have much hilarity from my disparity.
Might not ever discover any connection at all
Was just like a newborn taking its first bawl.
Which later was turned into a frequent howl
Then after that on face soon saw a scowl.
When duty does call, it always has bad timing
Right in the middle of a poem I was rhyming
Hope poem doesn't take a literary, literal dive
And will survive and become part of an archive.
To read each line of poem never need to be afraid
Promise you by many received a passing grade
Even was recently read by an individual invalid
Who continued to read it like everyone else did.
Poem is presently being presented to a panel
Who literary science want to place in an ****
In case they find another fool willing to read
Thoughts that only a moron may ever need.
And two hours to type it up. Oh, and don't
know if you like my poems or not but God
made me write this one anyway so bare up.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran and Poet
They need ????? for a category to put this one
into. I am calling it a blessing because it is a
blessing it has finally left my mind intact.
PTSD, this is nothing that's new,
it's just a new label to stick on you
They now blame it on the wars today,
unless for your trauma they have to pay.
Then all of a sudden, it changes it's name,
and you are accused of the malingering game.
So you lost an eye, arm or a leg or two,
that's happened for years, it's nothing new.
No one over the years ever tried to explain,
when you scream and shout they say your insane.
You could fight and yell until you were numb,
then they hid you away in the insane asylum.
Now in the 21st century, they start to see,
that your moaning and griping is reality.
Your suffering can't be swept under the mat,
too many now shouting, we deserve better than that.
We were beaten, spit on, blown up and abused,
why should we take this, we're not the accused.
We did our duty as we were ordered to on the day,
now all we ask for is a sense of fair play.
Years ago when into a corner we would flee,
from years of molestation and depravity.
Whether your a child or have already grown old,
you have a story that needs to be told,
If your in authority listen to me please.
This pain hidden inside is not a disease
© Dave Timperley 19 August 2016
It’s braw y’are its braw a’reet
Wi’ brilly natchers at yer feet
Tis one fer they an’ one fer me
T’ set tha brilly natchers free
So dinna mumble dinna fret
Tha has nae seen yon natchers yet
But when they come as come they will
Be sure t’stand rock solid still
Nae griping an’ nae felly clure
Wie brilly natchers at yer door
angels are sprawled
in the longest reach my children could snow-afford on my former green lawn
over-played carols over-play the car ride to the store, where they will continue
an embarrassment of lights dangle ‘side a staple-holed roof trim
somewhere, not ‘nough off too far, there are
yards watching snowmen come and go
behind the windows that hold kitchens
the bills are a pilin’
the car’s in the driveway needing to be plugged in
the mailman’s griping ‘bout the weight of his sack
dropping off cards he’d gladly drag back
the t.v.’s got little relief
there’s a log burning on a 24 hour channel
that someone someday'll
commercial the crap out of
office parties
forum the drunk, “Here’s what I really think of you…”
spark the short lived, misappropriate romance
the mall cattle call. . . from parking lot to till
warrants wrappings to be hauled away
to some landfill
waiting for Valentine’s Day
angels are sprawled
in the longest reach my children could snow-afford on my former green lawn
over-played carols over-play the car ride to the store, where they will continue
an embarrassment of lights dangle ‘side a staple-holed roof trim
somewhere not ‘nough off too far
there are
yards watching snowmen come and go
behind the windows that hold kitchens
the bills are a pilin’
the car’s in the driveway needing to be plugged in
the mailman’s griping ‘bout the weight of his sack
dropping off cards he’d gladly drag back
the t.v.’s got little relief
there’s a log burning on a 24 hour channel
that someone someday will commercial
the crap out of
office parties forum the drunk, “Here’s what I really think of you…”
spark the short lived, misappropriate romance
the mall cattle call. . . from parking lot to till
warrants wrappings to be hauled away
to some landfill
waiting for Valentine’s Day
Bella, my Bella,my sweet Cinderella Avvicinatevi
Bella allow me to girdle your cold vessel in this
blizzard amidst my flames you can rest entwined
with mellow melodies of my chest as I caress your
heavenly as I comb through your mind with sizzling
breaths of lion exhale, inhaling particles of delight
emanating from insurmountable cling as I sing from
soul, intensified by hold as you fold and mold a seed
soon to sprout as I shout your name Bella sweet Bella,
spicy taste buds serving dish of opulence hands manage
to hold several positions such like octopus, we squirt ink
across lily white sheet our art complete,Picasso,Picasso,
gallery of tender,griping your waist gripping your soul
fondling in streams of harmless lava,gliding in sweat of Nevada.
Slipping in and out as you shout I cover your mouth as to not
contaminate the canvas, as I cherish piece by piece until
complete,a whole soul, the ceiling fan echoes erotic jungle
in dark room, scientist of love discovering what keeps the
jungle alive as springs of mattress squeals and try to survive ,
wild monkeys swing from mattress to dresser backs against closet
doors art of liquid war sweat smeared on all for walls ,I lift, wrapping
your legs around my waist drawing near my face extending tongue
curling arms around your back until exact measure has been made
for penetration,we faint in whirl pool of exhaustion resting on our
backs drowning rug with divine fluid. Our chest quickly rise and
deflate like a poorly made cake,the ceiling fan blows a breeze
from heaven,I gaze into your eyes and realize your asleep,
I creep to your beauteous sleep and guide your dreaming to
another round, Bella,my Bella,my sweet Cinderella,caldo
abbraccio,arte della guerra liquido.
Italian-
Avvicinatevi-come close
caldo abbraccio-warm emrace
arte della guerra liquido-ART OF LIQUID WAR
By:Elliott Bowe
Jane was tiny, but then began growing
till her bosom most amply was showing.
Now she’s griping no more
as she goes out her door
on fun dates with her cups overflowing!
Feb. 21, 2022
For Tania Kitchin's A New Bawdy Or Humorous Limerick Poetry Contest
42 syllables total as checked by Howmanysyllables.com:
Lines 1,2 and 3: 10 syllables each
Lines 4 and 5: 6 syllables each