Best Whinging Poems
I knew an old woman from Greece
Whose whinging words would seldom cease
She’d constantly whine
When drunk on red wine
Her husband’s in dire need of peace!
How much cash does a Grecian earn -
such questions I tried hard to spurn
Her husband went mad
and did something bad -
she’s interred in a Grecian urn!
8/20/19
Categories:
whinging, humorous, husband, relationship, wife,
Form:
Limerick
The day begins as the sun rises up
Like a big orange ball from the sea
It’s the bluest sky that has ever been seen
So pack up your bags, don’t forget the sun cream
For the seaside is calling us loud and clear
As we make our way down
As we make our way here
The children arrive with their buckets and spades
Their parents arrive with their Chardonnays
They carry a towel in case they get wet
A blanket to sit on, sun shades to protect
With lashings of sun cream and sun hats to wear
There is so much to carry, will they ever get there
The children arrive and throw off their clothes
And run to the sea to paddle
They scream with delight
When they get their toes wet
But they don’t feel the cold
Well at least - not just yet
Their mums and dads lay out the food
Upon the rug – laid on the sand
Calling their children they shout out loud
“Will you come here and give us a hand?”
But their request falls upon deaf ears
As the children have fun in the water
Oh dear, will it all end up in tears
When the children don’t do what they oughta
As they swim and jump, making castles in the sands
Holding yummy pork pies in their sandy little hands
Drinking homemade lemonade
With an ice cream to follow
They begin to feel hot
As they sick up the lot
On this Sunday by the sea
They’ll feel better tomorrow
Time to go home now, so gather them up
Children all tired and grumpy
As parents sweet-talk them, whilst heading for home
The children are whining and whinging instead
So kiss them goodnight and send them to bed
At last there is peace
The children are sleeping
The sea air has knocked them for six
So now is the time
For a nice glass of wine
With some olives and crunchy bread sticks
Reflecting upon their day at the beach
So lucky to be within easy reach
And able to visit and able to spend
Sunday by the sea - on this glorious weekend
Written in Summer 2018
Contest Strand Select T
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
Categories:
whinging, beach, family, happiness, sea,
Form:
Rhyme
I'm Leaving (eventually)
I'm going to leave the planet
never coming back
wave you all a quick goodbye
as I vanish into black
Traverse the great elliptic
skipping the asteroid belt
on past the rings of Saturn before
you'll even know I'd left
Uranus, Neptune, Kuiper belt
ignoring Pluto as I fly
on through the icy-bound Ort cloud
waving at Voyager as I cry
Among the constellations
sail my spaceship unafraid
with my spaceman headphones
listening to your whinging fade
And when at last, there's silence
not the smallest peep
time will stop my mind grow quiet
I might finally sleep
But if I woke in my bed
and that was all a dream
I'd be awfully sad, disappointed
in the very extreme
Categories:
whinging, dream, stars,
Form:
Rhyme
Silver’s scars
The evil little lad that creeps
About while others soundly sleep,
With a key he scratches many cars,
He hates the stranger owners, ha ha.
Cos they have much more than him!
My silver ute, she bears the scars,
Of screwdriver,
scratches are,
The prettier they really want to marr,
Cos it's anger they can bring,
Of course I have been in his place,
Was tempted sometimes to deface,
Jealous kind of thoughts erase,
But I’m no dingaling?
Most never had the dollars, gosh,
To strut around and be so posh,
Us poor, had things without the gloss,
Does life bring on the whinging:)
Don Johnson 8-jul-11
Categories:
whinging, adventure
Form:
Rhyme
Our Sid felt well-jaded
his sweat, it cascaded
he feared the end was well-nigh
his head was a-pounding
a hush ultra-sounding
he all but stared death in the eye
Steadily declining
whinging and whining
to the good wife, who had a short thread
she saw a good chance
eyed him askance
said: I'll book you a hospital bed
Afore rushed to hospital
sweated and spittled
he eyed her boobies in double-D vision
for sure he'd have flown
had he but known
he'd been booked for a quick circumcision
Foreshortened but sharper
wooed by nurse Harper
he contemplated suing for cash
with his wired-up jaw
he sipped through a straw
animal innards and veg pulped to mash
Nurse Harper, aflame
with nary no shame
tended his uncalled-for member renewal
she was drooling and crooning
and dream'ly swooning
admirin' his family jewel
In her somewhat dazed state
her aim was not straight
she inadvertently turned on the gas
his urge was to flee
of his wires wrenched free
maneuvered escape from the lass
From two storeys high
(a short distance to fly)
which in retrospect is soundly insane
he took a long jump
balls-down with a thump
now his crotch is perm'nently sprained
**************************************
For Joann's copycat's contest. Initially written by Sid, our mad poet. I copied the poem to my hard drive but somehow the title got lost. Maybe he can help us out with the title he used then. Sid, you're the bomb, me man!!!
Categories:
whinging, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
I'm not going into work today
I'm taking a day off to rest,
I've been feeling under the weather of late
and really not up to my best.
I've taken some of my holiday
I didn't want to go sick,
As sickness can bugger your prospects
when it comes to promotion real quick.
I don't think I've got the man flu
my head is perfectly clear,
It's something to do with internals
and could be quite serious I fear,
I've got a touch of arthritis
damaged liver and kidneys as well
New ailments are not unexpected
but on something I don't want to dwell.
I generally feel better in summer
when the sunshine warm's up my bones,
I can move about a lot freer
which lessens the volume of groans,
My liver and kidneys are working
but not really up to the mark,
I really must look on the bright side
as the future could really be stark.
I'd love to play with my grand kids
and roll about on the floor,
But that would be really stupid
as rising will be such a chore,
The best I can do at the moment
is have them sit on my lap,
So I can read them a story
before I need a long nap.
In summer we go for a walk in the park
so they can smell all the flowers
With stick in each hand I toddle behind
so a five minute walk lasts for hours.
They really make me so happy
all playful and so full of fun,
When flying a kite in the warm summer wind
or lazing about in the sun.
But "Granddad" is not all that mobile
his joints just don't want to play,
He'd rather be young fit and healthy
than acting a statue all day,
Please don't think I spend my time moaning
or whinging to any degree,
I always do look on the bright side
as there are people in worse states than me.
Categories:
whinging, family, flower, grandfather, health,
Form:
Rhyme
*-* ~~~~~ *-* ~~~~~ *-* ~~~~~
jun-jun villanueva
~~~~~ x_x ~~~~~ *-* ~~~~~
teardrops emanate from within
inner bane, anguish perforatin'
space for vigour devoured by pain
driblets of tears pour like incessant dewdrops of rain
melancholy cuddled my psyche's being
whinging flashbacks juxtaposed - reminiscing
nightmares, incubuses in tight sleep bedtime
death comes, humming lyrical requiem in rhyme
dreams swallow me with fear - exasperate
like ceasing ... expiring ...it's a fate
now, crying ...bemoaning ... myriad tears fell
reverberates like infant thrown to hell.
========================================
*-* "SOUNDS OF A CRY" contest
Categories:
whinging, death, life, loss, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
In Little Whinging, Privet Drive,
around the bend at Number Four
is sighted, strikingly alive,
a tabby cat not seen before.
Her interests vary from her kind’s -
she does not mind the scuttling rat
Behind a battered bin she finds
some shade. (They think she just gets fat).
But
After dark a cat’s a tiger -
this one’s waiting for a boy
not to pounce on - far from her
intentions. This child gives her joy.
No one spots a vanished cat. -
from where her bracing figure lay
a lady rose in robe and hat,
looked up and gestured, walked away.
She swore to guard his life and name
from all things dark and horrible
This silent storm left as she came
She went by name McGonagall.
--------------------------------------------------------
Tribute to Professor McGonagall of Hogwarts from Harry Potter. She was a cat Animagus - so literally a Cat Lady
This is when she waits for Hagrid to bring infant Harry to his aunt's family home after the death of his parents, where he is ill-treated and will stay until 11.
THE TRANSFIGURATION: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oP3MKL5XBIY -The relevant part begins at 0:50
Categories:
whinging, animal, cat, love, magic,
Form:
Rhyme
You gots to wear your ‘elmet
It’s a rule what can’t be broke
Suspose you ‘as a haccident
That wouldn’t be a joke
If sumfin’ comes a crashing
And it ‘its you on yer ‘ead
It could knock yer bloody brains out
Then you could wake up dead
.
Yer boots now they’re another fing
You shouldn’t be wivout
They could stop a painful injury
Of that there aint no doubt
Leather gloves and safety glasses
Are essential fings to wear
You needs yer safety clothing
It’s a nasty place out there
.
They don’t make rules for fun ya know
An’ I knows you feels a fool
But the elf an’ safety people
They is there to ‘elp us all
So stop your bloody whinging
Get yer sign, get on yer feet, cos
We ‘as to get these kiddiewinks
Safely ‘cross the street
© John W Fenn 02-07-2009
Cockney
Categories:
whinging, dedication, funny, health, work
Form:
Light Verse
Dam you bastards with water; I think you all are coots
While I watch the weather everyday and plead for rain filled fronts
I’m not some greedy bastard, which wants to grow more grass
I need my stock to have a drink, and save their thirsty ****
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some greenie, with an axe to grind
In many areas our futures, are unbelievably intertwined
But for god sake, sit back and think, just how lucky that you are
Because all that water that you waste, well some comes from my jar.
I can’t but help, smile a wry grin, when the irrigation stops
As the whinging starts, about the loss in cash, as profit production drops
Your stock still have water, to pour straight down their throats
Water troughs filled to the brim, not erectile dysfunction floats
I see your places from the hill, circles of dark green crops and grass
Metal robots, pissing water, creatures born of greed; I have to sigh alas
There’s more to farming than factory farms and copious quantities of water
Deciding on paper, which animals must go, on the truck to slaughter.
So please forgive me when I wish on you, pestilence and misery
May your cereals wilt, stock get the shits, and your profits become history
I’m not some greedy bastard, of extra dry matter I have no need
If my stock just had clean water to drink, from my anxiety I’d be freed
Categories:
whinging, animal, drink, farm, how
Form:
Rhyme
PETUNIA IN AN ONION PATCH
You’re always talking incessantly about beauty
Or whinging about life’s sadness and duty!
Just cant stand you people called poets
I’d sooner listen to my horse chomping oats
And your so-called rhyme schemes are a joke
As if the writer was just out of coke -
A bit like Coleridge writing Kubla Khan -
Now there was a high-flying man!
Your poems oughta stay on the off-ramp wall
And never grace the written page at all
But now and again a real versifier comes along
Not simply capable of penning words for a song;
She has wisdom and laughter in each line
And the taste of her rhyme is fine wine,
One moment raising my spirit in cheers
Then swaying my soul, and pouring out tears.
Her subtle profusion of tenderness coy
And her child-like wild soul’s unending joy,
Are my inspiration to go on and write
Another admiring poetic effort tonight.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for and entered in
Vienna Bombardieri’s Contest Let me have it then kiss my petunia
Categories:
whinging, funny,
Form:
Couplet
His finger is really quite bare;
The ring is no longer on there,
But he's used to it now
And he sees she's a cow -
No dripping about her affair.
*dripping – beef fat or slang for whinging
for PD's contest
Categories:
whinging, lost love,
Form:
Limerick
Motorcycle Persecution gone mad.
Are they persecuting Posties?
On the streets of Brissy town ,
Cos them brawny bloody bikies,
Have made the Police to frown,
Hells Angels on Vespas,
on the footpath interviewed,
Do you have the drugs upon ya,
Is ya doing something lewd?
Nah we just taking Teddys to the kiddys hospital mate,
To put a little smile on the sad ones dial or plate,
Worried weekend bikies, being jerked off the bloody road,
And poor old guys at seventy, grilled for the bikie code,
The muttering and whinging, it’s all about the super sap,
The prince of persecution he knows just where it’s at,
Motorbike of persecution, good ole Police know where to pat.
Ludicrous say the locals,
as bikie Posties cringe in fear, {postman}
The Syndrome sure is biting,
And me “put put’s” acting *****.
Don Johnson
Of course we have bikies and Hells Angels etc and gang wars...
We also have a state Premier who persecutes people including bikiers and the handicapped, tossing the cripples out of their housing and taking their carer payments from them...big smiles all the time too:}
Categories:
whinging, adventure, drug, , cute,
Form:
Ballad
nette onclaud
Contest Name PERSONIFICATION OF JANUARY
Ferrets revenge
January made me sadder
February was very dark,
March had a little madness,
Ferret bit the postman aaark.
Chased the Postman up the footpath,
Stop ya whinging, letter carrier,
Cracking stockwhip round his earbones,
Flew down the footpath on his barrer.
Stockwhip in me house a cracking,
Ready for the burglars hey,
Tie wire for a little cracker,
Slice em ears off, anyway.
Electroflied the bedroom winders,
240 volts on a nail,
When they lifting out me window,
Touches nail, hip hip hooray.
Driving up the footpath safely,
Driving nongs into the street,
Pull the stockwhip crack a few times,
Pedestrians pick up their feet.
White coat bludgers are a coming,
On walkabout, perhaps we’ll meet,
Off to see sweet brown eyed Jane
Maybe get some love so sweet.
Don Johnson
Categories:
whinging, adventure, me, me,
Form:
Ballad
I feel if you want to steal my limelight
then you had best learn to rhyme tight,
and double up your rhyme with each line
like mine so that I might feel the fright,
decline and beeline from your sight.
Live your life in the shadows
far away from the meadows
and only move slightly so
your world doesnt crumble.
Just sit in your bubble and wallow
and mumble afraid to rumble
this phenom for the trouble.
You've the chance of a bumble bee
that's been detached from its stinger and wings,
whinging in pain towards the fat lady that sings.
Nearing the finish line in less than a minutes time,
sliding from the peak and unable to climb,
beaten down in shock by my sublime
and superbly well crafted rhyme.
You can repeatedly attempt to try to call my bluff
but you cannot sit in my seat or out do my stuff
because I'll treat you rough and smack the puff
out of your cheeks thus causing you to fluff
words you seek, weak without enough.
I'm the Trim Reaper, I creep,
I'll push you down until you creek,
and become to weak,
to move or even speak,
I'll allow your slow retreat,
as the tears begin to leak,
I'll beat out the next beat
as I beat and defeat on repeat.
Kings fumble their crown
in a blink of the eye,
and fall down earth bound
from way up in the sky,
because they cannot thrive,
not while I am alive,
best to give up then hide
and silence crying eyes.
Musk it you must as the dusk hides the dust,
because you can't muster up or adjust
and prove that you've got enough groove
to remove me when you're busted with no thrust
to remove me or leave me stationed to rust.
Trust me I'll turn your talent crusty abruptly
then move heaven and hell above me.
My desire will not tire as the fire transpires up high,
all eyes on me to see the majestic Phoenix rise.
A presence out of this world like the Phoenix lights,
this sentence wields the last words seen in this write.
Categories:
whinging, hip hop, rap,
Form:
Rhyme