I wanted a larger sombrero, the spoiled child said.
Weird since she had a ten-gallon hat on her head
That’s all you are getting, her mother said sternly.
But she kept grousing and griping, this child named Hernly.
Her grandmother said “Fine, I will take the hat as my own.”
Hernly had such a fit, she was soon all alone
Except for her old-school grandmother who had a flyswatter.
What are you doing? Asked the naïve spoiled granddaughter.
Categories:
gripes, grandmother,
Form: Rhyme
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?
I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty
Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—
Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.
Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
Categories:
gripes, humor, poetry, political,
Form: Free verse
She’d a shopping list in her bag
Long since lost in the mess
But she could remember it vaguely…
Dammit .... she’d just have to guess
She grabbed a trolley out of the garden
It squealed and it see-sawed
No wonder because one of the wheels
Went backward instead of forward
She shot in through the doorway
And breathed a deep breath in
Her total focus needed now
To avoid financial ruin
Starting off with a hiss and a roar
She was soon completely absorbed
At looking at expensive delights
None of which she could afford
So she dillied and she dallied
With choices designed to confuse
She was temporarily suckered in
By an offer to good to refuse
Finally finished, she staggered
Trolley piled up high and bulging
To the self-serve checkout queue
She had regrets about indulging
Wearily she scanned her goods
Then let out an almighty groan –
After all that bloody effort
She’d left her visa card at home
Categories:
gripes, humor,
Form: Rhyme
Airing My Gripes
Written: by The Whiner
1/18/2021
We’ve arrived at a place where we’ve mail in voting,
and media's become a politics machine.
Most every state now, has legalized gun toting,
a rock and a hard place we’re now living between.
Protesters riot, loot and history erase,
and liberal cities vote to defund police.
Our monuments and Capitol we now deface,
and one has to wonder if we'll return to peace?
We've weaponized Covid giving states final say,
our churches and schools remain virtually closed.
We've in turn let big cities call the shots their way,
not many positive things are being proposed.
Elected officials think money grows on trees,
everything's viewed as another racist sequel.
Rampant talk of socialism now floats on a breeze,
as long as there's hatred, things won't become equal.
Now toward socialism we see ourselves sliding,
America won’t ever be the same again.
Too many have disdain for the law abiding,
things won't get better until we turn from our sin.
Categories:
gripes, how i feel,
Form: Rhyme
Gut Gripes
There is a man who eats hand grenades.
They go Kaboom! in his big fat belly.
You ask why does he eat them?
He's got a slight indigestion problem.
A trip to the doctors gave no joy.
As did anti acid tablets.
Changing his diet helped for a while.
But his stomach gripes returned twice as bad.
Then he remembered the box of grenades.
They belonged to his granddad.
He had nothing to lose.
So he pulled the pin and off popped off the spoon.
With a grin he swallowed the live grenade.
He stomach moaned before the bomb went boom.
It was like a whale being kicked in the balls.
His guts gave a mighty heave and he did a double back flip.
Then landed on floor and grinned before passing out.
When he came too he felt a little bit better.
For good measure he ate another grenade.
It was just like before but it cured his indigestion.
Now it's time for a curry and spicy kebab.
Then twenty pints of beer.
Just like the old days when anything went.
Eat what you want with no damn problems.
If his guts act up it's time for a grenade!
Categories:
gripes, food, fun, humorous, satire,
Form: Verse
Why would a Lord's servant miserably die,
And his wife and children are left embroiled in lack?
Why would a toiler a beautiful mansion buy,
But a gun bearing loafer ambushes his head?
As I continue my gripes with life
Another question comes up:
Why should the industrious laborer seek heaven's favor
But all this he does in vain?
Why and why I ask
Until I discover that life is an empty husk!
Categories:
gripes, life
Form: Rhyme