Grouses Poems

Bipolar Love

She says I’m so fun,
then claims that we’re done,
she says she hates me,
then wants my babies.
first she wants her man,
then says, “Go use your hand.”
She stares at my eves,
then says I’m full of lies.

The aggravation…
the resignation…
I think I’ve had enough
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.

She dreams of houses,
then only grouses,
wants to show me off,
then snaps, “Just get lost.”
One day she’s a dream,
and the next only screams,
How do I deal with that?
In love with only half...

The real confusion…
the sad delusions…
I think I’ve had enough,
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.

I want to love her,
and not be disturbed,
hope she gets well,
but half the time it’s hell.
It this allright?
Am I justified?
This is not her fault…
but drives me up the wall.

Mishmash of feelings…
it leaves me reeling…
I think I’ve had enough,
of her bipolar love.
Bipolar love.

Hernley Grouses and Gripes

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.

Stars became the sun

Just fresh out of one of our drinking bars,
I looked up to the sky and saw some stars,
Drunkenness whispered to me t'was midday,
Why will stars be on the sky that's that grey?

So I asked my friend who was as well drunk,
"Ol' boy! What's that in the sky, you drunk crunk?
He muttered what beer brewed into his head
"You fool! I'm not sure what it is." He said.

A guy, even more drunk than us, was near,
He told us as he was advised by beer,
"Oh! That's the early morning sun." He claimed.
We agreed! Why more than one sun was que*r.

We then went to our separate houses,
Night being morn', same tales to our spouses,
Only that beer made our sleeps lasted hours,
Woken up to empty pockets' grouses

another abcedarian for fun

all automatic alligators arrive arrogantly
barely behave beautifully but brazenly
carousing with creepy cruddy crocodiles
desperately denying despicable wiles
effectively expediting expediency
forever forsaking fruit flies who flee
glaring at grazing gritty grouses
hijacking horrific herbivore’s handy houses
igniting ingenious iguanas in I-o-Way
jubilantly joining jerky jaguars along the way
kibitzing kinesthetic killers from Zion
lollygagging like lively luxurious mountain lions
marvelously marking multitude of mini monkeys
notoriously noting nefarious nodules of displease
ostentatiously opening overt outages in Oregon
providing panda putrid prey Paul just spit on
quarrelsome quicksand quail
rapidly reading registered mail
saying sassing sentences swiftly
turning terrific tarantulas toenails thickly
utilizing underwater undercurrents down under
verifying valid villans' voluptuous plunder
with wild willingness and witchy wonder
‘xacting ‘xactly ‘xtreme ‘xestentialism supreme
yelling youngster’s yips on front of the queen
zinging zealous zealots into zebras galore
end of this abcedarian poem, there is no more.

The Puppeteer

A carpenter nails boards together
    The architect envisions the house
  The laborer sweeps up the progress
    A poet positions
    each stanza in the framework 
    of the universe... 

  The sun smiles, the moon yawns
    the stars wink
  On cloudy nights
    the puppeteer grouses about the pay

Ode To Monogamy

ODE TO MONOGAMY

As I was going to St. Ives
I met a man with twenty wives.
Old and wizened, hair snow white;
Frail and bent, a sorry sight.
With scalding tongues, his twenty spouses
Followed him with moans and grouses.
I asked him, “Sir, how old are you?”
He said, “Next week I’m twenty-two.”

Two Women Same Ailment

Shirley is in constant pain, but she does not take it out on anyone.
Only her closest friends know – the two closest friends.
She does not burden others with her ailment.
She is pleasant throughout the day, ignoring her pain.
She does not take pain pills because they knock her out.
She has a full-time job that she loves, so she keeps going.
Her co-workers would be startled to learn of her pain.
Her boss also has no idea.

Marvel is in constant pain. She is grouchy and mean.
To her family, her neighbors and people in the grocery store.
She snaps, complains and grouses most of her day.
She wants others to be as miserable as she is.
She cannot keep a job because of her choices.
She chooses to be nasty and mean.
She can be cruel.
She has no boss, and no friends.

Two women with the same ailment.
Handling it in their own unique way.

Entertainment Committee of One

She gripes, grumbles and grouses.
We smile, smirk and sneak glances at each other.
Thrilled she comes to every family reunion.
Loudly and proudly grimacing and griping.
My uncles love to rile her up, arguing and sassing her.
She is my favorite participant by far.
Things never get lively until she arrives.
Giving us someone to use as a reference.
I imagine when she dies we will all go to her funeral
Sharing innumerable stories
giving her buckets of praise
for making these tedious reunions tolerable.
Entertainment committee of one.

Drowsy In the Afternoon

yawns are contagious
especially afternoon
in a lecture hall
boring professor grouses
needs to freshen up his notes

written August 13, 2021

She Is On Her Own

I have not one friend she grouses to me.
I have known her for years, so how could this be?
I’m not a friend? I ask her worried a bit.
Not in the least, she says, clearly meaning it. 
I have no ideas for this stranger now.
I guess she’s on her own, this thoughtless cow.
She calls me the next day and wants to talk.
I put her on speaker, and hear her squawk.
Who was that? My husband asks me.
Not a friend, I reply. For it is now clear to me.

On the Still Waters a Lake

Sat on a boat tied to the bank
wave ripples nudge the sides
a swing motion in the stillness
in the absence of ebb and tide

Autumnal leaves fall on the waters
miniature boats float for a while
until they drench, tilt and sink
no strength to go the extra mile

Strained to look at the mountainside bank
a tree clump hides cottage-like houses
a whiff of smoke rises from a chimney
appears as if they have no grouses

O, to live in a cottage in the hideout!
and merge into the trees and lake
sing, read, smile to neighbors and sleep
if bread isn't on the table, shall have cake.

The Sunless and Dim Morning

I worry about the long silence,
why life does not reawaken
and instill in us the awaited hope?
Can distraught hearts beat again...
forgetting all the pain for an hour?

The sunless and dim morning
has stopped all the cheerful
warblings of the song sparrows
and of the marlins hiding,
fearing to become the next preys
of the hungry ravens that croak!

More sad hours will follow,
will harmony be restored to the dry
meadows awaiting rain?
That Chirpine planted by an Indian
farmer twenty years ago has fully grown;
it is rarely seen in a land 
of oaks, of aspens, and of firs
that attracted the snowy owls,
the killdeers, the grouses, and the larks!

If there weren't any forests, where
would these beautiful birds go?
Where would we hear their songs
when nothing else thrills us...
imagine a forest without them!

I'm walking down narrow paths
that haven't seen a single raindrop fall,
and they only ones that complain
are the park rangers that ride 
their horses down those dusty paths!

The Jungle Jamboree

When panthers prowl and lions stalk,
the lone wolves howl and parrots talk.
The bee hives hum and wild boars snort;
the grouses drum; the deer cavort.
And as geese cackle, small hares peek.
They see a jackal, squeal and squeak!

Near streams are snipes where hoot owls hoot.
A nightingale pipes sound of flute.
Frogs croak and play as pigeons moan,
and rhinos bray through beetles’ drone.
Snakes hiss, and apes start gibbering;
no beast escapes this daily fling!

In this clatter, swallows twitter,
magpies chatter; every critter
can join in. Hyenas laugh
while in the din, each tall giraffe
begin to bleat. What reverie
of primal beat - this jamboree!


July 2, 2020 for Brian Strand's 
Strand Completely New(4)Any Theme Any Form Poetry Contest

Whining, Grousing, and Garbage

She whines because her food needs salt.
A 2-year-old-child dies of leukemia while she is glaring at the waiter.
He grouses because the neighbor’s garbage is out two hours ahead of time.
He calls 911 to report this infraction, not caring that another person had an emergency.
A young mother is murdered in her home because she could not get through.
An elderly woman is yelling at her neighbor, because she thinks the woman looked at her flowers.
She is so mad, she walks in front of a bus when she leaves, traumatizing twenty-three children and a bus driver.
A mommy’s boyfriend gets upset because a baby will not quit crying. He tries to pawn it off on a neighbor.
She knows he is violent, but she has done more than her share, so she ignores his pleas.
The baby ends up shaken to death.
A sixty-two-year-old man begins pounding on a door to complain about the neighbor’s loud rap music.
The neighbor comes to the door, laughs, and slams the door in his face.
The sixty-two-year-old goes home and gets his loaded gun.
It is everyone’s problem.
Yours 
Mine.
Everyone’s.
Let us fix this!

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