Long Complaint Poems
Long Complaint Poems. Below are the most popular long Complaint by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Complaint poems by poem length and keyword.
Tho' they may display legs to best advantage,
observing the constraints, begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
Seems to me I had a bee in my bonnet
about women's proclivities and passion
when compelled to write this pseudo-sonnet
about their footwear fashion.
Some are bonkers barmy as bedbugs, daft, dippy, daffy,
(with) bats in the belfry too,
it's far beyond my reckoning, as I can't fathom,
why they choose to wear the pairs of shoes they do.
And as for a clue, I haven't any, why they own so very many.
With their platforms, pumps, stilettos, wedges, they're tottering on
the edges of insanity, an exercise in futility,
an accident about to happen, one stumble, a tumble then... a calamity.
Seeing them hobble, while their dogs are barking,
these are the words they'd speak, if their feet could talk,
'Cinderella had the right idea, losing her glass slipper,
as oh the pains you put us through when you are wont to walk.
It's no more than torture, a total imposition,
somewhat akin to boots of the Spanish Inquisition.'
Complaining is now open, we can make it easy and post it.
Complaints can be viewed and move like the wind for all to see and comment.
Complaining is easy now, it can move and gain a crowd, it can get opposition, it can grow and gain a reputation.
Complaining can help us learn, see others views, make us change our minds, and move to a different point of view.
Complaining can be useful it can make us become a better person and change for the good, making others change and make all of our life become super cool.
So do not be afraid, complain, learn, and take part in learning how to make our life better and better every day.
Lifting prayer to God, today and always.
A car had an accident with a truck.
Believe it or not this was huge luck.
The female drivers were Howard and Trever .
Simultaneously they both said "well I never"
I was adopted and told I had a sibling but not a boy
I was told the same, and being Howard is no joy
"Our birth Mum insisted we each keep our name"
Hey about this accident, you were to blame!
I've searched for you from Gundagai to Timbuctoo.
It's a miracle the way I finally found you.
I've been looking for you also to the extreme.
But why do you say a miracle? what do you mean?
My daughter has a rare blood complaint.
You must have been sent by a saint.
We need a donor. No family member is suited.
A list of possible matches was disputed.
Her weak little body lies in a ward.
We would pay you all we can afford.
She is tough, a real little survivor,
Now she will live because you're a crummy driver.
Blessed to have found my sister.
Without this accident I may have missed her.
April 07, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Through the serene meadow, we tread,
With mindful motions and hearts full of dread,
It's daybreak; everything is quiet and at ease,
Serene and chilly, the air is devoid of any breeze.
Transfixed, the environment seems still,
Its volition alone causes the light to quill.
Oh, how I long for this to be true,
A white dove swoops into the sky blue.
A fluffy dandelion was in sight,
It anchors your way extremely tight.
Steadfast in their grip,
A delicate dance with nature's clip.
Oh, my friend, your mind dived wayward,
When in the air, they soar hayward.
Pictures that advert beyond hope,
White doves imply freedom and scope.
They provide a fresh start, a blank slate,
floating on delicate wings straight.
Oh, my dear friend, that story you share,
I can tell that it is utterly rare.
Here we are, in this rating place,
He coughed and sneezed in a bitter embrace.
A fresh cycle began, filled with grace,
A lack lingers and aches in my space.
Oh, how I hunger for your presence,
Shivering with fear, ready for incandescence.
Oh, the sooner we confess,
Furthermore, our indifference serves to impress.
Without hesitation, we can unite,
An euphoric antihistamine site.
However, hold on, you insane soul,
I have something superior to control.
At the moment, my heart is sound,
A gleam of optimism and a shining ray were found.
A pure and sparkling treasure was in public,
Do you wish to witness the magic?
The word "yes"—how quaint,
whispered slowly, without complaint.
A single syllable in length,
I implore you twice your strength.
(alternately titled: tongue in cheek humor
cuz the following hyperbole
from this pencil necked baby boomer
without intent to badmouth,
nor start unfounded rumor,
who chalks, i.e. attributes gobbledygook
to funny bone tumor).
Impossible mission maneuvering around
soiled clothes pile
floor to ceiling humongous mound
terse reply hopefully adequately sound
to convincingly doth explain
absent poet buried alive underground,
perhaps never heard and/or found
till 1-800 GOT JUNK uncovered
emaciated (lovely bones)
formerly Matthew Scott Harris
his remnants discovered
visa vis mastercard bloodhound.
No need to fret
(while guitar gently weeps),
just talk to who barkeeps
works long late hours, he oversleeps
thus best track him down,
without uttering peeps
please find out if he knows
anybody reliably housekeeps
maybe lady luck will
thru think magical realism
deliver sophisticated robot
harkening within outer limits
from twilight zone
hookin get the job done
in one fell swoop sweeps.
Meanwhile yours truly
tries to remain upbeat
despite being royally tricked
upon pledging his troth
haint cool wedded bliss
heavily perspiring courtesy ultraheat
smellbound by malodorous laundry
necessitating heavy amount
of clorox to pretreat
which I rather drink,
(and thank president Trump)
for sakes Pete!
Though the misses upholds
voluntarily cooking as wifely role indeed
worth commendable attention,
I do concede
and doth adequately buzzfeed
her hubby lest he
wither away to lovely bones
(well past due date
late to avoid
above mentioned outcome,
his (mine) corporeal
being well nigh freed,
thus complaint regarding
spindleshanks solved no knead
to strain skinny ankle muscles
and maintain self promise
holy matrimony, cuz
aye know weed
never remain married forever
as initially agreed.
Fickle finger of fate
hath spoken thru smelly
potential Superfund site
perhaps... not amazing how heaping pile
of unwashed laundry can create
ecological hazard, that warrants B44
one bedroom apartment condemned
management understandably irate
to withhold security deposit
nearly four years at Highland Manor
now ready for model
domestic counterpart to debate
with her better angels where to relocate.
Contest Title: Rumi Quotes Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Deadline: Thursday, October 30, 2025
Poem Title: The Sergeant
A man of honor, he lived by a code,
Like a man from a time not his own.
He stood in the gap, and made no complaint,
Not a word, not a sign, not a groan.
He shielded his men the best that he could,
From the enemy and the damned brass.
Tough as old leather but kind when it counted,
But ready to fight with purpose and power.
When men were missing or counted as lost,
The Sergeant would often walk alone.
To see him like this was proof enough,
The Sergeant had no heart of stone.
After the war with orders in hand,
He returned to from whence he came.
With memories of battle and blood,
And the bodies that broke, or the lost names.
This man who faced fear with grey calm eyes,
Couldn’t face the losses he grieved.
Self-medication the order of the day,
For the broken good man who had led many.
He’d give it all to bring the lost back,
For himself he wouldn’t give a penny.
An older Vet from a war long ago,
Knew well the struggles he faced.
And brother to brother, a true, open heart,
Listened as the Sergeant talked and paced.
The struggle was slow and bitter the pain,
The Sergeant lanced with each broken word.
Ever so gradual, wounds began to heal,
And a quiet strength was restored.
Through brotherhood and that steady hand,
A willingness to finally understand.
What others may shy away from,
But a brother was there for me.
Poet Notes:
Quote: "The wound is the place where the light enters you." (Rumi)
This poem reflects the journey of a combat veteran who, after years of bearing emotional wounds, finds healing and acceptance through the dedicated support of a fellow veteran ("a brother"). The internal pain gives way to a deeper, more profound strength and peace.
.
No one knows when it appeared.
I noticed it last week—
a small rust colored swelling
at the tip of a thin branch.
Today it wears a crown of snow,
an inch of frozen crystals
arrived overnight,
glorified in its elevated position.
It made me stop.
Stop to admire spring's bud
in the middle of winter
on a frozen day.
The sidewalk was cleared
by the lady and her machine
without disturbing
what lay above.
The sparrows stay close to the feeders
on days like this,
leaving the bud in its dormant state
alone.
Perhaps a gust of wind
will remove its crown
before a warm spell.
But the bud rests
like a wise athlete,
waiting for the right moment
to release
sequestered energy.
Waiting without complaint
or need of assistance
for equinox’s signal
and spring’s arrival.
Giving hope
to those who notice.
My all-knowing colleague phoned me.
She asked questions I could not answer because she was unclear.
Her communication skills are not the best.
I finally figured out what she meant
which was not what she was saying.
Miscommunication comes easily to her.
She had been called in to the boss’s office on Monday.
Dressed down for not doing her job.
Her complaint is that it is overwhelming, too hard to get started.
We had seven days to get ready before the clients arrived.
I have no idea how she spent those seven days.
I was so stressed, I went home sick that afternoon, she told me.
She has also called in sick three more days.
She told me five times that she had told her relatives about the boss.
They are “all on my side” she informed me.
Her side is unclear to me.
The job she says is too overwhelming to start.
This is the same job that I have been doing for four weeks.
At least you have been relaxing, I told her, trying to be positive.
I've been shopping, lunching with my friends, and throwing axes!
No doubt she has been putting this on social media as well.
She plans to return to the job tomorrow.
I doubt there is still a job for her.
I hope the relatives on her side have an extra room.
Greys, Part III
Temerity, the crux of the Human Way -
We dominate what we can,
Deride the rest -
But the heart speaks in terms the tongue cannot frame,
Suggesting the worst is a part of our best
The ashen taste behind the use of insignificant powers
Tempers our pride in the midst of triumphant hours.
Beneath the greening of the summerwarmed Earth
Corruption proceeds in its slow work
Feeding the living on the fruits of its breakage
Of the form and substance of the dead.
The cold rain slanting down from leaden clouds
Softens and enlivens roots deep in the loam,
The desiccated pulp of yesterday's life
Many voices speak
In the pattering tears of the sky:
Many voices, not understood by the educated mind,
Not grasped by refined understandings:
Heard, interpreted in the dark chambers
At the center of the soul,
Where the meanings of things old as this world
Quietly abide,
Resting in the silent center -
The fertile graveyard of our primal thoughts.
The rain calls to us through its wall of grey
Addressing our Pride
Mixing truths forgotten with truths regained
The rain speaks, saying, among other things -
What are the monuments of Men
The works of their timid day?
The mountains that this Earth brought forth
In fevered fury, long ages ago
Have long outlasted the whole of your race.
These are Her monuments, and yet
For all their strength and glory,
I -
The humble soft rain,
I -
Have washed away whole chains of them;
For I persist,
Returning and returning,
Ages but moments to me.
We can watch our glories dissolve
Stone upon stone, great edifices rise
To crumble and fall again
Forgotten and fractured, always being replaced
By other stones upon stones
Which will decay in their due turn.
Impermanence is the standard
Of human affairs
The common complaint in which everyone shares
Consider with me those things that do last,
Thoughts and emotions which fade not with the past.
If this fair flower blossom not, The bulbul will not sing,
Nor rose-buds make the garden smile welcoming in the spring;
If he is not the saki, then nor jar nor wine will be,
Nor in this world will tawhid shine, Nor your heart beat in you;
Yonder ethereal skyey tent, This great name still sustains,
And dancing to its music, flows the blood in Life’s own veins.
It is in the forests and the hills, And on the tranquil plains,
On the seas, in the arms of waves, In roar of hurricanes;
A music heard in China’s towns, Morocco’s desert-song,
And hid within each Muslim’s heart, It makes his faith grow strong.
Let all the peoples of the world see till the end of time,
How I have made this glorious name beyond all thought sublime!
That pupil of the eye of Earth, Soil only dark men tread,
That region where have always been your martyrs born and bred,
That land upon the hot sun’s lap, That land of al-hilal,
Which lovers fondly love to call The land of their Bilal,--
Is all a-quiver with this Name, Like trembling mercury,
Like pupils dark, in pools of light, It swims perpetually!
Your shield be wisdom, be your sword the flaming Love Divine,
My fond dervish! do you not know that all the world is yours?
All else but God is at your feet, If sounds your Takbeer great;
If you a Muslim truly are, Your effort is your fate.
To my Muhammad be but true, And you have conquered me;
The world is nothing you will command My Pen of Destiny.
Kalam e Iqbal (The Answer to complaint by Allah AlMighty to Pious Muslim on their Kind Complaint)
Translated By Aliza Kashmala Kiran.