Long Griping Poems
Long Griping Poems. Below are the most popular long Griping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Griping poems by poem length and keyword.
I look down now
And I can just barely see
The thin, pale white lines
From the girl I used to be
The girl who’s not so far gone
Not as dead as you think
But instead of watching skin bleed
She now just puts it in ink
As the clock ticked faster
The calendar pages flipped
More and more time passed
And the scars started to slip
You hear that she’s clean
She has been for years
6 months, one year, two?
If only it were that clear.
If only she could say she’s better
And no urge lingers in her head
It’s a part of her now, she won’t escape it
At least, not until she’s dead.
She’ll spend her whole life chasing
That high that she once knew
And because she can’t do it herself
There’s no danger she won’t pursue.
She’d climb the tallest mountains
With little fear of fall
Because if she took a plunder
She’d be at peace, after all.
To her, it doesn’t count
Grabbing lamps and hot glue
Burning isn't cutting
It’s an accident, too.
She yelps and she complains
Griping about the burn
When really what it feels like
Is a quick, quiet return.
Every now and then
Her skin feels an itch
A jittery, gaping feeling
Longing to be stitched.
She’ll resist it best she can
Deny it till it’s true
But still, she’ll never cease to long
For the feeling she always knew.
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
Every day he comes in late, with a frown and a snarl.
I do not know his name. I secretly think of him as grouch man.
He is a young man, possibly out of college a year or two.
He took this job without thinking about moving closer.
The traffic was horrible today he says in a mean way.
No one replies because I am the only one around.
The teacher’s sign in sheet is across from my office.
I have been here for a couple of hours by the time he arrives.
About the third month of school I turned around and asked
“Where do you live?” He told me and I said “You should leave earlier.”
He is still griping to others, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut
Around me. I am not about to keep hearing this until the end of the year.
When did teachers begin
Turning our children into drones?
Instead of respect and values
They’re teaching griping and moans
If there is something you don’t like
Simply erase it and throw it away
Tear it up, tear it down
And burn it all away
No more teaching history but
Teaching 'em they’ve been oppressed
Creating more hate and rage
Life’s becoming a big ole mess
Instead of racism going away
The fire has only been fueled
Creating more discourse and pain
Making us all look like the fools
And then you bring in gender
Gone is a girl or a boy
Asking 'em what sex they want to be
When all they want is their toy
And then there is core math
Which I just don’t understand
Making math much harder
It's time we make a stand
It’s all about the government
And the story they want told
Molding our kids to fit their story
And giving them all the control.
2/9/2022
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
Cashing in my savings bonds
and tapping out my bank accounts,
got me into a high stakes poker game
in a Las Vegas casino.
Emboldened by my knack for winning
Texas Hold 'em online,
I dove straight into the deep waters
where it's sink or swim, with whales and sharks.
Gambling's an additive rush
that offers instantaneous gratification
found only in the thrill of taking risks,
and I can hardly wait to wet my toes.
I get dealt an ace of clubs
with an ace of diamonds down,
but the flop's flushing with hearts.
And the bluffing commences,
with ruthless, aggressive bids.
Not here to play it safe,
I call all in!
But, no sooner had the words left my mouth,
when I got called with a pair of kings, and one is a heart!
Fear seized me, griping my spine like a vice
as the ace of hearts lands on the turn,
and a flush is now on the table.
But lady luck rowed in on the river,
and the ace of spades fell in Her wake,
giving me a miraculous, heart-pounding win.
And climbing on top of an adrenaline rush
I make it rain,
watering the garden of my dreams
with hundred dollar bills.
(Free Verse)
04/22/2020
Sourpuss People
Sourpuss people are the opposite of sweet
And can turn a sunny day into mincemeat.
Their smiles are forced and bitterly insincere,
Revealing no sense of humour or good cheer.
They sneer and wink and chatter behind your back
And rain on your parade every chance they get,
Complaining and griping about this and that
While arguing with nothing good to extract.
Their cold hearts are mean because they seek power
And bully others like they’re chopped liver.
And though it’s wrong to get mad and retaliate,
Sometimes lines are drawn when there’s no other way.
It’s incorrect behaviour to fight with them
Because others might not see the difference.
A firm desire energetic joys of fire
The night intensity held breath in-flight.
Something beautiful came with power
Spilled out like stars in sparkling delight.
Electrifying energy given to our bodies
Creating urges of deeper vibrant stamina.
A phenomenal feeling warming our eyes
The mood in the room was filled enigma.
The greater warmth in the atmosphere
Made something beautiful lingered at home.
The persona fondness made more aware,
We were not alone in a romantic tone.
Under the sheets, clutching the remnant
Slip in the heat of heartbeat slippery sleep.
Broken dreams the healing wings mend
Made the tide advance out into the deep.
Feelings of griping loss, pain, and hurt
Identify every spiritual ache that passes
Something beautiful begins at the new birth
Here in earthen vessels treasures possess.
Without a frown before the sun goes down
it leaves something beautiful on the sand.
The presence of hope which travels around
Made the warmth that lingers on the land.
The warmth is here the cold has disappeared
Together, we have something beautiful to share
No longer to be afraid of the darker shade
The mood in the air turn into a new atmosphere.
What an intelligent queen bee it is !, Your lifecycle makes everyone to be griping, Giving birth to young ones is your bliss, All are attracted by your voice ,piping, The reigning queen is killed by worker bees, By the common method of balling her, Worker bees select fertilized egg with ease, And it is placed in a queen's cell per, Labour bees pick the healthiest larva, And it is being fed with royal jelly, That is a secretion of bee's narva, The first larva becomes a queen actually, You symbolise feminine power ,truly, And your bio-rhythm is echoed thoroughly.
sometimes the more we eat the hungrier we are
hearing voices floating from afar
the missed songs of ancient ancestors
the youth we have given to the earth
the many skins that need to be unwrapped
to be mapped and written upon by many hands that might decipher
a purpose yet unknown. It is a shower of flowers that flow
through every fine eye glowing
legs thrust into the air with all the dismissed care
of first steps misplaced
angular, groping, griping fingers arms splayed and displayed
like a first time out of water octopus, out of synch and out of rhyme
riveted upon its course.
Driven by what lies beneath many layers of skin and bone
hair and feelings coming from
what is the only truth
I may have eggs for breakfast
I may not turn away from toast
the most difficult decisions one could make are minor
in the scheme of things, the dream of things
What we call life, a squeak of sound
we will all say was heard
we will all awake into our lives
and go away again and come back again
and we may have those eggs again
for breakfast