Whinge Poems | Examples

One Too Many

		

‘You’ve had one too many’
Declared old Paddy’s wife
She always spoiled his evenings 
With her ‘trouble’ and her ‘strife’

‘I’m absolutely sober’ 
He replied with much aplomb
‘I’ve only had a couple
And I’m drinking beer, not rum’

‘I don’t care what you’re drinking,
You don’t know when to stop
I rue the day I married you
You useless, boozy sop’

‘Oh, hold your blather, Missus
Give that whinging voice a rest
The day you married me 
I’ll have you know you got the best’

‘Got the best? Well I’ll be buggered
You really are a pain
I wish that you’d get off yer ass
And fix that broken windowpane’

Now at this Paddy got real pissed
And sat up in his chair
‘Don’t you talk to me of work!’
He said with wild-eyed glare

‘I’ve worked myself to death for you
But you only whinge and moan
I swear I’ll clobber you real good
If you keep on with that tone’

But she was unrepentant
And continued with her rant
On and on she chided him
With never ending cant

The last was one too many 
For this much maligned hubby
So he lurched across the kitchen
And he hit her with his stubby!

Vision

She took her own neck
into her own hands
and tugged and howled silently.
Have I seen this before?

Am I watching a film
or hearing a dream?
No scream, or invisible, inaudible
scheme performed by my head?

Can they see my movements as I copy;
hear, with their eyes, my screech?
Will that silent whinge or yammer teach them
to know me? Or am I, am I?

So strange to see that neck
taken into her hands
as she howls silently!
Has she done this before, as my vision seems to tell?


(4 Oct 2024)

MELIORISM

MELIORISM 
This world stings like the scorpion, 
And I will not filter in her tears,
This I said because I’m a champion, 
Only throwing jabs, it really wears!
Like the faeces of a chameleon, 
She stinks in her odourless sheers,
Truly this world bites in oblivion.

 And never to be seen in klaipeda _
The elysian sky has deceived me,
Leaving behind their propaganda;
This dark ominous mangles me...
The tenet of retronym in obscurity,
Why we can walk without security. 

The quell for fairness may wither,
As we skulk in together!
The gargoyle mole of pains... 
Hardship is  loose and  unfettered;
As we wallow in this sane oneiric,
That never sought for the kindred,
Of conflate moth of harangue...
The axiomatic mild of the youths, 
The automatic bunkum in heroism,
The cosplay to this hilarious pains,
The syringe  to my bitter whinge.

To saudade for the shadows of life,
A vain wait for meliorism!
When will it get back bitterly better?

No Words Rhyme with Orange

No words completely rhyme with orange:
no orange fringe, no orange hinge,
no lozenge, no syringe, no twinge, no whinge – no nothing!
No words completely rhyme with orange.

Porridge isn’t orange; but, there is an Orange Province.
An orange stoppage - should be red!
Incorrigible orange!
The rhymes I’ve tried are negligible, barely sensible.
Horrid orange!

Purple is no better.
There are purple turtles, slurping, burping,
and purple pebbles, purple burbles:
all sorts of purply, chirpy, twerpy sounds,
but, no words rhyme with purple.

Silver is another colour which hasn’t got a twinning brother.
There are silver rivers, silver shivers, silver slivers, silver sisters;
but, there are no silver dilver milver pilvers, 
and if there were, they’d smell like fish.

I actually prefer the almost-chimes of assonance,
the vowels that that twine with consonants,
without the over-confidence of lar-dee-dar-dee rhymes.

Some Songs

I love a good love song,
they all get it right, they all get it wrong
What it means to you, what means to me
they're never the same, you see

Some make you cringe
and others whinge,
And another think, if only,
I wasn't so lonely.

Over time a song might change you,
but not heard for a while,  also sounds new
What once was yours and theirs
is now just nothing, as it compares

Sunday Morning Suit

He’s a Sunday Morning Christian
Sitting prominently in his pew, 
On the  other six days of the week
He exploits folk like me and you.
From his position of privilege,
Where he’s never known any need,
He accuses the low paid worker
Of striking out of avarice and greed,
Thinks there’s something wrong
With their concept of work.
Instead of being grateful 
They only whinge and shirk.
The service being over and 
His contribution being made,
His conscience newly clear,
His lip service being paid,
He puts away his Christianity
Until this time next week
To continues his exploitation
Of the sad the poor the weak.
Suddenly it’s next Sunday,
Another eventful week gone,
This Sunday morning Christian
Puts his Sunday morning suit on.

Welcome

Welcome

Dear doggy friend
Where are you now?
It's been a while
I miss you, how

So loyal and cheery
All the time
You'd never moan
Or whinge or whine

(well maybe a little)

That tail of yours
Would always send 
A signal, so every heart
Would mend

You loved your food
Your walks and scratches 
Your presence such
No human matches

I miss that chin
Upon my lap
Attentive to my
Human lack

I miss that crazy
Mad half hour
To save our faces
Turning sour 

I miss you barking
At the waves 
I miss that welcome 
Every human craves

I miss the fetching
And the fun 
I miss those moments
Every one 

So when my time
On Earth is done 
And heaven calls 
This wayward son

As gates swing wide 
Your face, a bone;
There's none I'd rather have
To welcome home


Jinjagoliath 
27th May 2023

Marmite Man Found Hiding In His Jar

Sir Tom aka Marmite Man
It’s obvious you are the people’s choice
“But do not” rest on your laurels
As I too have a voice!!

I’ve noticed when addressing the people
There’s a recurring whinge of …“Deb broke the treaty”
You need to toughen up Marmite Man
Stop behaving like a precious sweetie!

You write such powerful words
Though empty words is all they are
Where were you when I challenged you?
Hiding in your Marmite jar!!

Home Alone

Here I am, home alone,
 I do not whinge or moan,
 I have wool and yarn.
For patterns, I do not go far,
Crafters do not need company,
We occupy time quite merrily,
Even if this is Irish craft,
Might be in the bin, I laugh,
So I scribble more poetry,
Home alone with no company!

Hypnotic Aural Guru

A sliver moonlight 
icon’s silhouette 
rooted to the spot 
sitar sensei pop
art venue dye stamped

wistful sly grin 
masks grey tinged beard 
svengali imp 
of fretboard glee

awestruck throng’s
dry cough whinge
stage plank creak

taut nails
skydive 

strings 

Contest : A Diminished Hexaverse Contest 

Sponsor : Caren Krutsinger

   Date  : 20 January 2021

Relatively Creaking

My house has got arthritis,
it is seventy years old,
and symptoms become noticeable
when the weather's turning cold.
The kitchen door starts moaning
as I go in and out,
the roof timbers are groaning
when the central heating cuts out.
Window frames sigh
just like I
when getting out of bed,
the hinges creak as if to speak
of staying closed instead.
The skeleton of my bed frame
which every night I dream on,
calls out when I turn over, asking
if I'll rub some cream on.
With all of its infirmities
as far as I can see,
it may cry out and whinge and moan
but not as much as me.

Live Another New Year

Live another new year after
The twelve old months just pass us by; 
Learn how to smile despite the pain
That makes us moan, whinge, gripe, and cry.

Live another new dawn after
The final dusk just fades away; 
Face the world of a long journey, 
In spite of the dark, blue, and gray.

Live another new day after
The ultimate, long, coldest night; 
Expect the sun to brightly shine, 
As the rain is nowhere in sight.

Forget about the yesterday, 
Things of the past just disappear; 
Next horizon is in our view, 
Start to live another new year.

Topic: New Year (2020)

A Meeting

Let's have a meeting, a discussion, a forum
To listen to each other and gain some decorum
A meeting to share different views and ideas
To encourage understanding of ourselves and our peers
To sit and discuss in a reasonable way
All manner of things and be allowed to have a say
In the things that occur in the job that we share
Give worthy praise and support to all who work there
A meeting should be for the good of us all
Not an excuse for a whinge, verbal attack or a brawl
It should be conducted in a professional way
With everyone there free to have their say
After this meeting we all should depart
With a feeling of unity in our heart

The Drunk At the Dinner Party

There’s always one drunk at the dinner party; an embarrassing shame
Ne’er to be invited back again
It doesn’t complement the tortured duck foie gras crackers
And the sinfully boring conversations lamenting benefit scrounging slackers
Everyone else is clunkily overdressed, not to mention, anxious and stressed
Even the halibut’s looking depressed.
The darling children all love to whinge
The chubby husbands are all thinner on Hinge
I drain the whisky bottle, and the host hands me some tea
It’s happened again; I guess the drunk must be me.

Evie H

Politics: Trump the Fool

It seems to me the narrowest minds, 
Are the minds full of gripe, whinge and moan,
The minds that darken every simple idea, 
Complaining about things on their own,

With a simple outlook on their universe, 
Everything’s a clear black or white,
A small yes or no to all that they see, 
And of course they think they are right,

From cruel magnified with kids locked away, 
Renaming “genocide” as a room with a view,
Calling “white supremacy” normal and good, 
And, with a tantrum, saying the news is untrue,

The narrowest minds, the simplest minds, 
The minds that have opposite sides,
Are the minds that want the “Us versus Them”, 
Don’t unite, they seek to divide.

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