"gripe" poems
Moments of grace, moments of glory
times I can be myself and not be sorry
but they never stick around never seem to stay
unlike the clouds hanging in the skies on a rainy day
Clarity has become rare since silence became violent
when I said that I love you, but you remained quiet
reeling from the knife you twisted in with force
from my attachments to you I need a divorce
I've never been one to gripe or complain
but lately the way you've been saying my name
has left me completely drained
and there are terrible thing Ive wanted to say
but karma's a ***** i don't want to **** (with)
so I'll sing sad songs like you keyed up my truck
in a bad country love song
gone so very wrong
left here a knight without a kingdom
fighting for nothing just like Don Juan
But growing up means letting go
I hope you find love
some other place, someone else's arms
but never mine
I'll attempt the same and I just know we will be fine
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
August is the Sunday of summer
I wish we could keep the sun forever
I wish that we could stay together,
but August is the Sunday of summer
I cannot stand to know you're leaving
My biggest gripe with life is that it
leaves me with no breath
There's nothing we can say now
because without summer there's
nothing left
All we have are skeletons of July
Rain soaked memories of June
The dreadful ending of August
August is the Sunday of summer
the month that murders lovers
the month that suffocates and smothers
August is the Sunday of summer
I imagine you'll find someone better
someone who can actually hold your bad weather
instead of pulling out their umbrella
All i have are broken memories of June
laying in your back yard laughing up at the sun
You are the broken bits of stars
falling back towards the world
And i am just a broken girl
still falling for you
August is the Sunday of summer
I wish we could turn the hour glass over
I wish that i could hold you closer
But August is the Sunday of summer
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
Cicadas whine metallically
In trees along the sweltered streets;
Wasps and hornets arc angrily
Enough to cause me fear.
Late summer’s not my favorite time of year.
Flowers nearly done;
The tulips, irises, and poppies
Long since seeded out;
They’ve had their fun.
Bedraggled day lilies remain,
This is the beginning of the mums.
Bees seek latent nectars
Or tap into their golden stores
To supplement their bumbling runs.
Lawns foist a burnt but stubborn edge
While only thistles still refuse
To bow to August's incessant heat;
Their spikes sprout poisonous defiance.
The dog’s left yellowed pools of dying grass;
I admit the neighbors’ lawns surpass.
I suppose the time to gather
Drying excrement’s returned, alas....
Keeping up appearances is hard at summer's end.
Ennui of season full and just past ripe
Leaves tired old men like me
A chiding cause to gripe.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
Hang on, young lady, and keep your head up high
Times do get rough, but someday you'll know why,
When your dreams seem impossible, trust your own fate
It always takes time if you aim to end up great.
Hang on, young lady, and keep that pretty smile
Forget your troubles and your cares even just for a while,
They may not know how hard you try to keep yourself alive
But don't forget that you're still worth it, for as long as you strive.
Hang on, young lady, and don't you ever quit on life
Love for happiness, speak the truth and stay away from strife,
Learn to dance under the rain when no one keeps you warm
Feel the chill, forget the gripe; to enjoy the harm does no harm.
Hang on, young lady, 'cause your poem doesn't just end here
Endings are sad, but know that it's time to finally end your fear,
When one thing ends, another then begins, that's what we all know
But endings are good, just be brave enough to start another awesome show.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
Admiration is a word that comes to mind when I think about her work.
The seamstress only has to imagine and she can create a masterpiece of herself.
With every thread, button, and hem she tells a story.
She represents herself with every outfit. Her work molds to her every curve and bump.
She can move effortlessly and not worry about a tair
or loose string.
She can create herself into exactly who she wants to be.
And then there is me.
Who has to fight every zipper,
glare at every neckline,
and gripe at worn out areas that have rubbed and tugged to try and fit
my untamed figure.
The clothes that disguise me only entangle me
in a world of self hate and disappointment.
The number or letter on the tag become scars tattooed in my brain of three words:
not
skinny
enough.
I remember when a boy in line during the 4th grade called me fat ***
I remember when I was taken by my mother to a store that "might have things that fit better."
I remember looking at pictures of myself next to my friends and instantly comparing every inch of myself to theirs.
I remember when I looked at myself and thought, "maybe if you lost 20lbs. you would be attractive."
When the Seamstress looks in the mirror she sees a canvas.
A challenge.
A body that will fit herself.
When I look in the mirror I see a girl fighting to fit in her body.
I see those memories of hiding behind baggy sweaters.
I see countless dressing room breakdowns.
The seamstress must have harsh eyes.
She must have her own burden.
Her clothes may be her own, but is it all a disguise to hide herself too?
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
The hurdles I must *******
gauze against breath
within this gripe
of well patrolled
polite sobriety
What clarity can I operate ?
take a breath
expel a myth
pattern a thought
create an action
reset and repetitude
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
the garbage truck didn't turn up to-day
and the neighborhood trash stunk all day
a gross smell drifted across the street
it was akin to a rotting pile of peat
the council have heard the odd gripe
they've been told that the ******* is ripe
the residential area is no perfumery
our quarter acre blocks are so stinky
we'll be forced to vacate the neighborhood
as uncollected garbage is far from good
the air is heady with stale fish and curry
vegetable matter and an assortment of slurry
it is hoped that a truck can soon be found
as we'll be decamping the area's bounds
our noses have had a harrowing time
inhaling a stench which isn't sublime
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
Look at the clouds
Look how they move for you.
Look at the crowd
their words they're saying to you.
Parking full, so no cars to chase
but still let's lie down here
make the world stationery in our heads.
Let's just forget all common sense and
leave elephants about the place.
Words that lack sentiment
yet need to validate.
Look at your verbs,
so in demand, so imperative!
The notion of emotion
is unable to compute.
A cacophony of love without solitude.
Signs without direction
on a two way street.
Let's go to outer space
as our bodies collide like the big bang
The moon will be too modest to shine in
the presence of your face.
Look at the clouds
look how they move for you
so the stars can disperse through
through for you.
When I look into your eyes
I see the world as it should be
before mankind got to grips with machinery.
Your ****** expression reads like a deer in headlights
as you make headlines on the evening news,
my daily summary of events that happen
in the life of me, myself and caffeine.
I'm aware that I'm the legs to your table
but I'm not so stable, I'm about to break.
I'm the root the keeps your grounded
but the soils getting dry.
Sun-lights long shone from our skies
and we can't photosynthesise
when your stork lacks a spine of support.
It's a cycle that needs to change,
If our fruits to ripe.
So, put a pipe in your gripe
and learn the twelve letter word.
So the ship can get a sail.
Look at the crowd
the words they're screaming at you.
Look how they turn around wearing my face
then disappear.
When I look in to your eyes
I see the world before it lost it's
innocence.
What do you see when you look in mine?
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
somethings really
gripe customers to excess
and in the griping
they seek redress
a box with five tablets of soap
isn't as it used to be
the size of the tablets
have been reduced
quite considerably
in years gone by
a bar of soap
had a fuller dimension
but nowadays
there is only smallness
in a tablet's dimensions
the customers are paying
a mint
for an undersized lathering bar
manufacturers of soap
must bring back
the larger bars
as customers
are voicing their valid
nah
nah
nah
nahs
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
You were the Barbie jeep engineer.
You were the 5-card pinochle player.
You were the gripe to do the dishes.
You were the patient mall bench sitter.
You were Elvis Presley records and
paper backed crime novels.
You were my new antivirus software.
You were the chatter in the middle of an
NCIS episode.
You were the "It's okay, sweetie" on the
other end of the phone.
You were the voice of every bathtime storybook.
You were the baking soda on my first wasp sting.
You were the green Ford Escort parked
outside my middle school every afternoon.
You were the loudest clap at my graduation.
You were the sticky caramel corn crumbs in the
living room that held the place together.
You were the laughter
You were the toolkit when my pictures hung crooked.
You were the cornerback baker, the pecan pie maker,
dance recital seat saver and the road trip driver.
You were the puppy-dog pill-giver and the
broken heart mender.
You were the church goer and the goodness seeker.
You were the black-haired teaser and the
very best secret keeper.
You were a prideful wig wearer and
wheelchair rider.
You were a cancer fighter.
You were my first call.
You still are.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
Hedgehogs with spines
have it very hard at times,
trying it on with female type
and finding the females have a gripe
with spines,
at times.
A hedgehog I know and have often seen
coats his spines
in poly..sty (a) rine
he finds this a boon
when finding the females swoon at his feet
which just goes to show that you cannot beat
innovation.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
Invited to a party
To another good time
How about a Coke and Bacardi
With a twist of lime
So many problems on my mind
Keep quiet have a good time
Just keep it together unwind
I’m sure I’ll be fine
How are things they all ask?
Things are great I say
Wearing my smiling mask
Why is life kicking my ***
Have a drink do a shot
Trying not to talk to big shots
Overhearing about all they got
One day I will be on top.
Listen to them talk
Why won’t they just stop?
Look at that chick she’s hot
I wish she would **** my ****
When will I catch a break?
Have a drink and be fake
Oh for Pete’s Sake
How much more can I take
Must converse and be polite
Rather hit a bar and start a fight
Where’s the food need a bite
Keep quiet and don’t gripe
So he says how’s biz?
Oh gee ****
Fine excuse me I have to ****
I wish I had a job like his
They are all nice people why do I wish they’d go to hell
Because my life ain’t doing so well?
Pull it together before someone can tell
Turn on the charm put them under your spell.
No one knows your ills
Tell a few jokes don’t stand still
Relax get them laughing….chill
Tell the one from the office that one kills.
They laugh and giggle that’s why they invited you
You drink and get silly they lap up your spew
You’re a jester and you entertained them through and through
If only they knew
If only they knew
Deep down inside your blue
Everyone says goodbye they had such a good time
You drive home your spirits in decline
Sunday then Monday back to the grind
Please lord show me a sign.
Finally you are at your place
No plans for tomorrow
Just escape the rat race
Close your eyes the room spins what silent sorrow.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
The dew is frozen.
It glitters on the ground like crystal,
Diamonds to those who see.
It brings an edge to the world,
As though everything’s in sharp focus.
So ephemeral, this frosty dew,
Gracing us only so long as it’s permitted.
Its cold beauty is breathtaking,
And demands silent reverence.
So why, then, do people find it
Nothing more than a nuisance,
And yet gripe when its life expires?
Beautiful even in death,
The dew blesses our sight with its grace,
Reminding us that every so often,
Silence must be kept,
So that the world may speak to our hearts.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
I am untouchable, right?
You don't want to touch me
Be near me
I'm so ugly
An outcast, I gripe
Sparkles of dust
Flying aimlessly
Towards the void
I disgust, don't I?
An abomination in flesh
A ***** -inducing nauseating pile of thrash
I'm nothing to you
You are nothing to me
So you fear I'll give you the disease
Honey, there's no disease worse than the one that is rotting your brain
To you
I'm dispensable
An object
A slave
So you won't touch me
But you want me clean your dirt, your shame, your filth
For they would make your hands *****
My hands, what hands?
I'm subhuman ****** right!
They don't matter
Nothing matters
So you won't touch me?
That's fine
I DON'T WANT TO BE TOUCHED BY YOU
NOT IN A MILLION YEARS
YOU DISGUST ME
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 7:44 AM UTC
Each day I come
to Master George's room,
each day, Gripe says,
Polly keep it fresh
just in case.
As soon as
I open the door
I feel a shudder.
I fear he will not return,
that he will remain
in hospital of some kind
for ever, his mind shattered
by this War,
by what he saw,
his wounded mind.
I read that 19,240 men
were killed on the first day
of the Somme,
and 57,470 wounded,
of which he was one.
When will this War be over,
when will it be won?
I walk around
to the window,
and open it up.
Let air in,
refresh the room.
The curtains flap
in the incoming draft,
like wings of a bird
taking off in flight.
I begin to polish
the furniture, even though
I did it yesterday,
and the day before.
I smell him around me,
his scent, his shaving soap,
his having been here.
I look at the bed,
and remember how
we made love there
at his invitation,
me a maid, and he
the young master.
I put down the polish
and duster, and go
and sit on the bed,
bounce it a little.
I stare out at the view
of the window.
Trees sway, birds fly,
clouds drift by.
He kissed each
aspect of me,
kisses everywhere,
his lips there,
and his moustache
tickling me to giggles.
Now he is broken,
mind fragile as aged paper.
When he came
back here briefly,
he spoke of a man's head
sitting by his side
gazing at him,
a hand of one man
lying still on the trench
by his eyes.
I close my eyes,
and want him back,
back here, back mended,
and this War ended.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 2:03 AM UTC
I’m tired of influencers faking nervousness.
my generation wants to care less
these days.
it’s a counter-current hack.
we want to be less defined.
we can search and reflect for ourselves.
we’re sick of the emotion
that’s all over everyone’s faces,
the unsightly splotches of opinion.
the entire election machine,
the process of getting there, is smudged.
It’s a curated mess, an advising spin,
an incomprehensible hex:
“Oh profit pondering,
contradictory means to an end
- bless weave, and conceal,
bloodless dollar debt options,
painful penny pincher paradoxes,
and deadly debt bliss dilemmas..”
“Is this a witch or an arbitrager?” Lisa asked, after rudely leaning over and reading up to this point.
“I was shooting for a numinous type of beat,” I revealed.
“We’re supposed to be working on our thesis definitions,” she said accusingly.
“Are you not challenged, here, hour by hour?” I asked sarcastically.
“I need ideas - well - I have too many ideas, I need some focus, I wanted to see what you had.”
I deadpan looked at her, “Well, you broke the spell - I lost my train.” I complained dryly.
“Don’t put me in a situation.” she said, waving my gripe off as insignificant.
.
.
Songs for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
drive ME crazy! by Lil Yachty
Melt by Nilüfer Yany
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 3:06 PM UTC
you have the look they say could ****
well i'm not dead, though sufferin' still.
i have a mind to tell your mother
the way you smile when you're with the other.
she'd say she warned me at the start
not to burp and hold the ****
whatever, no matter, i really don't care
im not even bothered, just gimme some air.
let me rip this old rug up
it stinks of old **** de la pup.
i had a gripe to air today
so I let it out and blew you away.
n'er the mare before the cart
show me your money and then your heart.
gimme a kiss, and make it quick
I can't take pleasure, it gets me sick.
a house that smells of fresh cut flowers
can't numb heartache, but sweetens the sours.
drop kick me out to the farthest field
I'll roll back home when all has healed.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
A spontaneous late night poem for my brothers and sisters in nerdom.....
I am a mudcrab,
Strangely out of place,
Where is my mudcrab love?
My sweet and perfect crustacean,
Come with me to a cozy inn by solitude,
Or down a warm, golden, path to a city of talented thieves,
Lets chase foxes,
Make fun of guards,
And get away with ******
Lets think we are clever by cutting through the marked path,
Only to be blocked by snowed on mountains sprouting,
Lets hug the left wall to find our way back,
And scare away monsters with words we hear dragons shouting,
Lets laugh at how the Jarl sits like a lady,
Lets gripe about how the Agonians don't look as cool as they should,
Lets say that all the Stormcloaks are crazy,
And hope that one day they make a Star Wars game this good,
But in the end,
My hard shelled friend,
Lets return to our beloved swamp,
Where the giants and their mammoths don't stomp,
Lets gaze up at a sky that's not our own,
And count up our perks to show each other how much we've grown,
Since Helgen fell, and life was hell,
Lets share this road,
And be happy to note,
That at least we're no longer alone.
~Dovahkiin
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
To be defined as
Conforming to standard
To be just like any other *******
This is what is to be pandered
The good name ‘Unique’ is slandered
To be gerrymandered,
Nonstandard, and substandard
To be normal?
Referring to the common type
To understand ordinary hype
To be stereotyped
To have a good reason to gripe
To be normal?
To be defined as only average
To live in societies cage
To suffer such rage
Looking for love on an empty page
Missing out on a golden age
To be normal?
Bound in law isn’t free
Conforming to minor guarantee
To pay life’s admission fee
If I were you, the joke is on me
Normal isn’t what you should be
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 9:30 AM UTC
We work as if to vanquish sin, delight
In pay day, reign the ego boosting bills
The hours nine to five grow tired and gripe,
Our sense of worth built firm in green and thrills
A victory deserves a toast, so raise
Your glass and cheer! But don't you dare talk ill
Of men who seek the outside bench, no place
To sleep, ignored by wealthy launderers who'll
Deny the beggar hundred cents yet blow
One hundred bucks to keep their hair due kempt
If love were space then that's how far I'd go
Myself, to mourn the late compassion's sense
It's true: they may be rich upon retire
But who will hold them when their time expires?
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
Don't ever bring a girl home from the bar
Unless you know her don't get head in the car
Because what you don't know is that she just got out
Of rehab, of course, what'd you think I'm talkin about
Not jail, but **** close, she went in for a syringe
Come out the next day and she can't wait to binge
Then she sees you and what's your name? let's head back to your place”
Wow it's that easy, maybe I have a nice face
or whatever the reason,
there's gotta be something else that drives this chicks sleezin
Back to my house, out the door the next day
I'm excited at the prospect of a ***** call livin five miles away
Three days, two texts, no response, no rendezvous
I wonder what happened, I thought a phone call was due
Came to find out from a friend aint no joke
The girl OD'ed on heroine, after one final smoke
Now she can't move, can't talk or can't type
No wonder she didn't respond to my text the next night
Now I feel guilty, somehow it's my bad
Maybe my **** has magic powers that drove this girl mad
But reality is, there's no need to gripe
It was the right place, and the wrong time, so I let her borrow a pipe
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 12:38 AM UTC
I pull up to the drive-in
My least favorite coffee shop
Nope, decide to park my car
Get out, forget to lock
Packed to the brim,
This pit looks grim
But I do need my coffee
They might as well
Open a hotel
And have a giant lobby
I wait in line 'till half past nine
No one has time for this
Only the hopeless addicts
And my name is on the list
I order a lot of latte,
But I am not prepared
Too sweet to eat, and much less drink
Four bucks? You think it's fair?
Between the screams of sugar
My tongue complains of ash
All I want is roasted beans
Not burnt. Too much to ask?
I feel cheated, chug it down
And throw away my cup
Off to work, and with a frown,
In traffic, I am stuck
Of course I talk, and I complain,
And chip, and gripe, and whine
But tomorrow I'll be here again
The same thing every time.
Einstein defines stupidity
Actions of repetition.
Again into infinity,
And this is my condition.
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
*Silent Killer,
A Predator’s Smile,
A Guise Engulfed In Disguise,
A Child of Immaculate Torment,
Her Diamond Lies, Insidiously Advent.
Lost In Her Radiations,
Trapped In Her Demented Seductions,
Fenced By Her Hype,
Immersed In Her Gripe.
As The Clicker Goes Down,
The Ideals Start To Facedown,
As I Cauterize In Her Suicides,
Ashes Divide,
Weeping For Absolution,
Filled With Consternation,
Her Angel Eye’s Smirk, As I Charred Alive,
Screams Slowly Vanishing In Void,
Devoid Dismantled,
Lured By Her Lust,
Transcending To Dust....
- 03:07AM*
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
Some will make their home
Wherever they can
Get to with their feet.
Cardboard box houses
And pallets they find
By trash bins on the street.
The boxes work well
Unless it snows or rains
And then when they melt
It’s out to find a home again.
Go on home
Where the love is
Home to family
Go on home
Where you’re welcome
There is no home for me.
Cookie used to be a chef
He lives under that low bridge
He cooks in used coffee cans
That just how his life is.
Makes dinner when he has it
For us who have so little.
You’ll find him most days
Cooking delicious food
Halfway to the middle.
Go on home
Where your bed is
Home to wife and your kids
Go on home
And be grateful
And not living on the skids.
Some people gripe
When the waiter is slow
And some were once waiters
Themselves long ago.
Some people are full
After they have dined
Others only manage to eat
Whatever castoffs they find.
Go on home
Because you have one
Because you have a job.
Go home where no one
Call you a lazy slob.
Go home and thank God
You have a place to sleep.
Go home and be grateful
Go home and God keep.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC
Its just ink.
Though I lay it down
They say I lay it down
From the depth of my inner
To the facade of my smile
Matters not if in the end its just ink
From the thick of its grip
No gripe that it fits
Its said I laid it down
God knows I ache from its motion
But crushed I am that in the end its just ink
I think of all the glamour
Inhale every scent she wears
Tear apart my heart to get the darkest crimson
Mix it in the well, they say I's lays it down
Brand it in my skin. But to her its just ink
Its a link, a moment of some progress
The greatest of our progress.
She said I laid it down, but we both shared the crown
And though just a granule on the shore
An annual creed of "Adore", not sure
Why its just ink
We watched the moon sink behind violent waters
Every night from the window, broken clouds soar with loud hues of pink and purple
Not every moment is a high hurdle to scale, its why the pen sets sail,ill will, I lay that down
Good moments are grand ones, so why those ascribed only known as just ink?
Just think.
A past where ballads were written on the battle fields
Pledge our allegiance now to a flag that waved under duress
Love stands grander a chance by that test
A scream is like cannons while a tear is like bullets
Hit the page and leave holes. I bared arms now I lay them down. These wounds no longer just ink.
-Xin-
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC