"grumble" poems
He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies,
It was the cruelty of man to man's fellow man,
That caused his young heart to break,
It filled him with sorrow to learn that tomorrow,
There was no difference or change he could make.
First there's the teen with no hopes or dreams,
Who holds the gun to his head,
If only we had heard that four letter word,
"Help" and he might not be dead,
But parents ignore a child's implore,
Move along there is nothing to see,
Then comes the day when he's taken away,
Pushed over the edge by the bully.
The starving young pup who lies all beaten up,
By the teenagers too cool for school,
They've come to learn that next it's their turn,
Drunk fathers are awfully cruel,
Or perhaps the poor homeless just hoping for kindness,
And ends up completely ignored,
We can grumble and shout from our comfy warm house,
That most likely, they're all just big frauds.
Then there comes war the thing all Governments adore,
They can line up their pockets with gold,
The war against terror? Or just the oil endeavour?
It doesn't matter soldiers do as they're told,
"An air strike for peace" is the press release,
As civilians are rained on by bombs,
Can they really believe that what's been achieved,
Is greater than the innocent lives that are gone?
He watches the world through tear streaked eyes,
At the people just living their lives,
There was no one who cared or was even aware,
That their society was founded on lies.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
Every day is the same; they wake up in the same bed, at the same ungodly hour, to the same monotonous ringing from the alarm clock.
They grumble their ‘good morning’s; whether they believe it is or not, rolling out of opposite sides of the duvet.
They dance around each other in the bathroom, the heat of the shower creating a fog through which neither of them can see; causing him to stub his toe on the toilet or the counter, and steaming up the mirror so she can’t apply her make-up.
They continue their ritual into the kitchen; flicking on the kettle, popping in the bread, pouring the orange juice; stirring the tea, catching the toast and spreading the butter and jam. Crunching and slurping together at the table, mumbling about what their days have in store; tapping texts on their phones, crinkling newspaper in their hands.
They peck each other a kiss goodbye and mutter a ‘see you later’ before going their separate ways.
But then Monday comes...
Mondays are different.
He knows she doesn’t like Monday mornings. It’s the very beginning of a new, long, tiring week. She never looks forward to Mondays.
So he changes that.
He sets the alarm on his watch a little earlier than other days; shutting it off before it can wake her.
He slips silently out of bed and tiptoes quietly into the bathroom to shower; leaving her smiley faces and love messages on the steamy mirrors.
He creates her favourite tea and makes her toast with raspberry jam; just the way she likes it. Picking a flower from the garden; whichever one looks the happiest and brightest, he places it all on a tray and pads back up to the bedroom to wake her.
She no longer sets her alarm on Mondays. She knows he’ll not let her oversleep.
He places the flower in her hair and drops delicate kisses; full of his love and affection for her, to the corner of her mouth, until she stirs gently.
She smiles on Monday mornings.
They eat breakfast in bed, covering the sheets in crumbs and giggling contentedly as the cat licks them up.
She hums in the bathroom while he clears away crockery, and always re-emerges with the flower tucked behind her ear.
It remains there ‘til night fall.
They never once look at their phones or the paper, far too focused on each other to pay anything else mind.
Their kiss as they part reminds them of their love for each other and of the good things in life; like strolls along the shore, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, smiling sunflowers that open to a beautiful summer’s day, and of course, Monday mornings.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Potholed road full busload, rumble cloud rain,
Hole in sky angers fly, groan they all in pain,
Flooded way joy at bay, no relief respite,
Begged it rain summer’s pain, scorching day and night,
You prayed it god brought it, the monsoon’s delight,
Don’t grumble slip tumble, curse it as a plight.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
Sleeplessness
Brought to you by sparkling espresso in a can
I have underestimated you yet again, oh humble coffee bean
But back to work
Eight tabs open, going back and forth
It's nothing short of a miracle if any given task is given more than a minute of attention at a time
Muscle spasms, trembling, fascinating
Overwhelming urge to mindlessly flex the muscles I don't have
Fake machissimo brought about by exhauation?
Or the exhileration of having to complete 8 projects in a day
While simultaneously trying to grasp a breaking down of my mind which hasn't happened since...forever
Hmm
These are the prime conditions to breed a taxing marathon of productivity
Or a chain of costly impulsive decisions to perpetuate procrastination.
Signs that someone is going crazy range from ****** to inability to stick to a single topic to excessive use of run on sentences
"How meta, acknowledging your insanity deconstructs the very notion of it if you normalize it within yourself and just look as everyone else as crazy! Ha.ha."
That made no sense, i don't think.
I like using big words to make myself sound smart you can make anyone believe anything if you use big words also it scares those
Hippopotomonstroesquipedaliophobixlcs
Grumble grumble
Good night/morning/whatever
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
The mountains stand strong and mighty
The tall majestic foundations of life
They hold so much, towering high and beautiful
However they are silent.
Then there are volcanoes
They tower like mountains,
They are mountains
But, they flaunt their power
They spew lava, and grumble loudly
Mountains have acquired the virtue of humility
One of the most important virtues Christ teaches
They are humble but you still get their point
I do my best to get my point across,
But I strive to get it across in a certain way,
Unlike volcanoes, Like a mountain.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
gurgle, gurgle,
groundcurrent unsettled,
moon unseen like stars
fever dreamed,
dissonance for the melody maker,
dissonance for the retired risk-taker,
dissonance for the hips of homewreckers.
civil, civil,
no minutes can afford the divide,
aside, to the crystal buildings and
the sky's sputtering cries,
compliments to your forehead's ****
compliments to your forefather's rash,
compliments to your aforementioned crash.
the current, the current
rides hot and merciless along thigh,
dribbles down chins and nightgowns,
dries--a permanent badge of scattered life,
electroshock seeps from self-made holes,
electroshock seeps from smoldering bowls,
electroshock seeps from typecast roles.
volcano, volcano,
grumble and moan.
volcano, volcano,
clear cord and stroke.
volcano, volcano,
grieve me in ash.
volcano, volcano,
I've been awful bad. I've been awful bad. I've been awful bad.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 11:19 AM UTC
I don’t think this is an addiction.
No, honestly, it’s just the cat.
No, really, I just fell,
No, I’m positive, I hit a table and-
I don’t think this is an addiction.
If it were an addiction,
I would have to be out of control,
And I’m not doing it five times a day,
now am I?
Though admittedly I think about it,
Five hundred times a day this-
This is not an addiction.
This is not an addiction, I assure you,
when I’m well aware that’s what this is,
When I smile and say that “I’m fine,”
I hope you come to realize that most times,
It’s a lie, and-
“No, really, I ran into the coffee table,”
I grumble to my therapist.
I’ve gotten so good at hiding this that,
“No, I’m serious” and a forced look of honesty
Somehow gets me by.
“This is not an addiction,” I cry,
When I know, deep inside,
That, again, that is was this is.
This.. This is an addiction.
Cuts not healing for three weeks,
Thinking about it for hours at a time,
Wanting the euphoria of bleeding,
On the bathroom floor,
This.. This is an addiction.
This is an addiction, I scream,
Finally taking it for what it is as my friends,
My lover,
My mother,
All yell at me to put my blade down,
To lay down,
To breathe.
They scream at me
To end this seemingly endless cycle
That I’ve been going through
For a little over five years.
The nurse practitioner I saw the other day,
Told me,
“I want you to have a list
Of thirteen things
You can do before you resort
To cutting.”
And I want that to happen.
But this..
This is an addiction.
And it’s going to take a long time to recover.
So far,
I’ve managed to stop the police calls,
The hospital visits,
Some of the more larger issues.
The ones that leave me
worse off than where I started
To an extreme.
I’m still recovering.
I think I’m always going to be recovering,
I don’t think it’s ever gonna leave the back of my mind..
But this.. This is not an addiction.
This is recovery.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 3:44 PM UTC
Gotta take a ‘selfie’ before I’m outta bed
Mum calls me down for breaky - Open Facebook up instead
My sister dobs me in – I tell her to take a hike
Quick up load the photo, and hope I getta ‘like’.
Gotta take a ‘selfie’, gotta getta ‘like’
Dad says it isn’t healthy, my sister says I’m ‘psych’
Take my Ipad into class, gotta get the high score
English teachers raving – But poetry’s a bore
She catches me on ‘chat room’ and takes away my phone
Beg my friend for last year’s modal, I gotta getta loan.
Gotta take a ‘selfie’, gotta getta ‘like’
Dad says I should get healthy- I take a gopro on my bike
Grumble to my parents – Life just isn’t fair
I haven’t got my Iphone and no one wants to share
Mum doesn’t want to hear it, she has no sympathy
Just as well there’s X-box, and by Mp3
Gotta take a ‘selfie’, gotta getta ‘like’
Don’t tell me to think healthy, I think my brain’s on strike.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
Blowing silence
like a bugle
to announce his dismay
he got set
to make a statement
without speaking for a day
but his mother
just assuming
he had nothing much to say
sent her silent
revolutionary
son outside to play;
outmaneuvered
in the kitchen
by his mother's disregard
for campaigns
of wild muteness,
the rebellion fell apart
to the sound
of scuffing shoes
and the grumble in his heart
'cause silent protest
tends to lose
when no-one's listening very hard..
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Taste is my desire
what i eat doesnt matter
what i can offer to eat doesnt concern
i may be charge for millions but will taste it
i dont care who cant eat as long as i eat
no money can satify my hunger
no chef can verify my taste for food
i shall eat anything you serve
i dont care of the taste not the smell
as my stomach grumble i shall eat it
im always hungry always being stuffed
nor i can be full of what i eat
no one is hungrier but me
eat and drink i what i live
food is my first love
and wealth i shall spend for it
i am gluttony the undying hunger
i shall eat to satisfy but never full
i shall have everything edible
for my stomach needs more
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
Your pain and disappointment
should never be a hindrance
from accomplishing the plan
and purpose God has for you.
Isn’t our Life… a sacrament,
meant to be divinely poured
out, to honor our Creator?
As His children, we receive
His instruction and veracity,
as we carry our holy sword
and Hope that keeps us humble.
Discern the contrast to pain
and disappointment; find God’s
Joy, Mercy and His acceptance
without the need… to grumble.
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
Diss the rainbow, show a finger to the parades,
the many words of happiness and encouragement to the
LGBTQ community; grumble as much as you please
and go rot in your little cave of solitude while
the rest of the world celebrates
**one small step for humanity;
a massive leap for us all.**
No matter what negativity you have to spread,
(especially all you shameless people grouching about other countries
while you do absolutely nothing to make a change),
your hate makes no difference, for
#LoveWins.
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
Planks, splintering in solidity
Together twined in tedium
Curving cords of mated metal
Lost in ludicrous loops
Twines of tetanus protrude
Danger danger
Rising flying roaring floating
Above the stillborn trains
Arching acrid aerial arms
Lazy concrete spiral, neighbor snail
Inverse slide with railings
Rumble rumble try and grumble
Jitter in jumpy juxtaposition
Guts of grotesque giants
Flayed flawed under flaming flight
Blink away oblivion
Orange and omnificent, opaque concern
Useful hangnail, table scraps
Rise above
Shocked stillness soon stumbling
Ornamental oasis for the oracles
Unseen unheard untasted unsmelled
Unfeeling unused to understanding
Carry me across
Fly me over
Lift me beyond
Suspend.
Glimpse the unparalleled phenomenon
Ribs of steel, rain has parted
Seeping to the soul
Buzzing through the boards
Immobile, cradle in the wind
Twist
Take off your sunglasses
Be sure to look around as you pass through
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC
There once was a Queen who ruled a magical land.
She reigned with an iron fist on a dainty hand.
This Queen was much too mean with servants so humble
who kissed her feet while she only would grumble.
“I’ve had enough!” She said, her fists in the air,
her eyes of wicked flame, snakes in her hair!
What made this great Queen so wicked and bitter?
They all knew what made her skin shiver.
With looks of a tainted angel, this Queen was so mad.
There was no joy in her kingdom to be had.
T’was the doings of a man that made her this way
the Queen learned the hard way how evil they play.
How they twist, choke, slaughter and destroy a whole heart,
only after making art and breaking her apart.
So, in rage, this Queen commanded:
“Bring me the man who caused my pain!” She demanded.
As they brought him to her, she cackled with delight.
They all would witness an awful sight!
Everyone knew he’d wind up dead.
“The blade!” She screamed. “Now sever his head!”
And with that, the blade fell with a sudden: WHACK!
And with a satisfied grin, the Queen wore black.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
I wake and the light of this fine day edges round the curtain.
The birds have chorused and my left foot lies cold outside the sheets.
Standing in my nightgown I draw the curtains and look out at my garden.
Let me pad downstairs, open the front door and walk brief steps
to the arbour of ferns and shells. From a cane chair
I shall view my private corner with its tiny pool and privet hedge:
whilst there is still a little dew; whilst the cobwebs still glisten;
whilst there is no wind, just a grumble of the surf at Porth Neigwl,
the sound my father makes dozing over his paper.
Miniature, enclosed, protected I will place my thoughts
in this dolls’ house garden, amongst the dank, dark shadows
of its many rooms, its parterred spaces.
You don’t walk in this garden; you take a step . . .
and you are elsewhere. Take three steps and you are quite lost.
I hear the kitchen door bang in the manor house,
Meriel is taking breakfast to my sisters.
I think I shall stay here a moment longer.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 2:33 AM UTC
She'll sleep tight in a parallel universe tonight
my deeply serious rainbow girl astral projects
communes with Shiva and champions chakras
she has the recipe for what passes as illumined
her ignorance of current events is appalling
but that chosen ignorance is staid and unperturbed
I grumble and complain, I use the news like a ******
I put the pieces together, pattern the puzzle-
I see the BIG picture…I cut my life short
possessing a keen memory is like the proverbial millstone
the information is the lake
rainbow girl is contemptuous of my self inflicted plight
we realize its a matter of time before disparate likes divide
I am fire and she is water, I the destroyer, she the preserver
the passion can be complimentary for just so long
Like the lady bard said:
*You read those books where luxury
Comes as a guest to take a slave
Books where artists in noble poverty
Go like virgins to the grave (Joni)*
She'll tolerate my confabulated artistry a spell
I can see she's a caterwauling banshee of protestation in the waiting
Her mellifluous quietude, equanimity and perfect poise can only last so long
Before my brash stripped down vituperative diatribe is as acid in the eyes
Then be off to resume her prior harmonic convergence of heart stuff
as I with my artistic bent, abbreviate my life
*http://jonimitchell.com/music/song.cfm?id=38 The Boho Dance
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
lily is bored
she is best ignored
she wants to be adored
and so she will by sun
that adorns her skin
she will wax and in
diamond and pearl
crazy colourings
grow
suddenly say
spread
oil on herself..
indicates
her impossible
pretty
(i will grumble
for
i am working..)
shoulder
and roll a stick
of marijuana
and sundry other
stuff
and that far from
enough and now
the sun has
gone..
behind a cloud
getting loud
fire is out..
lily wears a pout
where has the sun
where is her this
and where is that..
what is she reading
memoirs of a foxhunting man
(siegfried sassoon)
and goodbye to all that
by
robert graves
two great poets from the
first world war
she acclaims..
and carol ann duffy
she is flitting like
a happy
cabbage white
tween the three
waiting for
the light
on the one hand
the death of civilization
and carol´ s fun and dark
determination
between courage and courage
i cream her smooth opal covering
and push a cold mohitjo in her grip
she wonders how life changes
she lights up and picks at the ways
that divide and separate us
just let it rip she sighs..
what choice do we have anyhows
**** hit the fan
what to do..
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Tomorrow I shall see the birth of the awaited dawn
Today it seems I am locked in a midnight zone
Tomorrow I will not walk into the dread of the night
But shall be led by the blazing light
Tomorrow I will carry my yoke manfully
And never recite the litany of my woes mournfully
Tomorrow I shall slow down and stop by the mountain side
And watch the silvery stream joyfully down way glide
Tomorrow I shall seize every chance that comes my way
And never wait for them to fall on another day
Tomorrow I shall be out of my prison cell with discord round
And shall enter a palace with joys abound
Tomorrow I shall willingly partake of another’s grief
And never seek solely my own relief
Tomorrow I shall wait for the calm that follows the storm
And not grumble in haste that life is a withering dream
Tomorrow I shall look beyond the clouds of gathered gloom
And see for myself the beauty of stars that in hundreds bloom
Tomorrow amid hostilities I shall keep alive the sparks of friendship
And never mourn the absence of anyone for companionship
Did I hear someone teasingly say to my utter surprise
“Your resolutions sound so good! But what if tomorrow doesn’t arise?”
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 10:43 AM UTC
1. Grumble
Of pugs. Or old men. Correlates to the grouping
of wrinkles: smile lines (down) whiskers (up). Synonymous to a gaggle of geese. Or women.
A grumbleman steps on the Pug's tail
and a passing girl hears
a crack, yelp, **** She turns to help
but the grumbleman is gone and the pug
with him. She wonders why her neighbor's car
is still at her Mom's house? Why her Mom
wants to be called Veronica not Mary. One night she dreamed Veronica dancing on their roof
in the rain holding tight to an old red picture whispering to a woman on the lawn dancing
dry in white. She tried to call out to Veronica
she saw her slipping, but when she touched her lips
She felt them sewn shut with coarse, wet thread. Veronica turned and flew to her, to the window, grabbing her hands forcing fingers to feel
the brail graven into her Mother's giggling teeth that read, Don't look, your father will be bleeding soon. She awoke and her window was bound
in greased black leather. The floor ashen. Her lips still sewn
shut.
Anne stood,
picked out her fathers bones
Veronica had sewn into her
pillowcase
and
she
danced.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
I see your face lowered in shame
You are constantly always taking the blame
You've done nothing wrong but yet filled up with guilt
You seem to be like a plant wilting away
I always grumble at the sacrifices I made
Yet you do so much and don't gain
I can see the tears in your eyes caused by my pain
And I just want you to know I'm sorry for my ways
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
Ears in the turrets hear
Hands grumble on the door,
Eyes in the gables see
The fingers at the locks.
Shall I unbolt or stay
Alone till the day I die
Unseen by stranger-eyes
In this white house?
Hands, hold you poison or grapes?
Beyond this island bound
By a thin sea of flesh
And a bone coast,
The land lies out of sound
And the hills out of mind.
No birds or flying fish
Disturbs this island's rest.
Ears in this island hear
The wind pass like a fire,
Eyes in this island see
Ships anchor off the bay.
Shall I run to the ships
With the wind in my hair,
Or stay till the day I die
And welcome no sailor?
Ships, hold you poison or grapes?
Hands grumble on the door,
Ships anchor off the bay,
Rain beats the sand and slates.
Shall I let in the stranger,
Shall I welcome the sailor,
Or stay till the day I die?
Hands of the stranger and holds of the ships,
Hold you poison or grapes?
2.3k
How things started to be unfair
This isn't a complaint,grievance nor grumble
This is the voices of people whose hearts
are crumbled.
How things started to be unfair,
where looks are preferred while hearts are ignored.
Money took over when capability was before.
How things started to be unfair,
where society started to judge
with grudge
without thinking how those hearts feel.
How things started to be unfair,
when the unlawful lawful
the lawful is banned.
How things started to be unfair
a.b
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
I was playing, jumping up and
Down, I was cartwheeling
Right side up
To
Upside down,
I heard a noise, I heard a grumble
Was it thunder
The sky Is blue??
Where did that noise come from
Was it you.
I walked along, and heard it again
I looked under my jumper
There it goes again.
Are you
Shouting,
Rumbling,
Talking
To me, what do want, speak up
"Gruummmbbblle"
"Raaaaarrrrrr"
I don't speak belly?
I do feel hungry though,
"Grumbleeeeee"
Is it that what you want,
Is that which you need.
"Ok"
Home we go, moving fast,
Still talking each louder than the last.
"I need you MUMMY"
"I need you DADDY"
My belly has been talking
Its telling me its hungry,
Like thunder a rumbling rolls
Around my empty tum,
"Goodness me"
"Goodness you"
I'll make you both a sandwich
Make both you happy.
"Thanks mummy"
"Tummy said thanks too"
Grumble went my tum
As both of us were filled with
Peanut,
Jelly,
Toast
It was good tasting,
And filled my taste buds as
Well as a friend that
Grumbled,
Rumbled,
Talked
Of his need to be filled up too.
"Each chew"
"Each swallow"
"Quieter than the last"
I had eaten my sandwich
Crusts and all. My belly vibrated, I think
It was a sleep, I felt much better now I had something
To eat. Empty plate that's good to see,
How are you both?
"Mummy we are very happy"
With a grin I rubbed my tummy,
"MMmm"
My belly just spoke
My belly has a need
"What is that little man"
Grinning ear to ear,
"CHOCLATE MUMMY"
Is that you talking or tummy rumbling again,
My belly just likes to be full for me to eat.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
Sixteen bewhiskered cats with tempers sweet
Only needing food and tranquil retreat.
They try to be good and do what is right
But get into mischief from morn till night.
So hard not to adore each furry face
Though pranks may lead to many a disgrace
Fiddling and tearing the household blinds
Until sighing we think we'll lose our minds.
Hearts so overflowing with deepest love,
Sent from God the Father of Lights above.
Sadly few folks to such a good home give.
How can each darling continue to live?
And even though they may growl and grumble,
When time to eat tiny motors rumble.
Furry paws swat many a ragged mouse.
Without them would be a desolate house!
Families adopt babies, fortunes pay,
Yet for these wuss pusses refuse to sway.
More forgiving than us despite sharp claws,
Surpassing mankind's sins and blatant flaws.
Sixteen bewhiskered cats with tempers sweet!
What have they done to deserve such defeat?
.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC