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ryn Sep 2014
Life throws at us the worst practical pranks
Some call them challenges... I call them sick ironies
With challenges you might emerge victorious, and slide up the ranks
Ironies are just mean, bad jokes; locks with no keys

Call me godless, sad and trodden, bitter man
Call me a cynic, call me all including jaded
I've arranged it all in various permutations, much as I can
But my view at this point cannot be compensated

Allow me to illustrate...

•It's funny how you feel very certain or strongly
About the bog of sadness and depression you wade in deepest
You know it's real, you fan it with strength your mind could carry
When it could be better used to rise from when you're weakest

•What's this about having to crash to your fiery death
Into the realm of darkness; into the belly of ****
You'd have to almost die and lose your last breath
Before granted an epiphany, a slim chance that you could turn out well

•When life throws you in the deepest end
Fills your lungs with copius amounts of bad water
Tries to **** you before allowing time to mend
When if we were first taught to swim, it would've been much easier

•Sure... A treasure trove of splendours, life does offer
But like a spin of the lottery, you mightn't get even if you deserve
No matter how far you reach into it's elusive coffers
No matter how hard you worked to get ahead of the curve

•Life is like Christmas at times when it feels like giving
Like the gift of love much coveted by most individuals
Gives us all these fanciful things that need extensive assembling
But mischievously hoarding all the instruction manuals

•Fraught with grey areas and blind spots to fight
Presents ample opportunities to find the place that you'd belong
You go through shitloads of wrongs to get a right
And finally you think you're right, in actuality, you're dead wrong!

"More", you say?

•Friends during good times but not the bad
•The perfect red apple hosting a worm inside
•Faking a happy smile when you're deep down sad
•Putting our blind faiths in politicians we know who've lied

•Achieving superstardom only after death had ensnared
•Using heavy machinery to rid the Earth of impurity
•Shooting your mean motor mouth and wonder why no one cared
•Starlets dying for attention but crumble under scrutiny

•Health warnings on cigarettes but still sold for revenue
•Acquiring your sought after sports car but drive within the limit
•Promotions to idiots in suits who haven't got a clue
•Stretching up for the stars even when you know you'll never reach it

Well...

I could give more examples but I've typed enough
Life is but a game we're all playing; a circus we're all living
We can't help being helpless when unable to read and call its bluff
All we can afford is to keep siphoning water out of our boat that's sinking
I know I have been whiny in my recent writes. I also know that living a hard life makes you stronger... When life gives you lemons, make lemonade... Blah blah, yada yada... YAWN... SNORE... Zzzzzz. I know these already and I'm sure they're true to a certain degree. Just want to rant and complain. Please forgive my whining.
K Balachandran Sep 2018
When first-rain drenches the trees,
Mango trees full of blooms whine,
Rains wash down the pain!
Every so often children throwing tantrums
Catch parent faces, bracing fallen sourness
Where outlines wrinkle rosy outlook sadly
Raisins having pits

Logan Robertson

1/16/2019
Read CC's blog at Poetry Soup, describing  sapphic stanza with a jux. I found that form interesting, spent hours marveling and researching. I attempted my first one. Not sure if this is correct-11/11/11/5. In this poem I wrote of a parent coping with a child's misbehavior. The effect of such leaving a wrinkled image much like a raisen on the parents face with the juxtaposition at the end of the poem, which is a play on words, too, raisens/raising.
Nobody Sep 2017
Your suffering is always greater than mine,
you claim your fears are bigger.
Whine your feelings are better than mine,
insist my feelings are simpler.

Try to laugh my feats away like a joke,
but my will is more forward than yours.
Now don’t expect any warmth from me,
my spirit won’t be ignored.

You think you can quiet my defiance,
but I'm used to standing alone;
still these ego trips never get old,
they only harden my resolve.

So you timidly try and silence me,
then make excuses to escape.
‘Cause your wits won't handle me long,
I’m the one you can’t sedate.
patty m Dec 2014
All is devastation, incrimination,
why the f--k do we fight, happens every night, even when
we make up you whimper like a whipped pup, whine whine,
a warning sign of some other lover, out late another date
U go undercover,
Cold heart, ripped apart,
try to make a brand new start,
You're taking it to your boys ,makin' a lot of noise
I come 2 grips with your lies,
in the event of my demise,

I wish u knew how much i cared,

testament of what we shared.

Off track, never coming back, my pain, your gain
never letting me explain,

i love your kisses,  your body bootilicious

men make mistakes, do what it takes
punch a wall, stand up tall,  you don't wanna
be no loser at all. How will i know if
my mission's achieved, when u come 2
conclusions before the question's conceived?
Before I was blinded, now I'm reminded
out of place out of time, my reputation on the line
A voice inside, my spirit guide, leaves no speculation.
I look wise in review, fairy tales do come true, when manipulated
askew, by selfish people like U.

Bleeding heart torn apart an **** sight hit by a lightning strike

nixed can it be fixed or entwined by

a doctor friend of mine, his name is Frankenstein?

No babies, this lady, wants romance, to dance
and be charmed by a storm out of the blue

not to be tied down or to be misconstrued.
doubleD aka Patty M
onlylovepoetry Jul 2017
only a ******* man could love a ******* poodle

everybody knows poodle one of the smartest breeds,
not exactly a manly man's dog, but great to have around to feed,
feed you, when alone, and you need a good conversation

had me a good woman

she would say:
"hon, kindly fetch me this and that,"

**** dog would get her whatever she wanted,
me, didn't mind at all, loved taking care of her,
but the dog loved her more and be there and back
before I could jack my feet off the couch

she would say:
"hon,  come near, give me a
nuzzle and a kiss, a  cuddle and a lick"

**** dog, double quick, cause it spoke better human than most,
was in her lap burying her laughing with affection infectious,
before I could jack my feet off the couch

she would say:
"honey love, meet me bed upstairs,
love me sweet and complete,
when done, please love me
over again twice as nice"

**** dog hearing the sacred holy word *bed

was up there in a flash, howling "what's taking youse guys so long,"
tail impatient drumming up a rock n' roll storm,
while we slow pokey, taking our own sweetest time,
humans messing around first with a little downtown downstairs,
prefatory, preparatory work,
both our feet lazy still on the couch kissing the cold away

when we got to our destiny destination, had to kick that
**** ******* foggy doggy outside, close the door,
say no more, **** dog did whine and cry like a baby chile,
till we couldn't take it no more and let that **** dog in

she would say:
"lover man, I love you better than twice I thought I could
ever love another, cause you two idiots two-gether make me
sweeter and completer than I ever knew I could be happier"

like I said, only a ******* man could love a *
******* poodle
p.s. ******* poodle also ain't a half bad poet neither,
known to some by his human name,
only doggy love poetry

8:30am July twooth
Bryce Aug 2018
In the linoleum dungeon
Sparkling swiffer creature
Squirts the floor
Calls polyphemic odors
Opening

And the crazy stench of allspice
Biting lime and draconian breath
Burning the nostril coins
Copper shield bending the cilia
Oven mitts plastered with narcotic grease and decomposing meals
Of yesteryear
Unclear
She speaks between steaming inspirations

Hoo-huh

Exhale the fire

It's'a hotta pasta lasagna
As the helicopters flap their handy rotories
Fast fractal birds
In circumfereferential motion
Cool down our mouths
Ice cubes in the juice
Plop a shot of gin
With that silly child's grin

And the room slowly cants
Begins to spin
As we laugh at the spots we cannot
Pin

Staring at the stellar mountain chains
Thrusted stone
Busted metal
Stabbing up into the sky
Competition

Where is the home beyond the horizon
Where we ate good meals
Not made alone
With parental guidance
As the days were stolen
By the erosive time
That spinning wheel

Well,

It's deep in us now
And the cells metastasized
Realized
That heaven is ****.
patty m Nov 2018
Poets don't pick the time or place, or the state of their lives.  Some write while trying to STAY ALIVE in a hellhole state of abuse. And yes like the homeless man on the street They don't mouth words, they write guts, and gall, and bruises, They write love, and levity and crazy rants or bits and pieces of hope and dreams. Poetry is  the other side of the mirror, the place of sanity/insanity and escape.

Tinny whine
by design
a wind-chime
blowing
words are snowing
trumpets blowing
where's the rhymer
the man who writes lines for two bucks
what the f- - k
Once poets were revered
now they sear through the mind
refined or unrefined, no
loving valentine.
And still I read in awe
chewing on a straw
drinking all the thoughts in
how does one begin to absorb
it all?
The aches the pain, the non-monetary gain,
the romance, and happenstance,
As to the question
Who writes poems like this?
the words were uttered like a breathless kiss

not a reprimand, or justification
supplication to that
unholy state of upper-hand,
on demand, testamentary of
vocabulary signature of solemn state
in which one contemplates tone and
that alone designates the way
one whispers when truly touched
by poetry that says so much.

Who writes poems like this?
I seek to amend,

Only the very best my friend
text is so easy to misunderstand, when one can't hear the tone expressed.  
hugs
Patty
Brian Ong Aug 2018
Hi. Do you care enough to hear me whine?
I fear that you don’t see me
collecting dust in the dim corner of your room.
And while you stand and stare,
completely absorbed by your own despair,
I remain
ready to serve you  
and your meaningless life.
I can clean your room, yet I can’t clean your mind
of the false reality exemplified by your kind.


We are similar though, you and I.
Wasting our time amassing, acquiring, accumulating.
Honestly, we’re mere specks of life,
surrendering to realities constructed by our minds.
Don’t you know that your beloved earthly pleasures
are one and the same as the ******* that I collect?
Hard-earned, elusive, temporal, disposable.
Its laughable how ignorant you are;
consumed by your own subliminal thoughts,
leaving you searching for the remnants of what is and what is not.


Can’t you see the fallacies present in your head?
Gleaming yet blinding, salient yet obscure.
Armed with benevolent promises
that ultimately leave you for dead.
Can’t you see that what you crave
will inevitably **** you down to your grave?
Incessantly coated with wondrous, tempting illusions
that disguise its true nature--garbage.
Garbage. Connect the dots, you fool.
Can’t you see that you and I are one and the same?
done for class
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
I'm tired of being dramatic
Words don't always flow
Poetry isn't right over what else is wrong
Cry some more
That will help
Whine a lot
Like we all do
**** trying to sound perfect
Life doesn't rhyme
Life has ups and downs
Life *****
And then it gets good
And then it ***** again
Deal with it
Stop crying
Win Khine Apr 2018
...lets rhyme
you can't whine, when I dine,
let me do my time, with my usual grind,
to my prime, don't cry,
lets not rewind, stay on the sideline,
I will be fine, to the finish line....

(c) Ko Win Khine aka. D Hlaine (April 20th, 2018)
Deadwood Jawn Nov 2018
Your face is serene.
             Your waist is lovely.
                       Your eyes tempt me.

Your proximity is my infinity.

Have me!
         I want you.
                Try me.
                        Let us try that darkness.
                               Accept consequences later!

I can meta-morph into what you desire.

I want
               I want
    I need
                       I need
                                    I crave
I crave

**** me like you need it.
**** me like you desire it.
**** me like you want it.

                                      The angry God will chastise me!
Yet I want.
It feels

Feels
                  Feels
Feels
                  Feel­s

C A R N A L

T A K E  M E

Grind on me.
Ride on me.
Straddle me, my darling.
Breathe into me, my darling.

WEAR ME INSIDE OUT
ACCELERATE
EXCITE
*******

Tear                            ­Tear
          Tear         Tear
          Tear         Tear
          Tear         Tear
Tear                            Tear

Whine.
Moan.
Groan.
Si­gh.
Groan.
Moan.

A C C E L E R A N D O

Whine.
Moan.
How magnanimous of you.

Do not stop.
Destroy me.
Ruin me.
         Do not stop.
         Surge through me.
         Bring the calamity to me.
                   Do not stop.
                   Please me.
                   It is only us who exist now.


RAUCOUS
RAUCOUS, INAMORATA
RAUCOUS.

Against the angry walls.
Onto the plush mattress.
Ragged to the iron floor.
Pinned down.
Strung up.
Restrained.
She loves it.
We are harmonious.

SLAM.
PUSH.
PULL.
DRAG.
INSERT.
RAPID.
RIPPED.
GRIT.­
SQUEEZE.

Fill the air with us!

She cannot have enough of me now.
There is no stopping our pulsation.

Resist.
Resist.
Not yet.
I refuse to lose.

Yes.
Yes!
YES!
**** me harder.
**** me harder.
Smile just like that, my angel.

AS YOU READ, YOU CAN HEAR THE SOUND.
YOU CAN BEGIN TO IMAGINE THE SMELL.
YOU CAN TASTE THE SWEAT.
YOU CAN BEGIN TO FEEL YOUR SENSES EXCITE.

Your form is everything I want;
entice my senses.
All of you floods through me;
the angry river at its best!
I'm scattering.
Ascending.
Searing.
Plunge deep
and drag me in, sweetheart;
ascend with me!
Shatter the barriers that withhold us!

...
...
...

I love the way your eyes do that, Serena.
Written during a time of ****** abstinence, after storing up a lot of ****** energy. 18+. A catharsis. Inspired by Dani (author of I need to moan.) Formerly known as Inamorata ****. I love my Serena more. I need her.
Emily R Jun 2016
If we are all here
to mope
whine
and rage
how
please tell me
how
have we survived so long
It's because we were happy once!
bright sparks of creativity
turns our world inside out
and back again
you can  make a difference!
reach into your brilliant brain
past the muck
and self doubt
into the bright corners
of yourself
bring it out of hiding
and into the world
let them judge you!
become impermeable
let the insults slide off
like the rain off of a goose's downy back.
help turn our world
into one of light
and empathy
where everyone
can speak
or look
or act
as they wish
without being criticized
you can do it!

and don't forget
Be happy!
Never Give Up!:)
kirk Feb 2016
Oh Annette Tidy, I would love to lick your ****
Show me that you like it, you **** loving ****
******* pulled beyond your hole, while kneeling like a mutt
Legs apart so far and wide, I don't want your ******* shut

Spread you cheeks across my face and open your hole wide
Pelvic thrusting on my tongue, while I'm slipping it inside
The taste of it is magical, when tongue and *** collide
I can lick your ***** too , but I'll let you decide

It's okay if your a *****, when it's ***** and bums to pluck
A Furry ***** is alright, it's still so good to ****
Soiled ******* I don't mind, they make my cockerel cluck
A touch of romance is quite fine, but so is a good ****

Oh Annette Tidy let me knock on your back door
You can show me your intentions, you filthy ******* *****
I doesn't matter that we're strangers, because our *** is raw
If your like the phone box says, then what are you waiting for?

So come on now get *****, and I will do the same
let me have your **** hole and a **** ******* game
According to the writings your a filthy kind of dame
I've read that your an **** ****, so your be glad I came

Oh Annette Tidy, I am on a real *** hunt
I would be so happy, if your proper ***** ****
Whether your a posh girl, or just a ******* munt
You need to get your knickers off, and I'll give it a punt

I'll be grabbing onto your ****, and It would be devine
Vigorous ******* may result, in hearing your **** whine
If your a cheater that's okay, it really is quite fine
As long as your cheating with me, and you are ******* mine

So push your **** upon me, let my **** slide in
I'd **** without a rubber sheaf, it's better on bare skin
I'm sure that you'll enjoy it, when your sitting on my pin
And **** old Dennis Richmond, cos I don't give a **** about him

Oh Annette Tidy, I fancy a real good ****
I am really hoping, your a ***** ******* ****
It doesn't matter if your good looking, or a dried up hag
***** lips are free to flutter, when I **** your fleshy flag

**** ******* is so good, what a fantastic feeling
The tightness squeezing on my rod, that's what I find appealing
Doing **** would be great, bent over or just kneeling
An ******* that is spread wide, is really quite revealing

So when my **** is hard enough I would stuff it in your ***
Fingers up your ***** and your ******* under thumb
A frigging is in order, because I want to feel your ***
******* in your tight hole, I would really give it some

Oh Annette tidy, let us have some ****** fun
Let me see you *****, and I will ***** your hot cross bun
I also like a wet ****, but these things must be done
For you squirt me with your juice, just like a Capri Sun

I hope that you like big *****, cos I have a nine inch ****
Because I'm not hung like those fellows, who are in Hong Kong
So I won't put it all in, in case it is too long
But if you want the whole lot, I'll make sure that it says strong

Are you such an **** *****, well I don't really know
You could be a real ***** ****, or just an average joe
If your not that kind of girl, then somewhere else I'll go
Because I'm looking to get ******, and a **** and blow

You maybe such a nice girl, and you get home by ten
So you might not be interested, in ridding my big ben
I'm sure there's **** ladies, who'd like playing in my pen
A **** time they can have, if I went round to their den

Are writings on walls true, you don't have to sit there idly
If you want an arrangement, I could ******* every Friday
Unless you are a nice girl, and your a bit like Heidi
And your up in the mountains thinking . . . . Oh Annette Tidy!
md-writer Feb 2018
Stumbling
Weary voices screaming soft and slow
A whine

How am I to understand

Gulls and shrieking colonies
Have never opened up to me
I can't divide the hurtle of millions
Into the movement of one head here
A feather there
And mouths agape for more

Cram a colony inside my head
Bursting with busy, covered in ****

Do you wonder now
Why I cry myself to sleep
Why I dread the light of morning
Why I stare into the deep.

I can't escape it. A million miles of progress twisted into half a cup of brain.
And not in order, either.

All's a mess within.

So how am I to understand
How am I to live
Vaguely, I suppose.
Riz May 2017
lets be the new old fashioned
and whine on the internet

as we can’t change the -
or maybe the word is
won’t

it is tricky to trust
the government
and those who hate the government
                                    yet wish to govern

i apologise for intruding
on your ideology
but money is the play

can you hear
the one-armed fascists
clapping
        the sound ringing

then comes their dialogues
without meaning
just a noise
unsatisfying
our questions

greyness in the divided               kingdom
since budget day austerity         grows

the wise
predicted
this

tell the treasury i don’t
treasure them

explain the inequality to me
is it
where you laugh
                      at the idea
                             of the walk
                                        of shame
                                             but does a ******* laugh
                                      at the idea
                             of the walk
                      of shame
or is it different?

mr osborne
many brainwashed to think he was
a political conqueror

a man who rules yet
has never really
ruled
now slipping and sliding
into U turns at every junction
bombs up his sleeve
shards of my wages
smuggled in his pocket

i’d say **** me
but he’d get
too happy

disgusting disrespected
determined to defecate
my life
his life her life

injustice declared
in the green chamber of
fundamentalist *******

tea party later
            pinky’s up
petty snobs and knobs
              wimps and chimps

rah rah
yah my course at uni
holds the record
for *******
the most first year
birds

rah rah
yah i flashpacked asia
                         gap year
was going to 'find' myself
but instead
found a ladyboy
             giving me a blowy

rah hah
hah rah
yah

tea party invite
to the taxman       lost in post
                                        stay away sir

endless pits of poorer parties you can attend

ok so
mr osborne

don’t tax us for ostrich or
crocodile
meat

or the national lottery
or
jaffa cakes

but do take our blood
for a ****** treat

would you rather spend that money
cleaning the seats on the tube
                               didn't think so

ew aren't women so gross
fit a padlock on my tongue
stop it running loose

you assume our existence
is here for your mockery
imprison us within our ****** processes
               imprison us in vindictive convictions

our economic burden
cut taxes?
you cut
we bleed

     clotting blood

watch your animations
of sexist continuation
cartoons and frosties
three teaspoons of sugar

privatise my practice
privatise my property
privatise my private              

does it apply to all my juices?
charge me for a **** of my ***
and watch my baby cry

malevolent
     misogynistic
          mother-*******
                        mon­sters              

osborne is
‘backing people who work
                                    and save’

applause

but who is
backing people who work harder
                                     and can’t save?

...

he’ll rest now
on his comfy sofa
and second home

ravenous vultures
feeding on the helpless
          destroying cultures

capitalist realms
serving
monetary expansionism
                pecuniary longing
mechanical violence
                 hierarchal dominance

disabled benefits
tainted with his
poisonous thumbs
            disabled suicides kept out the press

no more deaths from esa c -
        - ut to some standard bbc news

propagandise their
suffering

trapped in
his money teasing schemes
                       subsidised by
              chi chi chicken ****
                   two bit
                           fascists

osborne, let's
forget the gbp
for a sec

how about the feeling
of being deeply
unwanted
by your own country

living a dependent life
imagine the depression
then the rejection of
any help to have
an independent life

wheel a mile in my chair

imagination without
involvement is
impossible for deadened tories
a bit like
arousal without
**** is
impossible for deadened hearts

he evicts those labelled
mental health
and
lack of wealth

it reeks

is it hard for him
to hear those in wheelchairs
and those with minds
in wheelchairs?

government gang culture
mr david icke
may be
right

do we live to
flee panic
and die
in a man-made drought
of thoughtless clouds passing
                                   above us
whilst we're
waiting and
waiting for
the drop
   just a drop will do

stand up
or don't,
it doesn't really matter
This is in response to Osborne's Budget 2016.
Don Bouchard Aug 2018
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.
Morning thoughts August 17, 2018
razzle Oct 2018
Bright, beautiful skies glisten above,
seagulls pecking away.
Sand slips between my toes,
marking a beautiful new summer day.

The sun beats down brightly,
blinding all in sight.
People come and go again,
from morning until night.

Our bliss comes to an end
once the bright moon settles on the shore.
While dreading the car trip home,
I still pull open the car door.

I close it with a slam,
tires screeching with a whine.
Even though we just left,
I can't wait until next time.
OK OK OK OK so; 1. yes its almost winter i couldnt think of anytjinh 2. julia made me post this :( 3. look @ that...... rhyming.... YA BOI is dr SEUSS... edit: THIS IS REALly old dont REAd it
Eden Quinn Feb 17
The mud-covered hands on that little body
trying to reach the iridescent blackberries.
And the clumsy tries
which directly grabbed the sharp thorns,
caused burning pain and red fluid
dripping out of slim fingertips.
"But I want them soooo bad",
the little figure whine while
stretching it´s legs until they started hurting.
Salty tears poured down it´s cheeks,
down it´s chin - and then -
onto the red fluid on it´s fingertips.
Sitting in the dark, licking it´s fingertips,
the figure tried to reach them again,
mixing red fluid, sticky spit, the juice of
squeezed blackberries and
the strongest ambition known to humanity.

If reaching blackberries was worth so much pain,
then why is nothing anymore?


Quinn
I grew up in a little valley and every summer I used to collect all the blackberries. Even though my fingertips always ended up pink-reddish because of the thorns and my clumsy tries, it was so much fun.
Now, that I´ve been diagnosed with (social) anxiety, depression and bulimia, I really want to turn back time.
Natalie Apr 2018
My tongue is bitter with the salt of life.
I have ****** it of its marrow.
The hollow bones clack and rattle.

Death lingers like an itch at my side
That sinks in through the skin
And crawls its fingers forever outward.

I drink my fine, black mornings,
An unsavory sip. One's teeth
Would whine in agony,

Like gravestones in the wind.
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