Best Plink Poems
Each little drop of rain I see
goes plink plink plink into the pond,
then disappears so easily
as if I’d waved a magic wand!
Inside the pond’s refreshment goes
each little drop of rain I see.
How calm this scene, for no wind blows;
all thoughts mundane from my mind flee.
A fragrance wafts enchantingly
to greet my nose with scent of pink!
Each little drop of rain I see
keeps falling falling plink plink plink.
Reflected on the water’s skin,
pink blossoms ripple joy to me
while in this moment I take in
each little drop of rain I see.
Written Aug. 12, 2016
How Poetry Began, such plots you tell!
A Tale Of Fire And Ice you wrote so well
Poor Peter Pumpkin bid a sad adieu
Pink Cherry Blossoms was your first haiku
You Echo, Silent Still - love's dream come true.
Bright Eyes plays violin with sweet refrain
It Matters Not, a lovely swap quatrain
Rock Turtles - monoku criteria
The Wintered Soul Among Wisteria
Hidden Beauty - bittersweet rondeau
Dear Juliet waits for her Romeo
And Then Are Times in 'Six Days of Sistine'
Yesterday's Joys, a quatern most pristine.
At Winter's End, a triolet of spring
Night, A Pantoum Lullaby to sing
Destiny, so dark; more painfully:
Reflecting on Police Brutality
Each Little Drop of Rain I See goes 'plink'
An Empty Tissue Box in tear-stained ink.
Dogs and Cats, of these you often write
In Strangler's Wood, those shadows quake at night
Eternal Breath, for one who died too soon
This Night you're floating under stars and moon
Revelation In the Rain, poor her!
I'm Huck - that's right, the novel character
Cinder Girl, burned badly by a boy
Happy birthday, Andrea - enjoy!
September 5th:
Happy birthday to a Soup superstar, prolific poetess, constant commenter, splendid sonneteer, marvelous mentor, word warrior, supportive sponsor, and fabulous friend!
Note: Capitalized words at the beginning of each line are titles of some of Andrea Dietrich's more popular poems from her nearly 11 years at Poetry Soup.
written 4 Sep 2020
Written: December 12, 2023
______________________________________________
Twilight swallowed me, striking me speechless
With subtle caress of a wicked breeze
Stirring the surge, I drift inwardly
And wild geese soar home in the sky.
Floating at a low level on a long, rolling skein.
Their banter ruined their afternoon
Friends unified on a familiar trip.
I've seen them ride on the oceans.
Pulling back the waves' white locks.
In the quiet, glassy sea, my skiff barely ripples.
Lavender clouds and double geese.
Random ideas diffuse as waves.
But my ideas act as stars in the sky
Bringing delight with a single chuckle.
Happiness simply cannot be accounted for.
Also, it seems as a wayward child.
Even amid the thrills, sadness arises.
Akin to one drop of rain on quiet waters.
Spread ripples will erase dazzling rays.
With a single echoed plink of its sad note.
Is it worth staying with the wispy Hope scarf?
Then laid across my shoulders?
The light tilts on other days.
That warms the day as a lover's kiss.
And I anchor at home in delightful calm.
**For Ruben O, My little Bro**
(This poem was written and a recording made for the contest sponsored by Team Poetrysoup which was deleted before it was judged. I wonder if this would have received a placement?)
Alarming, how analog clocks can tock back,
sound-off each morning like those hungover barflies
at the laundromat who dive-bomb
buzzing dryers as bleached belles
in heels attack threadbare tiles
with a stomach-turning, M60 click clack,
click clack. All night cafes fare
no better, terrify with their red-eyed twit-ter-
to-woo owls, their jingle-jangle spoons.
Heartlessly, the freaky knock-knock joke
of a barista smacks-down the expresso machine —
grounds for a massacre behind the counter.
The plink-plunk of rainfall deafens.
Birthdays send you into a panic. Too risky,
the onslaught of jubilation, the grenades that wait
in overblown balloons. New Year’s Eve brings histrionics.
Nightmarish, the yellow chimeras of construction
and every screaming chick-a-dee-dee-dee...
Ear plugs are a given.
Heaven is a soundproof room.
Even that plan holds more than a hiccup or two.
Horror resounds everywhere.
Babies thunder by in hot-rod strollers.
Frightening: the gurgles, giggles, ear-splitting rattles.
In the nursing home, an awful rasp of life
roars behind a tissue-thin curtain,
the horrendous lisp of oxygen, so deathly loud.
Simply birds chirp, chirping in song,
belonging to a cloudy day.
Simply birds plink, plinking paradisaically.
Wee angels with harps in their wings.
Simply my teeny, tiny forest at play.
Tweets twine like ivy, inviting a smile.
Simply the sweetest sound of mirth.
Sans birdsong, saddest silence on earth.
Most restful sleep since... being in utero
Courtesy restless leg syndrome
spouse called me expletive rat fink
ousted me out the bed with plink
as lovely bones almost got extinct,
whence consoled self singing ditty
Skidamarink a-dink a-dink
makeshift burrow of pillows nsync
shuteye analogous to grateful dead,
Elysian Fields I did drink
yours truly fast asleep
found repose within eyeblink
awoke rested minus
knotted knobs entire body kink
metaphorical twisted human pretzel,
yours truly did not shrink
though disabled to walk,
hence mobility regressed
circumscribing me ambulatory
range to crawl and slink,
no matter paralyzed
(albeit temporarily), I think
above mentioned rectifies
Quandary whereat legs
shimmy and shake
keeping the missus awake
she requires daily at least
twenty four hours
of beauty rest to slake
lest she renders me into
chopped liver and/
or skewered beefcake
nuttin I divulge "fake,"
courtesy this corny flake,
who years gone by
a scoundrel and rake
straying against marital fidelity
triggering psychological earthquake
present crisis pits less at stake,
thus forgive wordplay
much more age
appropriate than pattycake,
perhaps slight hyperbole
thee only literary gambit
up figurative sleeve,
me ain't no magician,
nor gifted with holiness
able to walk across lake
thus harmlessly,
kiddingly, purposelessly...
cavort, frolick,
before darkness, when I
unduly forced to betake
self and disappear hoping the morrow
will find most bushy tailed wideawake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The boat still waits where water meets the shore,
its hull a ghost of varnish, cracked and thin.
Dad’s empty boat rides the waves no more.
Motor sits idle—no strong hands the throttle to pull
at dawn’s first blush or dusk’s slow-settling din.
The boat still waits where water meets the shore.
I trace the name he carved with patient score:
Ninnie Poo—paint now like weathered skin.
Dad’s empty boat rides the waves no more.
The pines still lean as if they’re listening for
his whistled tune, the hook’s sharp plink within.
The boat still waits where water meets the shore.
The perch still school where cattails root and sprawl,
untroubled now by his net or his custom-made jig-spin.
Dad’s empty boat rides the waves no more.
The lake holds silence, calm and still with languor.
Hushed wooden dock moans, wondering where Dad has been.
The boat still waits where water meets the shore.
Dad’s empty boat rides the waves no more.
The trees have pumpkin-pied themselves
they're dipped in orange butterscotch.
The squirrel's nests of pick-up sticks
hide acorns stores which plink-plop.
Below the apple trees bowed branches
mother harvests windfalls for pies.
Father takes a old buck down
for mincemeat pie, bye and bye.
The corn field's full of children small
gathering ears for Dutch Corn pie.
A cider smell of cinnamon
reminds of crispy crusts on standby.
Mother's at her best this season
and all those pies-- why its the reason!
It started with a drink I drank till drunk
when I started to wonder if I'd blink till blunk.
As I opened my eyes in a stink I stunk
and I started to think and thank till thunk.
Life beginning to sink, it sank till sunk.
I was feeling the fink; a fank with funk.
With my money going clink and clank till clunk,
I was poor to a plink of a plank gone plunk.
When I thought of a link I had linked till lunk,
come as fast as a mink of a mink gone munk.
And I started to write in an ink gone unk,
just to write down a story in the pink gone punk.
Then I started to slink and slank till slunk,
all from writing a story of kink and kunk.
Just afraid of an ending that I'd flink and flunk
as if out on the rink to rank my runk.
All to make me a trink of a trank to trunk.
I was rich in a prink of a prank gone prunk.
A snowflake falls upon a lash,
melts with the body heat.
Drops to become another stitch,
of the snow quilted scene.
A drop of dew upon a leaf,
trembles before it falls.
Into the cupped, bird bath below,
singing a soft plink of song.
Tears from clouds along the ridge,
course down the mountains cheek.
Into the valley far below,
offering the desert a drink.
Springs that fountain from the earth,
meet with rivers wild.
Racing themselves to the sea,
carving beauty as it toils.
Be it just a single drop,
or a torrent cascading through.
From a simple mist to oceans vast,
water is life to one and all.
For the contest; Earthly Elements
Sponsored by Leighann Anderson
The Cave
I descended in the cavern,
Through a passage, I descended,
Deep and deeper, ever narrow,
Ever further, ever darker.
As I sat and turned my light off,
Not a glimmer, not a flicker,
Not a shine of distant lantern,
Utter darkness, black and starless.
Not a sound of beast or human,
Not the plink of dripping water
Nor the rustling of faint breezes –
Utter silence, mute and soundless.
And I felt the cool hard limestone,
Felt the rock beneath my body,
Felt the wisdom and the secrets
In the ancient womb of Gaia.
Contest Echoes of Hiawatha:
Compose a poem in the style of Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha, maximum 20 lines. Form must be trochaic tetrameter, no rhyme (Select form as "verse"). Incorporate Longfellow's use of repetition as a device.
SMALL TOWN LIBRARY - OCTOBER
Sleepy with silent words , soundless print
Outside a world of school bells and traffic hum.
Cant keep my focus, glasses need renewing.
Read same line seven times, I’m losing
My place - losing my grip. I am
Held in a place where speech ends and
Time stops - quiet, silence, hush , no noise.
Afternoon long pale crimson sun oozes
Into gloomy room, lone sunbeam edging
Into the forbidden roomy gloom.
Silent stealthy steps like a yellow cat with
Dust motes held in its claws.
Snoozing over yesterday’s newspapers
Old man agreeing, nodding, mutters,
Nodding at the 1968 UN yearbook.
Studying and skimming thru files for a look
Imperceptible earphones in students head.
Kids being shushed for fairy tales being read
Smell of polished tables and newly-printed paper gloss,
Books on shelves by the dusty dozen to choose,
Quotes and poems by Zola, Balzac and Moses,
Flies buzz lazily by, old librarian checks books out,
Buzz, flicker, and plink-plonk from the faulty tube light.
Doze, lose consciousness,
Soon be November - winter approaching….
Got to save energy = mc squared = MC2…..
CO2 + H2O is acid rain = droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven…..and
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night, ****
And so to sleep , perchance to………….wake
In a place where speech ends,
Time stops………………….
**** Langston Hughes (1902-1967), U.S. poet. April Rain Song (l. 4-6)
An icicle drips, drips
its measured drops
Plinkety-plink, plink, plink
on my window, like rain
Each drip, every drop, a paralysis of time
Plinkety-plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink
Will these cursed drops never end
~ Will she never be mine
(Asia may not know, this LIX city split baby boomer now ranks himself as an in denture charred sir vent reflecting on that painful instant when enamel collided with frozen water versus the recent removal of all teeth - courtesy of periodontal disease, and reckons how quaint that facial fracas).
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inxs of cold playing air
froze natural pond, where
over head Canadian geese did blare
honking the latest goose sip loud and clear
when from behind a bush
(color antler protected doe against fear
of smashed pumpkin) did peek a deer
alert to any danger by parking
upright either one or both ear
lest predator doth lurk and induce fear
while Harris Family and friends
oblivious attired in wintry gear
which protection from cold caused difficulty to hear
necessitating cupped gloved hands
to punctuate every muffled word
to be but barely heard
akin to talking with mouth full of custard
above the quiet riotous mirth
from this then gawky child nerd
precariously maintaining balance
on his skates and glide like a bird
such attempts made
this then boy appear quite absurd
ah, if only this mind of mine
did two step quick think
but woe misfortune awaited
across the bumpy natural rink
blithely jettisoning myself hither and yon
like a rolling stone going plink
unaware while in camouflage pose
disguised as one sneaky slippery fink
that snuck up in a blink
that found me squarely face down
shattering left front tooth
immediately discovered
via tongue as private sleuth
finding me in extreme agitated state forsooth
as if on fire from red hot chili peppers
wrought from jagged booth
winning sympathy from parents
who did level best to tend distraught son
who ushered playback of events
with less disastrous rerun
praying for an angel
to grant reverse outcome brought none
gut wrenching grief
immediately terminated former fun
damage irreversible and
perfect white smile forever broke con!
Plink. Plink.
Drip...
follows drop,
follows drip,
follows drop.
Plink. Plink.
Resolutely, incessantly,
each precious globule
snakes, languidly, along
labyrinthine tunnel.
Plink. Plink.
Seemingly-innocuous fluid
conveys crucial content
and necessary nourishment:
sole source of sustenance.
Plink. Plink.
Life-affirming droplets
are welcomed, eagerly, into
damaged vessel's system.
Plink. Plink.
Naught but air to pass lips,
"NBM" had been decreed.
Plink. Plink.
Temporarily,
but indelibly,
branded.
Plink. Plink.
-----------------------------------
8 October 2017
NBM / Nil by Mouth is a medical instruction to prevent patients from consuming any food or water orally, often replaced by intravenous fluids.
Submitted to Julia Ward's "Your Favourite Free Verse Poem From October 2017 or November 2017" contest.
(2nd Place)
Entered in Butterfly Wings' "Could You, Please" contest.
(6th Place)