Best Plonk Poems
Men of Honor in the mist Kokoda 1942......
Men of Honor in the mist,...
Sometimes by a bullet kissed,...
Shoot the buggers they'd insist,...
Threeo plonked, lee enfield .303cal.
Japs dead, not missed....
Men in khaki dyed to green ,..
Kokoda men so bronzed and lean,.
Fought the bloody Jap so mean,...
Die did run till khakki/green....
Move in silence in the green,...
Keep your mouth shut, be unseen,..
Pull off a shot when you are sure,...
Head shot got him, yes one more....
Jonesy shot as we pulled back,..
Found him eaten on the track,..
Kill a Jap for sure today,...
Shoot the buggers make em pay....
Walk with death there every day...
Fix your bayonet, smell of hay?...
Keep your guard up, bayonet parry...
Butt slap drongo Jap, old Harry... Don Johnson
As Don Johnson2/25th Aussie Btn. said of his time on the Kokoda track in 1942, you would
smell the mouldy hay smell when the Jap was close. The dyed green Aussie uniform became 2
colours in the constant rain, green and khaki patches. (did we invent camoflague
uniforms)You heard the rattle as the Jap put a bullet in the barrel of his Arisaka rifle.
After his 5 shots the predictable Jap would come for you to bayonet fight you. So you'd
spike him or plonk him with unit .303.. The Japanese were losing many cargo ships to Yank
Submarines during the war, as payback they put American, British and Aussie prisoners on
board to be sunk to die on their way back empty to Japan....
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942stoush
Categories:
plonk, adventuregreen,
Form:
Rhyme
Driven Crazy in 41
You were there in forty one,
When Australia it called,
King an country it was fun,
Adventure it enthralled.
On a hill in Syria,
Death was to be denied,
French Foreign Legion plastered you ,
And several Aussies died.
75 mm cannon gave you shellshock,
Amongst a hundred shells,
Almost driven off your block,
Insanity you’ll tell.
And most were driven crazy,
By the ringing of the bells,
And several walking lunatics ,
Were left there in their hell.
4 days of hammering artillery,
And then you got away,
The Aussies drove off the French,
The guns went quiet today.
Kokoda found you in the green,
Quietly creeping through the hills,
Move so slow, listen though,
Jap will plonk you sure to kill.
Your eyes don’t stop a watching,
For a movement in the mist,
For if you stop a watching,
Surely, bullet kissed!
Jap scout plonks at you ,
And you’re a plonking back,
Fixed bayonet stabs too,
When death walks on the track.
Somehow you get off the first shot,
Old Tommy gun is true!
The knockdown power,
Kills Jappo dour,
Life goes on for you.
Don Johnson 19-may-11
Categories:
plonk, adventuredeath, death,
Form:
Rhyme
RISKS
Scarred hills, risked mine shafts, dark and deep.
The plonk of a stone, dropped into water, far below.
Kids drifted to sounds of the gold-rush, pick and windlass.
But inside our school, Sir recruited afternoon classes into
battle. We piloted Spitfires, strafing Messerschmitts. Bingo!
The plane aflame, out of control. Drifting down, down. A spiral
of smoke.
Our teacher paced, face aglow. Alive to the tremble, the thrill,
in distant summer skies.
Windscreen hit, the scatter of shattered
glass. His odyssey of courage and blood …
At three thirty, older boys reminded Sir,
Time to go home.
Surprise in our mentor’s eyes .
His Spitfire hadn’t even landed.
Categories:
plonk, 3rd grade, adventure, courage,
Form:
Free verse
.....Norm Duel and Johnno of the Second Twenty Fifth.....
Were in Syria in 1941.....
They were surrounded by the French Foreign legion with....
75mm cannon and machine gun ....
Their mortar position was in a hundred gallon pit.....
They'd plonk the Vichy French just a bit....
A wounded calf was still a bellowing, with the shrapnel it was hit....
3 men tried to help it, 3 Aussies died, calf blown to bits....
Charley had his own gun pit and was snug in his private hole...
The 75 shell blew the tree away, but hadn't parted his soul....
4 out of 10 survived to live, on that bitter battered hill....
10 days cannon shell, the shocking hell, the nightmare lingers still!......
shellshock...
1942....In New Guinea green when sudden death was all around ....
Norm Duel fought a Jap Mountain gun, the screaming 75mm round....
It would explode in the treetops & shrapnel sliced your hide ....
Many Aussies caught a bit and some of them they died.....
The Mountain gun was after Norm and his Mortar team just a bit....
So Norm went behind a nearby hill burned the Mountain gun, that's it ....
Unlike the mortar the mountain gun couldn't hit them till.....
Safe behind the hill they plonked away, & then the Gun they'd kill...
As Norm said the Gun couldn't get enough elevation to drop a shell on them,......... Norm
Duel went to Syria and 3 times back to New Guinea...............So for a change the Mortar
had the advantage and won the fight...Don Johnson.....
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942stoush/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZcC5hMeQxA
Categories:
plonk, adventure
Form:
Rhyme
It's time I was more vocal
Only so much time I can spend
With people, my friend
I love my humans
Don't mishear
I love a curry or casual beer
But over-load..
It comes too quick
On over-dose; a switch does click
I yawn, I scratch
Just take the hint
Or let my shiny watch-strap glint
Your presence,
Though I love you dearly
Has over-stayed it's welcome, clearly
I may be rude
So spare me that
And grab your scarf, your coat, your hat
I'll write a poem
When you're gone
Plonk piano keys; some solemn song
Plug me in to time alone
Recharge me
Through nature's pasture roam
My soul needs
S p a c e
To call it's own
Hear birds and angels;
Stillness caress
Not lonely in my alone-ness
Once I'm fixed
It won't take long
I'll skip towards you with a song
I'll listen, care
And be that friend
Who's right there for you, without end
Categories:
plonk, friendship, identity, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
You go to work,
toil hard all day.
Works for me,
keeps you out of my way.
At the end of the month
you get your salary,
then you can buy me gifts,
with which to lavish me.
Wine and dine me
a few times a week,
then another I wont seek.
I need my hair done,
you can pay
but don't hang around,
you don't have to stay.
I'll even let you cook for me,
I'll have Lobster Frittata for my tea.
Dom Perignon is the drink I choose
but no plonk please,
no cheap booze.
We can go to Paris for the weekend,
I'm sure you wont mind if I bring a friend.
Then we'll go shopping and you can come too.
There'll be bags to carry,
there'll be quite a few.
If you get tired,
I suppose you can stop
but I'll carry on to the next shop.
I test drove a sports car,
that was really nice,
I said you'd buy it,
didn't notice the price.
I'll sleep in the bed,
you can stay in that chair.
You can get a blanket,
you'll be comfy there.
What's all that?
Is that my stuff?
What do you mean,
you've had enough?
Why are my bags by the door?
What do you mean,
you don't love me anymore?
Categories:
plonk, relationship,
Form:
Free verse
I saw this darling little chick,
she looked a swinging geezer.
I thought I’d move to get in quick.
Her name was Mona Lisa.
I thought she had a perfect face,
a most bewitching smile.
She swayed with such amazing grace.
Oh my! What lovely style.
“Hello my darling! By the way,
I do a bit of sketching.
So, will you come and sit one day,
I’m sure you’d look quite fetching?”
She stopped my way, oh so demure,
and sat with soft crossed hands.
And as I drew (with thoughts impure)
I made my naughty plans!
“I’ve got this cosy little house
at Amboise, on the Loire;
when painting’s done, perhaps we’ll browse,
then mingle by the fire?”
~
A true disaster, what a frump
and what a sad old maid!
No way was there to make her jump,
no jolly games were played!
She criticised my little house,
she cursed my blazing fire.
She couldn’t speak without a grouse.
She curdled my desire.
In time, I took my work of art
and, with this neat manoeuvre,
it didn’t really break my heart
to plonk her in the Louvre!
And there she sits for all to see,
this awful groaning teaser.
I think it’s very clear why she
is called the Mona Lisa!
~
For Heather's 'Fine Art' Competition - Mona Lisa (Gioconda) by Leonardo da Vinci, hanging in the Musee du Louvre Paris.
Categories:
plonk, hope, sad,
Form:
Verse
A SIP OF RED
I drink it because I love
I consume it because I enjoy it
I imbibe it because I like it
The perfect glass is its best setting
The darkest rouge its only dressing
The fragrance its deepest allure
Its body I so adore
Is taste always brings happiness to the fore
I am a connoisseur
Its richness compels me to drink it
Its bold aroma makes me sip it
The feelings it brings attracts me to it
I lovingly savour it
This is how I enjoy it:
I hold the glass up to look at its glow
Then I deeply inhale its bouquet
I swirl the red nectar around
And the excitement causes my juices to flow
The glass then goes to my eager lips
Forcing me to take a long gently sip
I coo as ambrosia touches my tongue
I lovingly let ecstasy bath my taste buds
They wantonly ravage it
As the walls of my mouth caresses it
I feel in heaven as I slurp it
Then I gladly swallow it
Down it goes setting my insides on fire
A warm feeling infiltrates me
A sinner I surely must be
For the devil's liquid has captured me
I have entered a spiral of sensuality
With good company or alone
I can never it disown
Plonk is not for me
Vintage I accept only
One mouthful is never enough
It is best when the glass is empty
My thirst needs it
The full bottle wants it
I just love having it
I am one with it
It is within me
It lets me be happy
I love it sincerely
Categories:
plonk, wine,
Form:
Ode
Drink it
Imbibe it
Slurp it
To some it's the devils liquid
To others it hides their pain
To a few it's money down the drain
Plonk
Never makes you drunk
Posh
Over priced flop
Drink and forget the world around you
Ponder the demons that inhabit you
Don't let this substance ruin you
Categories:
plonk, drink, wine,
Form:
Verse
Fair dinkum mate I feel like a Tassie Tiger
And I’m not bullin’ you, and a real galah as well
How come this bloody sheila to such charms succumbs
I’m telling you me heart is racing and I feels like bloody hell
Might as well get stuck on the plonk and not sweat on it
Me life’s not worth a quid, cripes I’m really in a jam
I’m writing nothing but gobbledygook, I’m really up ****creek
Maybe I should kybosh this and shoot through like a Bondi tram
Don’t know if I’m Arthur or Martha and me pins feel bloody weak
She’ll me right mate, me mates all say, he’s got buckley’s chance
So don’t just sit there like a stunned mullet, gal give it a go
Cripes love is in the air, and there are sure no flies on you
So put in the boot, and all bloody caution to the wind blow!
Tassie Tiger – extinct species
Bullin’ – kidding
Galah – an idiot
Sheila – woman
Plonk - cheap wine
Not Sweat on- not wait apprehensively
Quid – 2 dollars
Gobbledygook – nonsense
Up *****creek – in trouble
Kybosh – put a stop
Shoot through like a Bondi tram - make a speedy departure
Arthur or Martha - state of confusion
She’ll be right mate - giving reassurance
Buckley’s chance - no chance at al
Give it a go - tryl
No flies on you – you’re smart
Put in the boot -Drive home the advantage
Categories:
plonk, love, me, me,
Form:
Rhyme
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)
Categories:
plonk, rain, rain,
Form:
Free verse
I was looking at some words and their meanings in the dictionary
Some of them are weird and extraordinary
Didgeridoo- Australian Aboriginal musical instrument that can play a tune or two
Ratatouille- Dish of stewed onions, courgettes, tomatoes, Aubergines and peppers, sounds chewy
Splendiferous- good, splendid, or even wonderfullerous
Zonk- tired, exhausted, tipsy, better stay of the plonk
Antidisestablishmentarianism- to object against the severing of links between the church and the state, if you can spell this correctly first time, then I think you are great
pneumonoultramiccroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis_ A dubious disease of the lung, I think you would be out of breath' if this was a lyric in a song
Aren't words wonderful, you can have a lot of funderful
Categories:
plonk, words,
Form:
Rhyme
When he walks – a jogging walking stumble,
Hands flap while moving,
Heavy feet plonk onto the floor,
The dull foot tapping of a toddler,
Where he wants to play, other toddlers live,
Pushing, frowning at those smothering what they target,
Why haven’t I got?,
Why? Why? Why? Want it now?
A noise he makes means something,
A noise like “ahh” or “ehh”,
Because he put his pinching fingers to his mouth,
It means dinner-time or “derrr” to him.
He didn’t eat as much as he hoped,
It is wiped a quarter onto his face,
In his hair, on his top, on his neck somehow,
On Daddys sleeve.
A jambalaya of interesting stimuli,
Cars, trains, planes, colours, noises, toys, people, lights,
Memories of desires, tastes, feelings and smells,
Too much can causes a brain electrical discharge.
The chapter of fun is ending,
He sees his bus and hears “home?” spoken with both request and instruction,
Bus wheels rumbling, the motion of movement, the background noises; dings and beeps,
The bus moves off with a heave of people.
He is quiet at the second bus stop,
He moves with only a twitch,
He banks his memories and falls asleep,
It’s a tough life being a toddler.
Categories:
plonk, dad, family, father, fun,
Form:
Narrative
The Mozzies are biting, we forgot the Aeroguard
The ants, all the bickies are about to bombard
The twins are fightin’ and actin’ real mean
This family picnic, it’s a real bloody scene
The baby’s cryin’ ‘cause he bashed both ‘is knees
The flies in the marg, and the dogs got the cheese
Grans gone walkabout lookin’ for the lav
Cripes, there’s a Kookaburra, poopin’ on the pav!
Young Curly’s so famished, he’s eatin’ mud pies
And bluey’s being chased by some peckin’ magpies
Dav’s bashin’ his missus and actin’ like a lout
She forgot the plonk and the beers run out
Old gramps at the barbie burnin’ the snags
Dad’s really cussin’ ‘cause Mum’s snitched his fags
Now the tuckers ready as the rain in buckets pours
Streuth! Another get together in the great outdoors!
Categories:
plonk, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
Search of Peace
The love which we seek for others
It only gets lost for us
The breath we breathe is just painful it seems
Heavier we feel it’s just a start
The life which we have are just surrounded with profanities
Little to fear as hearts are plonk
The soul we have just made for jostles
Fostering are tried but nothing came up
The dissemble of heart will go for a fraudster
Reiterate will done who are not snobs
The scathing will just prove schism
Tolerance a big deal may come with entente
Categories:
plonk, pain, passion, peace, people,
Form:
Rhyme