Best Plonked Poems
My step sister her name is Annie
has got the most gigantic fanny
When she plonked on a chair
She was quite unaware
she’d sat upon our little granny
Our poor granny was almost squashed flat
She screeched ‘Annie you’re so blinking fat’
I’ve just seen a new diet
I think you should try it
As next time you’ll kill our pussycat
Huge Jarse is an alias singer George Michael used to use when he checked into hotels. If you don't like the limericks then sit back, relax and enjoy the music!
10/4/18
Categories:
plonked, crush, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
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:
plonked, adventuregreen,
Form:
Rhyme
Ted Cogger is our local butcher and he’s been here seven years;
full forward for the footy team and drinks a nightly seven beers.
He played one season for the cricket club, but he was just a slugger,
and Ted’s become a mate of mine, but he’s a pretty sleazy bugger.
I have suspicions ‘bout fidelity but of course there is no proof,
and if Pat his wife did get the bell she’d probably hit the roof!
All in all Ted’s just a bloke who loves his beer and sport,
but if other rumours are all true then one day he’ll get caught.
And caught he got, in front of me; there in his butchers shop.
I was wandering home near five o’clock, so I thought I would stop
and have a chat with Ted before he shuts up for the night,
when in walks Mrs. Grundy much to Ted’s chagrin delight.
I sat back and listened to their conversation taking place.
Mrs. Grundy mentioned she hoped Ted would be her saving grace,
but being Friday Ted’s not sure, for he’s let his stocks run low,
therefore his freezers full of empty space with nothing much to show.
She ordered sausages and corn beef, but Ted just shook his head,
so Mrs. Grundy scratched beneath her chin, then she finally said,
“Would you have a chicken I could buy” and one Ted duly found,
then plonked it down upon the scales and weighed it as three pound.
“Oh goodness me that’s not enough” Mrs. Grundy made another plea,
“My son is coming for the weekend and that won’t feed his family,
would you have a bigger chicken?” Ted went back for another look.
I saw him bring back from the cool room - the very same old chook.
He plonked it down upon the scales but Mrs. Grundy couldn’t tell,
even though the chook is on the scales - Ted’s finger is as well.
Ted mentioned that the weight’s four pound, thinking this would do …
“That’s marvellous” said Mrs. Grundy - “Now can you wrap up the two?”
Categories:
plonked, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
.....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:
plonked, adventure
Form:
Rhyme
Plumpyflumpy was a sort of hippo/giraffe
Its rump was huge like a hippo
With a neck sooooooo long, that’s where the raffe bit was.
Plumpy loved to wallow in a muddy pool
oops I forgot to say that Plumpy was a young girl.
Sooo she had to wear a swimming costume when in the water
It was bright green with purple dots all over it,
made poor Plumpy look like a giant mushroom with a rash.
Did she care nooooo, she was free from lessons
free from chores that her Mam would find for her ,
off she waddled to the pool, excitement,
making her tummy rumble.
Down she plonked herself with a loud splash in the water
Plumpy closed her eyes in pleasure.
Suddenly a horrendous noise filled the air whewwwwwwwww it went
it was Plumpy her aching tummy full of gases,
slowly, getting released, the noise was like
an orchestra tuning up. whewwwwwwwwwww
So very loud, not very easy on the ears or nose.
Poor Plumpy, she just wanted to cool off.
Suddenly a bright idea was had by Rattycat
Why don’t we sing to mask the noise of Plumpy
So that’s what they did, they jumped into the water
Held hands in a circle and waited for the escaping gases to commence .
Wasn’t long and the noise of thunder started rumbling through the air
They looked at each other, started singing together
like a dawn chorus well sort of but not in tune.
Plumpy was so thankful to her friends
Come home for tea I made banana bread this morning
So off they skipped and jumped down the lane
Plumpy, Rattycat, Thumper (he didn’t go in the water] cos rabbits not keen and
Smellyskunk. Now he had a bad body smell loads of the time
so a dip in the water was like nectar to the gods, to his friends.
Last of all Chunky Monkey, he was doing his Tarzan act
going from tree to tree chanting
Banana Bread Banana Bread Banana Bread for me yeahhhh
What a lovely day it was for Plumpyflumpy
with wonderful understanding friends.
Penned 25 August 2015
Categories:
plonked, children,
Form:
Verse
A LANCASHIRE LIASON
“Laugh an world laughs with yer” she said, as she cum in.
I said,“ Do you live in a barn?”
She grimaced an with er large left arm she swung out an shut door.
“Are y’ ere to read last rites? No? Well tek your cap off then”
She whipped the black wool hat from her head and settled down in the chair.
I say settled down. She perched on the edge like a hawk waiting to dive at the plate of biscuits, jammy dodgers, for a her weekly visit.
I had a builders brew all ready for her.
“Well, what do you know Dorothy? Owt or Nowt?”
She laughed in between crunching. “Do yer remember Mrs Newtons daughter, Susan?” I nodded. “Well she’s got another one living wi her, that’s three she’s ad now. This one’s a Derma Filler.”
I said, “Well she’s ad a builder an a plumber, she might as well ave a plasterer.”
She threw her head back laughing almost choking on the last bit of the last biscuit.
“No, its stuff they put in yer face to tek your wrinkles away.”
I smiled, “I know, just kidding wi yer . So tell me Dot, what else ave you got?.”
She sighed, “Not a lot an don’t call me Dot, meks mi sound like a speck”
I thought, ‘oh eck,’
“Well go on Dorothy, what about the lottery, did yer get near?”
She snorted, “Did I eck as like, as far away as Katmandu”
I said “I got 3 numbers, fifteen pounds”
She looked fallen as she creased a smile, “Did you?”
“Anyway" I said, "yer lookin well. Ow ar yer in yerself? ”
As soon as it was out of my mouth I wish I hadn’t said it. She went on for the next hour about her bowels, I were glad to hear the clock strike 4.
“Ey” I said,”that’s four o clock, yer gonna miss your bus!”
She grabbed the hat, plonked it on her head and said, rushing to the door,
“I’m off then Stanley, I ave to seh ‘time flies wen wer together, two of us”
“It does that Dorothy, nice to see yer. See yer nex week”
“Yeh, an it’s my turn for biscuits, I think I’ll mek yer a rhubarb tart dear”
She leaned over me and pecked mi cheek.
I thought after, ‘ee, its bin a long forty year.’
Categories:
plonked, age, best friend, character,
Form:
Free verse
Ronaldo sprawled in luxury
across from where the spaniel lay,
pretending to read Mallarme
and yawning, stuck in Chapter One.
The Grandfather ticked heavily,
there was no other sound in sight
except dear Josephine who plonked
and murdered dear Stravinsky's Rite.
Boredom, and the day's absorption
with the National Election,
who shall be our next Great Leader?
pray not some hapless interceder!
Clementine declared,
"the weather is a bit inclement,
what to wear for Blanche's soiree,
burgundy, or pearly grey?"
Ronaldo trifled with religion,
"Heaven doesn't need a poet
who maligns the Holy Spirit,
I am going straight to Hell,
where I'll meet Lucrezia Borgia,
who will toy with my affections,
feed me fabulous confections,
poisonous, my second death."
Nobility has late escaped us,
suburbanites are out to scold us,
gentle is as gentle does
is not the same as it once was.
We're outcasts in a sea of trouble,
cucumber sandwiches and quince
have disappeared in all the rubble,
what price pomp and circumstance?
Last Modified: June 04, 2015 at 12:40 pm
© bickerstaffe - all rights reserved
Author Notes
...a tribute to T.S. Eliot
Categories:
plonked, tribute,
Form:
Verse
...inspired by 'A Cooking Egg' by T.S. Eliot
Ronaldo sprawled in luxury
across from where the spaniel lay,
he soldiered on with Mallarme
and, yawning, re-read Chapter One.
The Grandfather ticked ponderously,
there was no other sound in sight
except dear Josephine who plonked
and murdered dear Stravinsky's Rite.
Boredom was the day's absorption
with the National Election,
who shall be our next Great Leader?
pray not a hopeless interceder!
Clementine declared, 'the weather
seems to be a bit inclement,
what shall I wear to Blanche's soiree,
burgundy, or pearly grey?'
Ronaldo trifled with religion,
'Heaven doesn't need a poet
who maligns the Holy Spirit,
I am going straight to Hell,
where I'll meet Lucrezia Borgia,
who will toy with my affections,
feed me fabulous confections,
as she plots my own demise.
Nobility has late escaped me,
suburbanites are out to scold me,
gentle is as gentle does
is not the same as it once was.
Categories:
plonked, on writing and words,
Form:
Quatrain
In the style of T.S. Eliot.
*******
Ronaldo sprawled in luxury
across from where the spaniel lay,
pretending to read Mallarme
and yawning, stuck in Chapter One.
The Grandfather ticked heavily,
there was no other sound in sight
except dear Josephine who plonked
and murdered dear Stravinsky's Rite.
Boredom, and the day's absorption
with the National Election,
who shall be our next Great Leader?
pray not some hapless interceder!
Clementine declared,
"the weather is a bit inclement,
what to wear for Blanche's soiree,
burgundy, or pearly grey?"
Ronaldo trifled with religion,
"Heaven doesn't need a poet
who maligns the Holy Spirit,
I am going straight to Hell,
where I'll meet Lucrezia Borgia,
who will toy with my affections,
feed me fabulous confections,
poisonous, my second death."
Nobility has late escaped us,
suburbanites are out to scold us,
gentle is as gentle does
is not the same as it once was.
We're outcasts in a sea of trouble,
cucumber sandwiches and quince
have disappeared in all the rubble,
what price pomp and circumstance?
Categories:
plonked, tribute, writing,
Form:
Verse
In the style of T.S. Eliot.
*******
Ronaldo sprawled in luxury
across from where the spaniel lay,
pretending to read Mallarme
and yawning, stuck in Chapter One.
The Grandfather ticked heavily,
there was no other sound in sight
except dear Josephine who plonked
and murdered dear Stravinsky's Rite.
Boredom, and the day's absorption
with the National Election,
who shall be our next Great Leader?
pray not some hapless interceder!
Clementine declared,
"the weather is a bit inclement,
what to wear for Blanche's soiree,
burgundy, or pearly grey?"
Ronaldo trifled with religion,
"Heaven doesn't need a poet
who maligns the Holy Spirit,
I am going straight to Hell,
where I'll meet Lucrezia Borgia,
who will toy with my affections,
feed me fabulous confections,
poisonous, my second death."
Nobility has late escaped us,
suburbanites are out to scold us,
gentle is as gentle does
is not the same as it once was.
We're outcasts in a sea of trouble,
cucumber sandwiches and quince
have disappeared in all the rubble,
what price pomp and circumstance?
Categories:
plonked, tribute, writing,
Form:
Verse
...inspired by 'A Cooking Egg' by T.S. Eliot
Ronaldo sprawled in luxury
across from where the spaniel lay,
he soldiered on with Mallarme
and, yawning, re-read Chapter One.
The Grandfather ticked ponderously,
there was no other sound in sight
except dear Josephine who plonked
and murdered dear Stravinsky's Rite.
Boredom was the day's absorption
with the National Election,
who shall be our next Great Leader?
pray not a hopeless interceder!
Clementine declared, 'the weather
seems to be a bit inclement,
what shall I wear to Blanche's soiree,
burgundy, or pearly grey?'
Ronaldo trifled with religion,
'Heaven doesn't need a poet
who maligns the Holy Spirit,
I am going straight to Hell,
where I'll meet Lucrezia Borgia,
who will toy with my affections,
feed me fabulous confections,
as she plots my own demise.
Nobility has late escaped me,
suburbanites are out to scold me,
gentle is as gentle does
is not the same as it once was.
Categories:
plonked, dedication, writing,
Form:
Verse
There was Turkey and sausage meat, gammon ham too,
Four pigs in blankets for me, you and you
I did Yorkshire puddings and parsnips well glazed
Sprouts, roast potatoes: I’m thus far unfazed…
But then there was broccoli, cauli and peas
I said to the carrots, “There’s no room for these.”
I plonked them on top… with no room for finesse
The cranberry stuffing did not look impressed
It got relegated onto a side plate
With Yorkshire puds that I’d had to relocate
The gravy went onto the main plate with care
It took quite some skill to keep it on there
Of course I got jibes about plates that don’t fit
“Are we to eat it… or climb over it?”
But all of the leftovers didn’t amount
To something that next year would cause a re-count
Strangely, the Christmas pud wasn’t required
An afternoon walk, it seemed, wasn’t desired
Everyone slumped into armchairs and couches
The custard remained in its unopened pouches
But sometimes a simple man must be ‘that guy’
When dishes and saucepans are piled up high
So, with people dozing I just had to think
“Somebody here has to empty the sink.”
So, rinsing and stacking and running the ‘Hot’
I gave the washing up liquid a shot
I’m washing up after the meal of my life
When suddenly there with a towel… is my wife
She said, “That was perfect, it tasted so good,
You cooked Christmas dinner just as I once could.”
And soon I too dozed in the chair that’s my place
It’s likely that I had a smile on my face
Categories:
plonked, christmas,
Form:
Rhyme
Ennui
...inspired by 'A Cooking Egg' by T.S. Eliot
Ronaldo sprawled in luxury
across from where the spaniel lay,
pretending to read Mallarme
and yawning, stuck in Chapter One.
The Grandfather ticked ponderously,
there was no other sound in sight
except dear Josephine who plonked
and murdered dear Stravinsky's Rite.
Boredom was the day's absorption
with the National Election,
who shall be our next Great Leader?
pray not a hopeless interceder!
Clementine declared, 'the weather
seems to be a bit inclement,
what shall I wear to Blanche's soiree,
burgundy, or pearly grey?'
Ronaldo trifled with religion,
'Heaven doesn't need a poet
who maligns the Holy Spirit,
I am going straight to Hell,
where I'll meet Lucrezia Borgia,
who will toy with my affections,
feed me fabulous confections,
as she plots my second death.
Nobility has late escaped me,
suburbanites are out to scold me,
gentle is as gentle does
is not the same as it once was.
We're outcasts in a sea of trouble,
cucumber sandwiches and quince
have disappeared in all the rubble,
what of pomp and circumstance?'
Categories:
plonked, nostalgia
Form:
Quatrain
...inspired by 'A Cooking Egg' by T.S. Eliot
Ronaldo sprawled in luxury
across from where the spaniel lay,
pretending to read Mallarme
and yawning, stuck in Chapter One.
The Grandfather ticked ponderously,
there was no other sound in sight
except dear Josephine who plonked
and murdered dear Stravinsky's Rite.
Boredom was the day's absorption
with the National Election,
who shall be our next Great Leader?
pray not a hopeless interceder!
Clementine declared, 'the weather
seems to be a bit inclement,
what shall I wear to Blanche's soiree,
burgundy, or pearly grey?'
Ronaldo trifled with religion,
'Heaven doesn't need a poet
who maligns the Holy Spirit,
I am going straight to Hell,
where I'll meet Lucrezia Borgia,
who will toy with my affections,
feed me fabulous confections,
as she plots my second death.
Nobility has late escaped me,
suburbanites are out to scold me,
gentle is as gentle does
is not the same as it once was.
We're outcasts in a sea of trouble,
cucumber sandwiches and quince
have disappeared in all the rubble,
what of pomp and circumstance?'
Categories:
plonked, on writing and words
Form:
Quatrain
A poem penned in '61; loved by all, a favourite of mine
Performed by Bella, my sweetest grandchild, when at the tender age of nine
Draped head to toe in a purple shawl, with a purple hat plonked on her head
Stance bent forward, stick in hand; gazing in wonderment laughter tears I shed
For Bella parodies the art of growing old when she performs this hilarious skit
Her favourite part as she makes a start is reciting the line, ‘and I learn to spit’
With great aplomb her head held back she aims towards the sky
Holding her breath to gain her momentum spurting her spittle way up high…
Written 25th January 2019
Contest: Purple 2
Sponsor: Kevin Shaw
Contest: End Feb 2019
Sponsor: Brian Strand
"When I am an old woman I shall wear purple" a poem penned by English poet Jenny Joseph and is renowned and loved worldwide. If you do not already know it, I highly recommend you take a look, and hope it will bring a smile to your face whatever age you may be.
Categories:
plonked, grandchild, humorous, old, woman,
Form:
Rhyme