Long Lost the plot Poems
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Have you ever ‘Melted in someone’s arms?’
You have heard this one said often
Have you ever ‘Drowned in a kiss’?
Have you ever felt your ‘Heart soften’?
Have you ever been struck, by a ‘thunder bolt?’
This one sounds if it would hurt,
Do you think you ever ‘Lost the plot?’
Or ever “Lost your shirt”
Have you been ‘Twisted around someone’s little finger’
Or ‘thrown caution’ to the wind.’
Sometimes it’s not good to linger,
Especially if you sinned...
Have you ‘Fallen in love’ or ‘Trembled with desire?’
‘Battled with your conscience’ or had your ‘Soul set on fire’.
Have you ever ‘Thrown a tantrum’ or ‘Covered up your tracks?’
Have you ever ‘Caught a cold, given up the ghost, or even hit the sack’?
Have you ever ‘Struck a deal’, or even ‘Hit the target.’
Looking back on these lines, I hope that you don’t for-get
How life can seem quite harsh sometimes, just look down at the list
From hitting Fighting Falling, even doing a twist
Life is quite exhausting, when the only thing I caught,
It wasn’t good or exciting, it wasn’t something I bought
It’s a germ from times of old, from days of time forgotten
I woke up this morning with a cold, and I am feeling rotten.
So I think on my second thought, because the first one I dismissed
That today I’ll stop in bed and I may even try to get … …drunk.
© ~GG~2011
A stressful situation with no use for blame,
my pain is my pain and it’ll stay the same,
as I drifted from the known
found a new best friend,
but the group was the group
the friend stayed with them.
a lesson for us all if we pay attention,
before I’m forever in my own direction.
tears to the eyes but they don’t drop,
love turned sly and did not stop,
and there I was mr lost the plot,
remember in time for now forgot.
savage end,
my family not friends,
now somehow not friends or family,
doesn’t that just break your heart,
to pieces.
notice,
I’m not horrible in this,
painful lonely scared to be honest.
one answer as I set out to begin,
how did they manage to push away Trim?
turns out they just didn’t care for him,
sadly a proven fact.
The end, goodbye.
Ones plot is as one does
it is the connection with God
and the rails of reality
love thy plot
for without
you are shot
a lost plot may never be recovered,
a rogue plot may never be captive,
an abuse plot may never amuse,
a removed plot may leave you unclued.
I once lost my plot
my plot I lost
I asked "have you seen my plot?"
but they had not,
they asked "where was it last?"
but I had forgot,
as I went shot,
I'd lost the plot.
so lord God, our maker of plot,
we thank you, we thank you a lot,
please protect our plot
in the cold and too the hot
in the healthy and in the rot
weather old or in the cot
or animal, robot,
in the street and in the shop,
as we walk or as we hop,
as we boil upon the hob,
or mouthing with our gob,
when we sit upon the bog,
as the car kills the frog,
or I handle my knob
build fire with the, log
lord God save us and our plot,
and protect us from shot.
and if lord God I say you're not,
then I've got not my plot,
as you sit tip top as our God
with gigantic plot
Right, listen up, the moon is in its ascendancy, Saturn is aligned with Venus, the other planets will align at 09.53 and 1017am.
Wish I’d never bought you that astrology book now, you’ve finally lost the plot.
Don’t get funny, now is not the time for hilarity. At 9’53 we will be doing it in the horizontal position, 1017 we will be going vertical.
What are we doing at 1070.
Jesus wept, 9.53 we’re having sex, then again at 1017.
What’s with all these positions.
Quite simply, the horizontal position you’ll impregnate me, then the vertical position you’ll impregnate me again, thus pushing the previous sperm further up the baby chain. Remember, this is working sex we’re having, so don’t be getting amorous.
Something tells me I won't be getting amorous, actually, I remember the days when I wanted to rip your clothes off, now I want to put them all back on again.
Do you want a baby or not, don’t think for a minute I enjoy this type of sex, it just has to be done, just fantasize to get through it? Oh, and at 3.07 in the morning I’ll arouse you, do you want woke up or will I just get on with it.
Oh, god I’ve finally gone to hell, this woman is insane, better not say use a vibrator, or she’s sure to kill me.
Just wake me up honey, I’ll be ready.
Great, can’t wait till little Sebastian, Bartholomew, is born.
Little Sebas, Bart, who. Did I leave the planet and come back again, where did these names come from? I mean, what’s wrong with, Paul.
I don’t want my little boy reminding me of you, I’ll probably dump you after the birth anyway. Plus, Sebastian, Bartholomew is quite regal, whereas, Paul is just, not so regal if you know what I mean.
That is just great, I’m literally bending over backwards to get you pregnant, and I don’t even get a reward for it.
So anyway, 9 months later baby Paula was born, and she left. Four years later we were walking up the High St and guess who we met. Little Sebastian, Bartholomew, dressed in a little suit, looking all regal. As we walked away, Paula turned to me and asked who those weird people were.
Well, Paula, she’s called vertical, and the wee boy is called, horizontal.
The mountain looks across a sea gazing
as it crawls beholding living waves move amazing Grace
echoing gull's lament falls upon deaf ears
silence freezes over iced laced as they that breathe out
from salted whispers footprints scream injustice
Nurtured with the twilight covers ebony
dressed in sparkling silver starlight
where perfection has been misplaced
At the gate without hope as seen for it's strong virtues
realities shadows quickly reaches the summit
consumed far fetched mad as a hatter hounds of words
spell disaster smoking guns disadvantaged creation
This planet has lost the plot completely
with dishonest crooks filled with mercury heavy lead
back to front doses evolve helpless beings
small measures begins poisoning the weak minded fools
In those whom use the upside down Bible
for no good cause stumbling at the hurdles chariots on fire
spoken of at the burning bush our ten laws etched on stone
take your heathen temple out of our land
The name Scot denoting a man, combined with terra.
Translated; Scotland.! a masculine descriptive will it be
Banned.? By the idiocracy; with a non-descriptive..?
Dystopian' most bland..The most disconnect could be
Planned? To remove the (hate word) we know as Scotland'
Police of unknown place unsaid..' Consider it reported!!
Let the originator dread.' un-justified lawfare should be now
Unleashed, upon this most unfortunate beast, so ready the
Capsule 'you in blue' go back two millenia! my advice
To you.' Make recordings and drink some mead, get back
Here present; above light speed, and bring offenders one
And all.' Give them chance to offer their call, then haul them
Off to that nazis son..Bald head and glasses.? Do you know
The one? Hangs out with soros who 'shopped his own' and
He's got his wrinkled rump on the money throne..'
Who buys his cronies, with the funding he got, from that
ss colonel..What a sorry lot?? So its do your worst now
These days not a joke..You all hate reality, things are up in
Smoke.' Hate crime the lawfare, buzzwords your proof just
Denigrate reality and confuse your youth, Its a real bad
Deal, btw? Is that all you've got? for hundreds of millons.! Too
Bad you've lost the plot.' Yet I wonder if the money goes
Back to davos? no matter what outcome' scoros still
Finances from out; of those cypresses groves.'
I met her the other day
At a friends house par-tay
She danced gracefully
Me, geriatrically
I liked the way she looked
Like bait, I was hooked!
When she left, I got plastered
Woke up like a useless bastard
Realizing I’d forgotten
What her name was - I’m so rotten!
I hardly know her from my soap
But wishful thinkers - we have hope.
I pondered her for hours
While disarranging flowers
A petal at a time
As I sang that senseless rhyme:
She loves me, she loves me not
She loves me, she lets me rot
Before I lost the plot
I thought she was called… Peggy?
It wouldn’t matter to me
If her name was Half Past Three
Even though it doesn’t rhyme
With a petal at a time
The whisper of it rings
A bell for he who sings:
She loves me, she loves me not
She loves me, she lets me rot
What her name was - I forgot
Maybe it was… Jenny?
That social app on my mobile
Led me to her public profile
I touched her likeness, held my breast
Then sent off a ‘friend request’.
Tears of joy joined petal mess
The silly lass clicked on ‘Yes’.
She loves me, she loves me not
She loves me, she lets me rot
I may smoke too much pot
But you know she’s not… Kenny!
Oh my god, it’s not funny
I pocket dialed her from the dunny
Left a message most unfit
Told her to delete it!
The last petal I plucked
Told me… I sucked!
She lets me rot, she loves me not
She listened to my bowl shot!
She’s right to let me rot you know
Her proper name is Penny!
Penny, Penny, Penny, Penny…
She’s right to let me rot you know
Her proper name is Penny!
How can it be,
these broken pieces
that from such dull unthinking come,
some unlinking blunder,
fall around me so beautifully,
in such a way as to reflect the light?
I think I might like a bite of this apple.
Build a chapel around me,
take it with me as I fall or not,
stall or stop,
I forgot but I didn't,
Lost the plot but it isn't for nothing.
The way this light shines is something.
Something clear, something old,
to be nearer, to behold and see
I am that that is and that can be.
Trust me, its easy to judge
in the space between you and it
but were all doing it
screwing it up,
chewing ourselves to bits with the idea that this is failing
but this is how we do it
and my god we do it well
in every way that that it can be done.
It's the same sun,
the same centre.
I fly east for the winter,
try and ease these splinters gently,
sent to me to mentally provoke thoughts that will heal me
and in capital letters
MESS MYSELF UP to make myself live better.
Helping aint helping if I leave myself empty
and there's plenty to tempt me
into giving it all away
but not today.
Hopefully not ever.
We dont just float,
we ARE the river.
With his arm held closely by his side,
President Putin took a ride,
On his steed, so big and strong
Who thought this man could do no wrong,
It is regrettable to say
Only a horse could feel this way.
Putin is a manipulator,
A narcissist and a dictator.
Putin was on the run
Being President was no longer fun.
On a golf course far away,
Where Donal Trump and cronies play,
Mr Trump thought he played golf the best
But was never put to the test,
Because the Don was drunk with Power
All his fickle friends would cower,
They all bowed down to him
This situation proved to be grim,
He and golfers all gossip a lot,
About private matters that they should not.
Wouldn't it be fun,
Some peace at last for everyone,
If Trump was playing on the course,
And Putin passed by on his horse
Shouting out to his buddy,
Donnie, come away with me.
As things for Trump were getting hot,
And some thought he had lost the plot
It looked like a good idea
For Trump to run away from here.
So without further ado,
No goodbye or toodle-oo
Putin, with an almighty tug
Heaved Trump the big fat lug
On to his faithful horse
And without a whiff of remorse
The two rode away
And have never been seen since that glorious day!
As we approach a certain age
Before the end draws nigh
Afore my knees give up the ghost
Or bunions stop me climbing high
When all I eat is jam on toast
Now is it time to make the most
To maybe write a bucket list
Of all the things I might have missed
Like jumping from an airplane
Too risky, that’s insane
Or swimming with a shark or two
Is something I would never do
To teeter on a tightrope above a high abyss
Would be crazy I have vertigo
So think I’ll give this one a miss
To bungee jump from way up high
Please have the medics standing by
My bucket list abundant
Making sharks or two redundant
With adventures unfulfilled
That I do not want to miss
Like a day trip to the Moon
Wishing this could happen soon
Set sail upon a Galleon
In search of Paradise
To discover Shangri-La
Or a place they call Utopia
Oh dear, I think I’ve lost the plot
I‘m sounding even dopier
I can’t believe I’m dreaming of a place they call Utopia
Returning to reality
I make myself a pot of tea
For I don’t need a bucket list
As there is nothing I have missed
Contest Strand no 710
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st Place