Long Plonked Poems
Long Plonked Poems. Below are the most popular long Plonked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plonked poems by poem length and keyword.
THREE MINUTES TO DONE
Do I first bring water to boiling point
To time the egg from that moment on
Or from cold, to then be soft not hard
That one might be tempted to discard
But plonked in a cup, the magic’s gone
And then with a woollen cap to anoint
Not poached nor coddled, just boiled
A simple egg, with soldiers for dipping
And on the shell, one may draw a face
Then beheaded, incurring no disgrace
A clean knife cut, without any slipping
But brutally smashed, it’s easily spoiled
A delicate teaspoon must be provided
To dig into the white but after the yolk
A touch of salt and that’s quite enough
Leaving it smooth inside, never rough
It is a simple breakfast for simple folk
Three minutes is perfect, once decided
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.
In the corner dark and glum,
Extant off-casts lie plonked there,
To fill in the space
Knick-knacks, old wedding presents,
ornaments and filler-inners
Round and globular, bits and pieces,
Hide the harsh mangles and tangles
When walls at right angles collide
Vases on pedestals, lamps on tables with draws,
Triangular book shelve
Tiny, tall thin cupboards
All lurking and softening the dead, dank naughty corners
With curvaceous adornments and left-over stuff.
If rooms were round there would be no corners to fill
But, would you miss your corners
Like graves with headstones miss their mourners?
Big subdivision.
New houses on ground.
Sitting, just plonked there
with nothing around.
So close together.
How could they cry?
Without the neighbours
wondering why?
It happened before.
On our paddock too.
Homes for others,
all shiny and new.
Some might think,
About times before,
When sun hit the ground
and rain too and more.
The falling of trees
and planting of crops,
The sticks and leaf litter
no longer on top.
The house that I grew in
once wasn’t there,
but I don’t think
that I was aware.
The kitchen, my bedroom
had always been there.
Hadn’t they?
The woman sits silently
on the edge of the bed
A thin shaft of afternoon sun
from a tear in faded curtains
slices the murky room,
landing on the man's damp body
half-covered with draggled sheets
She had completed her dressing.
Now slipping into her shoes,
She lights a cigarette;
exhales deeply,
the smoke rising lazily to the ceiling.
There is no conversation.
She eyes the money
wedged under the half-full glasses
plonked on the dusty dressing table
"See you next week," she says,
mechanically,
as she heads for the door,
collecting the notes.
It was not a question.
A BRIAN STRAND Vers Libre Poetry Contest placed 1st
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date wrote: 6th March 2022
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
2025.05.18
Today, I had a morning started quite roughly.
I almost missed the bus,
Then actually missed the stop at the train station,
That costed me one hour moving and waiting around.
Finally, I reached my destination.
I climbed up hill of the Malmsbury Reservoir,
Followed the walking trails
Walked along the Coliban River,
Got closer to the arched brick bridge,
Near Ellesmere Place Malmsbury Viaduct.
I finally found the Malmsbury Botanical gardens.
There was this interesting wooden bridge,
paved its curved path took me to a small island,
Where I was surrounded by lot of water birds.
Leisurely peddled on the pond water.
I fed them with my banana and mandarins,
But they cleverly spitted out the skins.
I then arrived at the station,
In time to jump on the train to Bendigo.
It came late by ten minutes,
But it worked out perfectly for me,
I wanted to visit the Sacred Heart Catheral.
When arrived, I missed the bus number 5,
But the female driver of bus # 50,
She was kind to take me
All the way up to the hill,
That allowed me just walking across and down,
Visited the closed holy church.
I walked down hill all the way to Bendigo station.
I was exhausted and tired.
I plonked into one of the seat.
Finally getting off and arrive home before seven o'clock.
I rushed home to watch "The Piano" series,
At 19:30: for the next four Sunday.
Here we are, in this feeble mind-body
Afflicted by amnesia, plonked upon earth
We are this here now, not everybody
Limited, yet vibrant with childlike mirth
Maya veils; lets us feel life’s sharp contrast
Soul encased in this organic vessel
The truth once known, leaves lower mind aghast
Cognition by single eye spherical
This form a springboard for our soul’s ascent
In truth this life is but a lucid dream
Once head melds with heart, granting love consent
Gods love and light within, begins to stream
Stillness and silence alone sets us free
As bliss bubbles burst in a joyous spree
23-August-2021
Why am I me? Poetry Contest
Sponsor: LN Shreya