Plonk Poems

When In Rome

No pease porridge for me if you please
neither hot nor cold
especially not if what's in the pot
is nine days old
for when in Parma Palermo or Pisa
(no pottage slop)
I'm predisposed and have the propensity
to pour a potent potable
(pink plonk)
and prefer to partake of a piece of pepperoni pizza
with pancetta pomodoro peperoncini
porcini plus a peck of pecorino on the top
even the penchant for a piccante prosciutto panini
or pass me a plate of penne puttanesca
with the proclivity for a platter of pinoli pesto
possibly pasta with parmesan
and I'm pleased to wine and dine al fresco

NOT PLONK

NOT PLONK

A well-corked bottle lets nothing escape
Subtle added tastes from an oaken cask
I’ll sip and enjoy this fine cultured grape

Is a well-rounded body too much to ask
A label removed where words are hung
What other joys lurk behind this mask

Flavours still swirling around the tongue
Notes of warm sunshine one can detect
It’s as if somehow, a soft melody is sung

They say that terroir has a major effect
But frost will always have the last word
That late autumn sunshine can’t correct

A sommelier should know all, I suspect
Which wines to dismiss, which to select

Introvert

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

Tears In the Rain

Raindrops on window
coalesce to create rivulets, 
that run down the window pane.

They are like teardrops, 
which emanate from pain deep within, 
and which run down the face,
leaving snail trails that glisten, 
showcasing the ache and suffering amassed.

Seldom do these drops
free-fall on a chute,
but when they do
they splatter with
a splish, splosh, plonk
and shatter,
leaving a spray pattern
as clear evidence on the ground.

Space Enhancers

A sign posted in front of the library tells of
no internet service available - good heavens what to do?

the rain has waned the sun is coming on which lends
a never be daunted air and so I mosey on over
to Tompkins Square crooning the living is easy (well sometimes)

tucking into the park -  ah summer city squalor
please step aside I think as I plonk down on the bench
in front of a towering tree that provides a splash of graceful shelter. 
A freshly planted batch of flowers nearby
and their sweet flickering scent are cleansing the air
as I gaze up at a bluebird who has settled on the magnificent tree branch overhead and proceeds to bestow on me a veritable symphony of musicality-
oh sweet mercy - such an array of notes -  abundant blessings abound!
 
the flowers providing a feast of aromatic bliss while bursting iridescent and the bird of blue rendering the air lyrically alive with gentle sound
while the tree gives one and all the breath of living . . .

I take it in and breathe it in and it is good

dear friends many thanks for fortifying the bone to back
and for suffusing my morning with the exquisite. 

And just think they're services are always available

Life, Thine Name's To Wait

A long wait in vain
Leaves me lost in rain-refrain,
Plonk, plonk… and long wait,

Back to whence began,
Back to day-dreaming again,
Life, what else but wait!
___________________________ 
Haiku |27.06.2021| 

Poet’s note: Monsoon has been for ages in many parts of the world a keenly awaited season in a year. And the anxiety for a timely rain is understandable; a monsoon lover like me included. This Haiku is an outcome of one such wait, a day-dream bordering on hallucination.

Skip To Aah

Skipping is binary,
one, nought, one, nought, one.
Clip clop.
Tick tock.
One foot up, skip.
Next foot up, skip.

Hop, step and jump,
'tis hopscotch time.
Heart in love, skips a beat.
Electrons skip in quantum rings,
dangling their participles.

Skipping off-beat in music 
it's syncopation.
Flat stone, flat-thrown
bounces, skims and skips 'oer pond
plink, ploink, plink ploink, plonk.

Notice, perchance if you will,
each skip is smaller, than the one before,
descending in declension to rest.
hic, haec, hoc
huic, huic, huic
hunc, hanc, hoc	
hoc, hac, hoc
Aah

Plonk

Don’t think much of you
Will not spare a thought,
Refuse to think of you again
The catch it won’t be caught.
If I stay afloat or if I’ll be a-sinking
I’ll decline that you are mine and
You- I won’t be thinking!
Accept and believe that you I don’t imagine
Don’t know who you are
Hence never no reaction.
Don’t ever expect -
for you I don’t believe,
So before you come again
You may as well just leave.
Don’t think much of you
No thoughts- to make this clear,
Most definitely you’re really not-
Not anywhere or here.
Do not be alarmed if you sense that ‘you’ I’m thinking
As have told you more than once-
you should really give up drinking.

Risks

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.

Sponge

Ingredients

Set the scales from oz to grams
Don’t forget the rag jam
You also need ½ kilo crystal white
½ kilo self raising light
8 eggs from the chicks mother
3 tubs of butter
½ kilo white ice
Makes the cream taste nice

Preparations

Gently break the seal of the crystal white
Stire in the self raising light
Add eggs and two tubs of butter
Plonk them don't flutter
Whisk until fluffy and light
Use the wrist to get it right
Place in oven until hard and swelled
First you got to grease two tins well
With two fingers you got to work it in
So It’s wet right to the rim
Then spread in the mix
Bake in 30 minutes
Once baked leave to cool
Face down’s a good tip for you
Overturn the tins and squeeze the bottom up in
Make sure you got no sticky mix on the rim
Mix the last butter with the icewhite
Fork it up real nice
Now you got the cream
To spread with the jam inbetween
Spread the jam evenly over the bottom and cream on the top
Put together and a sponge is what you got

Sounds

Bang      Bang
Clang     Clang
Plop       Plop
Drip       Drop
Boom     Boom
Zoom     Zoom
Clomp    Clomp
And        Stomp
Honk      Honk
Plink       Plonk
Knock     Knock
And        Rock
Tap        Tap
Rap        Rap
Shout     Shout
And        Holler
Bell        Bell
Ring       Ring
Whisper  Whisper
THEN SING!

Ripples

She ‘wanders’ with ‘intent’ that way
Her inside seems to be in turmoil-
Regrets, disappointments, griefs and complaints
Life apparently quite unjust to her
Eyes the still waters of the pond-
Cool, calm and confident
Her very antithesis
Her leisurely pace undisturbed
Picks up some pebbles ‘just like that’
One, two, three----
They fall
Every time with a soft plonk
Trying to unravel
Hidden mysteries of the still waters
While she lets go of
Her pent up feelings
And with every hit
Pond’s unease comes onto the surface
Ripples frantically racing shorewards
One, two, three-----
Trying to find the person
Perhaps to kiss and smoothen the ruffled nerves
But a ‘safe distance’ lies in between
As her uninterrupted walk
Biding the time
Has taken her away
Beyond reach.

Plonker

If someone calls you a plonker, plonk them on their bean
They're not being nice so my advice, mess em up, make a scene
But be sure to clean up the blood
Learned this from my British bud
Else you'll be involved with a fellow inmate, a ex-marine named Jean

Christmas

Christmas morning you are here 
Love and peace atmosphere
Excitement to give and receive
A hang over from Christmas Eve 

Turkey in the oven all stuffed and prepared 
Parents coming, well scared
Everything must be perfect
Turkey,sprouts, pudding 
Must make it good looking 


Fridge bulging with delights
I hope everyone has an appetite 
Drink all ready what ever they want. 
Even got some plonk 

Presents under the tree
Mine I can’t wait to see
Parents presents will surprise
Great price such good buys

Christmas set and ready to go 
Enjoy this one because you never know
Reflect on love and sharing 
Another year for caring

Loving awareness is free
Try it and you will see

Light Rain

Something trickles over my brow.
I look up to see clouds,
lightly shaded in grey.
My heart beats with 
a wild kind of hope…


A family of drops follow;
a blessing to the earth.
I cup my hands, 
try to catch them.
But they slip
from my hold.

Plonk.
Plonk. 
Splash.
The beat to which I dance..
Delighting in the watery chaos.

The clean, clear smell 
of the air
marks an end to 
my light shower.
Drenched, 
I shiver in the breeze.

Everything around me sparkles!
My eyes flit from flowers, 
to grass blades, 
to the shiny, dark street.

For just a few minutes 
I was a part of nature.
Fun-filled moments 
in which it also
seemed a part of me.

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