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
Categories:
plonked, food, time,
Form: Rhyme
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
Categories:
plonked, relationship,
Form: Free verse
Abducted Worker
He was riding his moped to the office to work
The alien craft hovered over him and took him
It left his moped by the roadside needing the rider
In a blast of silent light he was plonked down
No longer on his wheels somewhere else entirely
Like the X-Files but real different yet familiar
Like he'd been hear before that was inexplainable
He knew in ways he was home from home
Even if he cried sweated shook wondered what the ?
How can this be happening to me right now?
UFOs don't exist nor do little green men
Or grey ones like these here now
They greeted him he nodded and waved
It was like being back with friends!
Even if three feet tall and grey and ugly
They had a strange yet interesting craft
Bigger inside than out like Dr Who?
His moped was similar for it was a vehicle
Made to go from A to B and do a job
The question was what why where and who?
He didn't know the answers just now
He'd soon find out their aims and wants
Before they let him go again...
Categories:
plonked, absence, leaving, truth,
Form: Free verse
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
Categories:
plonked, spiritual,
Form: Sonnet
Have you heard
a carrot scream,
when dragged outta earth?
Or the yell of green beans
peeled alive
severed cross-wise, sectioned?
Or the curdling
yell of purple potatoes
plonked alive in
boiling water?
Or the plaintive cry of yellow corn
cobs stripped-searched, naked.
All to be less-wasteful,
and draw humanely,
and guilt-free,
in noise-cancelling
headphones.
Categories:
plonked, art, green, purple, yellow,
Form: Free verse
Since that shutdown thing
Things have been quite quiet here at work
Im a porter in a hospital
Moving people for transport and some other things now
My hospital has stayed the same,
But everyone is looking like surgeons and dentists,
Ive read the governments writing,
We mustn't do this; we must do that,
Fair enough,
They probably know their stuff
The COBRA meetings probably sort it all out
With them plonked in the under-Westminster bunker
People are going rather do-lally
Wearing gas-masks, NBC suits and more
All we read at the hospital is grey and different from the other
The shops MAY open; the schools WILL close
The staff are doing their bit - not so much at this hospital
We help people who cant walk and move
I do wish the papers would stop
We might as well give up if we take all that seriously...
Categories:
plonked, appreciation, perspective,
Form: Narrative
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
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
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?
Categories:
plonked, home,
Form: Free 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
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, on writing and words,
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