Short Plunked Poems
Short Plunked Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Plunked by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Plunked by length and keyword.
The moon sat, plunked in a cobalt sky
punctuating the stratus
a wane full note on a blank scale
resonating, pulsating, pregnant in it’s fullness
and the string was plucked.
Jealousy plunked down in one giant splat
Angry with blue, green, red and yellow
Especially yellow who thought she was all that
Jealousy was enraged to her toes
Her hatred easily seen
Yellow had no idea
She was trying to sell her house and she thought it would be easy
Until she noticed what was in the yard of her neighbor Mrs. Breezy
Into her front yard Breezy had plunked a mooning pumpkin man.
Gawkers and house-hunting lookers drove off as fast as a human can.
sweet puppy is lying next to me in my recliner
we are sharing a pillow
I use it to hold my I-pad
he plunked his head on a large corner of it
He is like a baby furnace
I stroke his soft hair as he sleeps
Both of us content in front of a droning TV showing nothing important
A shy he-man met a pee man
They vowed to exchange their semen
They forgot to spelunk
Quarreled on count of *****
And plunked onto pouch of Riemann
Wilson and Broadway at 4 a.m.
Chicago
Sunday evening. Drunk
and strolling home.
On the way an hour now,
block after block,
bar to bar.
Weekend’s gone,
Monday’s turning.
Along the way
his swollen fingers find
parking meter posts
are an endless xylophone.
Plunked, they play
the anthem
of a life misspent.
Donal Mahoney
Someone’s sitting on my bench!
Of course, it isn’t mine
And so the person perching on it
Isn’t out of line.
Still, every time I’m out here,
It’s the place I choose to sit
And plunked down someplace else
I’m liking not one little bit.
There’s really nothing I can do
But grumble and complain.
(From giving in to baser moves,
I simply must refrain.)
I plucked the moon out of a blackened sky
To save it from the music of Orion's wrath
The universe, now without its lover
Played its tune among the stars
Adapted from
Moonsong by Deb Guzzi
The moon sat, plunked in a cobalt sky
punctuating the stratus
a wane full note on a blank scale
resonating, pulsating, pregnant in it’s fullness
and the string was plucked.
How did I land in Kansas?
Who plunked me here?
Smack in the middle of the USA?
A state where my vote will never count.
Thanks to the Electoral College
What was I thinking when I arrived?
Now I remember. I was thinking of my grandchildren.
Wanting to be closer.
The land of Dorothy, Toto, the Tinman and tornadoes
Wizard of Sunflowers and I am in an earth-sheltered house.
Voting is not everything.
She promenaded in wearing a cake on her head
This made us all laugh except dour uncle Ted
Happy birthday she sang in a high soprano voice
What did she say? Asked hard-of-hearing old Royce.
With a flourish she plunked the cake onto a table.
A distant cousin, our cake-designing wonder Miss Mable.
We were all glad she had come, and brought us this fine cake.
We gave grandpa a party, and a tasty chocolate shake.
Grandmother elephant’s sneezes were loud and long.
They came from her gut and they were incredibly strong.
They started the moment she put on her new hat someone said.
You mean the floral arrangement that is plunked down on her head?
There were lilies and cone flowers and roses too.
The flowers were in pastels, scarlet, pink and winterly blue.
She has hay fever, she is allergic! Said her doctor. Take it off her head
Six years after the atomic bomb
Plunked down in Hiroshima
Tearing people into pieces
Dali was still losing sleep over it
He begins to collect strips and struts
Developing a surreal idea of what he is about
Collects arrowheads, wire, bits of bone.
Defers from his usual style
Puts together Raphaelesque Head Exploding
A tiny canvas with a large message
Showing his disdain for atomic bombs
And the barbaric aftermaths
the fishing pole is ready
my victims are as good as in my mouth
her little mind was heady
on her way, she turned down south
the birdies chirped throughout the dale
April approaching made March less grim.
Night crawlers were singing in their pail
Not knowing what was in store for them.
the fishing pole was plunked into the water.
Bass and bluegill fought over the worms.
A terrific day for a fisherman’s daughter.
Enough lunch for six pachyderms.
Listen to poem:
Plunked down in chaos
from a gentler time,
blinkered from the traffic
he pulls the coach along.
Patient, in his harness bond
he tugs at hearts, with pathos-
as to his love of duty we respond.
Amidst the screech of sirens
and the blasting horns,
he stands and dreams
of meadows in a nosebag.
Such rhythmic clicking of
metal shoes on concrete,
full rolling of the carriage
wheels and he, confined,
down through the centuries
he thought he'd left behind.