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David Nelson Nov 2013
Plunk your Magic Twanger

years ago when I was a tike
back when I could barely even ride my bike
there was this silly show I loved and had to see

on Saturday mornings just for kids
they showed short films and had funny skits
so weird it seemed they were just talking to me

films about this kid they called the Jungle Boy
he rode on an elephant and brought me great joy
always tracking down men doing evil things

then there was always this special guest
a doctor, a scientist, someone who impressed
who would try to demo and explain

their special skills but is was to no avail
along came the gremlin with water spritzer and pail
and on the poor speaker he would make it rain

he was called Froggy the Gremlin a puppet at best
he'd dance like a clown and stick out his chest
and he was always introduced with this silly chant

plunk your magic twanger froggy, oh my dear
and boing in a puff of smoke he would appear
and bedlam would ensue he'd go off in a rant

Hiya kids, Hiya, he'd always say as he danced
on the edge of my seat, I was so entranced
what kind of stunt would he now try to pull

squirt the guest with his seltzer bottle he was so bad
the guest would run away, run away so wet and mad
the gremlin always kept his bottle full

zany comedy, mindless laughter every week
couldn't wait to see who would be the next weeks geek
so innocent then so full of vigor and vim

there is another part to this story someday I will tell
later on in high school before the first morning's bell
Froggy is still alive, no cant forget him

Gomer LePoet...
based on a kids TV show from the days of my youth that were more simple
pixels Oct 2012
Step on the scale
fidget
fidget
"Three Digits!"
f a t

Shuffle back to Your Room
p r i s o n  c e l l

8:00AM
Drag yourself to the main desk
The Morning Medication line is long today
m i n d l e s s

Pretty pills fill your palm
They have changed colors today
They are all shapes, large and colorful
c y a n i d e

PLUNK PLUNK PLUNK

They dive into your empty stomach
Swim in acid and glide through your veins

Emotional Morphine-
You await the glorious numbness
s a n i t y

and still you crave the blade.

*b l o o d
Written on 9.24.2012, while in the psychiatric hospital.
PJ Poesy May 2016
}I{
“Sinuhe”

King Khety is blinking madly
Haruspex has left him ominous oracle
Sinuhe is on his return, fugitive no more
Sinuhe brings with him enemy’s daughter
Not prize, Nefru his wife and Libyan lore
Sinuhe from slavery came, poet she did adore

Egyptian tombs do tell in detail
Hieroglyphic tales, this juncture of peril
Khety not King, but Sinuhe’s noble brother
Knows true King come to claim throne
Sinuhe the nobler, knows a life of none other
Than slave sold by Odious, the step-mother

Yes Queen Odious, deep in den of asps
Collected poison venom to undue her marriage
To Sinuhe’s father Merikare, Pharaoh of Moon
Odious’ ghastly act nearly tore Egypt in two
Her derangement sent Sinuhe far across sand dune
Odious took crown, added gilded teeth of baboon

Made her son King, though he did implore
Khety saw insanity and for what, he was in store
Khety remembers his Great Father’s words
“The heart of someone who listens to his temper
Is doomed to follow the stink of camel herds
Better to let heart fly upon sky, as do birds”

Yet by years tormented, Khety became undone
More like his mother and even more sniveling
Than the Odious one, so he did as he was told
Incessant dribbling marked a life for him
He minded his words lest he knew he’d be sold
Mother’s high priest Abhorus was bitter and cold

Sinuhe’s struggles were unknown to King Khety
Years of near starvation and wearisome labor
Made Sinuhe the better man, as he did never forget
Assurances of his noblest Father, Pharaoh Merikare
Virtue ascribed, Sinuhe kept valor in each trial met
Furthermore, his noblest task still to come as of yet



}II{
“Numidian Queen”

Nefru, Numidian Queen to Land of Libya
Recalls young slave Sinuhe’s hostility to captivity
His intelligence overcoming, who once would be King
Of Egypt had not violent arm but ferocious mind
Using wit to overcome adversity and words he did sing
To free his self of internment and all oddity it did bring

Nefru looks upon loyal husband Sinuhe
It is an arduous journey this man has taken
Her commitment be bound now by ivory ring
Loyalty to this man before all forsaken
It is spring, and amongst abundant life come dead things
Fledgling birds first flight failed or so siblings did fling

Now swept into his pilgrimage, Nefru perceives
All adversity Sinuhe did overcome so nobly
To her, he is chukar, partridge of rare plumage
It is to the ground, which this bird be bound
Never reaching sky, low brush be its’ *******
Though its’ song give to her heart an anlage

Freedom from slavery, is Sinuhe’s triumph
Vindication of crown be the mark of new flight
He prays to Horus Behudety, Winged Sun God
Nefru knows of her husband’s will and might
She gifts to him her father’s pinioned golden rod
Scepter of enslaver Mehru, and his feathered shod

It was not of great agreement by Mehru
Should his daughter Nefru marry a slave?
Much less to son of Merikare, an arch enemy
Yet he be so brave, impressions of Sinuhe’s strength
Be made so to change, very nature Sinuhe’s destiny
So much so, Mehru did lament in Merikare’s elegy

So it came to be, a slave marries Queen
Sinuhe and Nefru’s love broke all patterns
Such a love to win hearts of, Gods and Goddess’ unseen
Who rule other worlds and all rings of Saturn
History had never known affection so purely clean
Gatherings from far off fields came to witness such glean



}III{
“Haruspex And Detritus”

Haruspex, soothsayer speaks in half-truths
King Khety believes only small contingent
Be on way to Byblos, presently approaching Qedem
Little does he know, armies of Elephant in tow
Masses of feathered and golden archer’s stem
Blessed by breath of Bat, Goddess and her phlegm

Detritus, Animal Man, hired scout to King Khety
Possesses claws and hair of lion, his home Serengeti
Animal Man’s mane is thrashed in thorns and rubble
Smells of cat ***** but has nose that knows much
Such why Detritus be tolerated, though be much trouble
Haruspex twists tale of tailed man, speaks of him double

Calls him lazy, shiftless, yet Haruspex be cryptic mess
Detritus be banal yes, but true to Khety none the less
Knew his father well, Merikare be his master
It was always Queen Odious, Detritus distrusted
Knowing her demonic betrayal and Egypt’s disaster
She kept him in gypsum cave, scratching alabaster

Kindness had left this Kingdom sometime ago
When Odious and Abhorus overthrew rule
Merikare Moon Pharaoh mummy cry from tomb
Sinuhe ripped from his side by Abhorus
His funeral a very mockery and Detritus’ doom
Haruspex made way from Libya, eyes mucous rheum

Planted by Mehru, Haruspex be sent through desert
King of Libya be wise, sent this oracle as disguise
Not soothsayer at all but spy of opposition
King Mehru knew upon Moon Pharaoh’s death
Peace upon land would not soon come to position
Quickly he sent Haruspex, strangest magician

Detritus knew by the first smell of him
Haruspex came from earth west, not with best
Intentions to natural order of land and sky
And this test of two egos be quite perplexed
With each other and another reason why
This brawny epic riled through years gone by



}IV{
“Ode ‘O’ Odious”

Motioning her battalions, priests and beasts
Evil Queen who overthrow, joins Abhorus’ feast
Beldams be this clergy, **** all about Odious
Snapping of rabbits heads in cacophony of blood
Plunking chalices of malice’s, sacrifices melodious
All in dark chamber halls in depth’s commodious

Stretching of intestine to fine tune harp
Butchers waylay innards with daggers sharp
Mawkish music be Odious’ fame
Concavity’s entrance a perilous scarp
Passers-by enticed by bergamot oil’s flame
Fall to their death to be eaten by dame

Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
Drunken mayhap through day and nightcap
She rumpus muck, she ruckus all luck
Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
Chambers fill with all matter of bile guck
Bites cobra tails, hooded heads protrude to ****

Death be her power to innocence’s pain
Queen Odious oblivious to her own danger
Seems unstoppable to submissive subjugates
Spinning her terror, cackle calls to maidens
Fem ferocious, how ‘O’ Odious undulates
Casualties collected in long hundredweights

Probity of her high priest be none
Abhorus puppets Odious and will be done
With her second rare blue water lilies run out
The Nile produces this flower of intoxication
Extinction of it is of all certainty, no doubt
Named after her, O Odious flora beguiles lout

Ode ‘O’ Odious, Ode ‘O’ Odious
It is Evil Sorceress and midnight blue flower
Power of it be all in her high flighty head
She misuses its’ tincture to her own final hour
Harvesting it foolishly, nearly till it is dead
And when it is, it will be to all worlds’ dread



}V{
“Oasis In Iaa”

Sinuhe receives word elephants parched
Water need be found, arduous trek campaigned
Nefru never witness such worry, Sinuhe’s face
Ox tail be split to drain nourishment from beasts
No water for miles, no sea birds upon sky to trace
Sinuhe prays, “Montu, God of War find oasis to race!”

Sekhmet, Archer Goddess visits Nefru
Great Lady is besieged by dessert’s spell
Hallucinations bring mirage to Nefru’s sight
Transfixed on dessert’s horizon her eyes
Contingents warriors, bands of archer’s fright
Paths set forth, only to journey by starlit night

At dawn Sinuhe strands his band
Takes his most devoted men of arms
Bhaktu, Parsi, Rhaktu, follow their Lord
Each having faith in man and his wisdom
Eastward they find Syrian tribe in horde
They are welcomed, none need draw sword

Master of Syrian tribe Abu Sefa
Understands who Sinuhe is and was
Orders falconers to find Nefru and throng
Apprises Sinuhe of oasis beyond hummocks
All are soon joined together in wine and song
Oasis found, Iaa, fruited land and lagoon long

Khety is warned of revelry in Iaa
Sends legions Egyptian arms, by order Odious
Anubis, jackal head God given zebra sacrifice
Detritus employed for battle with spears
Copper shields, mediocrity will not suffice
All swords be sharpened by order thrice

Lifeblood battle of Egypt ensues
Sinuhe taken off guard in Iaa,
Elephant screams to be heard for miles
Bhaktu cut down, Rhaktu not found
Parsi’s archers never saw such trials
From lagoons come seething crocodiles



}VI{
Twist Of Fate

Rensi was chosen by Abhorus to speak for Khety
As High Priest, Abhorus did most doling of employs
This proxy Rensi though, be mockery of King
His speech more stammered than Khety’s noise
Grossly disfigured as well, soundings as mice sing
Rensi aware of this, musters all dignity he may bring

Perigee moon at present, o howling now
Hyena laughing at dissertation of Khety’s proxy
Ill ease overcomes this Rensi, an impediment
Speech undone on terrestrial stairs to Memphis
Escalades flora, fauna; monsoons washing sediment
Tefnut, great rain goddess turns world to excrement

This not so illustrious disquisition muted
By torrent winds and torrential liquid compounds
Tefnut’s tears plunk upon all, turning mud blood
Looking out from his great house Khety embroiled
Bares soul to Sobek-Re, Crocodile God; Sun and Crud
Sobek-Re answers prayer, suspending flash flood

In Iaa, as gore of battle ensues, fate lose
As twist of tale find new bemuse and worlds infuse
Detritus sees his lost master Sinuhe encroaching peril
This recognition swells an emotion deep and confuse
Detritus bent in memories flash reacts nobly not feral
With a roar to be heard over all, clamor become sterile

Sounds of battle cease and gaze of majesty
Sinuhe seeing Detritus is overcome by sensibility
Two old beloved friends stare upon each other
Dragging swords behind each move to indemnity
Embrace of each other; secures allegiance another
Sinuhe kisses feet of Detritus; calls him “brother”

As witness to such, all weary legions unite
Moon turn blue, assured sign of Pharaoh Merikare
Mehru’s star battalions federate Moon Pharaoh’s armies
Together as one to Memphis they shall siege Khety
Overthrow Queen Odious and her sinister parties
This mainly being High Priest Abhorus’ autocracies



}VII{
Epitaph Of Detritus

Odious in lair drinks tinctures blue water lilies
Abhorus her advisor suggests only more intoxicants
Khety is shrilling at sight of this deceptive lure
Haruspex makes prophesy of Detritus’ betrayal
Khety sends hunters to trace Animal Man’s spoor
Abhorus finds more legions of archers to procure

Leaving Iaa and moving toward Memphis
Detritus is fitted by Nefru’s maidens new armor
Embroidered with gold, a striped khat is made to adorn
Detritus is humbled by Sinuhe and Nefru’s gifts
His body is perfumed and oiled; his mane then shorn
Beholden to the true King of Egypt, Detritus is sworn

Two men of different lands, both once slaves
Overcome their adversities and rise upon sun
Sinuhe and Detritus’ bond is legitimately noble
Wearing of these worlds bare them new providence
Seemingly this union appears fortuitous global
Keeping steadfast of Abhorus’s archers now mobile

In Sakkara, south of Memphis come tempest
Raining arrows as if raindrops, Sinuhe’s challenge
Detritus’ valor finds reckoning to his last will
Defending Sinuhe, Detritus falls to cumulating
By strength this virtue witnessed, Sinuhe rise still
Throwing down legions of archers, making his ****

Abhorus, Odious, and Khety with no troops left
Surrender to Sinuhe upon his return to Memphis
Odious drinks last vials blue lily tincture, expires
Abhorus struck dead by hand of Khety in resolve
Khety bows to Sinuhe and his Queen as requires
King Sinuhe , Queen Nefru read parchments and fliers

In honor of great Detritus and his noble deeds
Commissioned is greatest sculpture Animal Man
During its’ long construction, most joyful jinks
Song and dance to honor a great warrior true
Each artisan so proud to have heritage to links
Of Animal Man, Detritus, now known as Sphinx
This is my adaptation of The Tale Of Sinuhe. It is the oldest known work of Egyptian literature. This epic poem was written by me with the intent of creating a puppet opera. I hope to collaborate with other poets, musicians, artists and puppeteers to see this come to life. Between each chorus should be arias which embellish the plot and theme. If you may be interested in working on this piece, please let me know via private message. I hope to make it a collaborative work.
Danielle Apr 2018
Half remembered clichés dance along the pier.
The divide between,
Sweet salty land and unending depths.
My talking dolphins sing a tune,
Unsettling and threatening.
Feed scraps from the dinner table
by my curly haired gambler.
I only see him at that old dollhouse,
Cracked and weathered by the Sea.
It insists on knocking on our red door
and staying for supper.
So it can beat us at throwing pennies in a cup
Plunk...plunk...plunk
Had a dream and it made me really happy so I wrote a poem about it. It was a pretty weird dream truth be told.
Mike West Dec 2012
This morning I had to go ***** so bad
I squeezed and I pushed with all that I had
And after what seemed like a great battle
I heard a ker-plunk from what I did straddle
The mighty splash that this thing made
To have a look, my curiosity bade
So up I did rise slowly and sure
So as not to drop any poo onto the floor
I looked into the bowl not believing my eyes
This terd was of a most bodacious size
The cause of the strain was now easy to see
I new then not what I had set free
It leaned upright on the side of the bowl
Like it was in a jacuzi relaxed and whole
As I looked at it again in utter disbelief
I knew I had to flush away my relief
But when I pushed the handle on the toilet I found
All the **** did is spin round and round
Like a wooden stick in water being stirred
I was amazed at the stiffness of this ****
When the flush was done I looked with disdain
The **** was still there and left not even a stain
I flushed again with greater resolve
And the **** broke in half as it did revolve
But then as it started to finally go down
Something then happened that made me frown
It got stuck and clogged up the hole
I watched in horror as water filled the bowl
It plugged the toiled up tight like a cork
And now I wished I'd chopped it up with a fork
I grabbed the plunger from off of the floor
And plunged real hard, for my toiled to restore
But though I plunged with all of my might
It seemed that the **** was winning this fight
After several minutes the water went down
But only at a trickle as again I did frown
So along I did move from plan A to plan B
I'd show this **** who's the boss, not it, but me
So with hot water, a bucket I did fill
And dumped it in so it could swallow that pill
After twenty buckets, the **** did give way
And I was able to flush. Hip-Hip-Hooray!
Mikaila Jun 2014
I never want to be second best to a man because I am not one ever again. It BOTHERS me. It keeps me up nights. It's... humiliating. It stokes a rage in me that I don't like- it's ugly, and hot, and pressurized, and it never seems to lessen, only grow. I am so good at being silent, at being nice, at being a good sport. But I've been getting worse at it for years. As I've begun to realize just how much I've lost to men because they think they're better than me, because everyone thinks they're better than me, because sometimes I even think they must be better than me. I've started to lose my grip on that quiet, humble girl who doesn't fight for what she loses. I sit up at 1:30 in the morning and sometimes I can't stop stewing over the fact that some men think they can unclothe me with their eyes and I'll secretly like it, that everyone on the ****** earth assumes that I will want a man, marry a man, that I'm LOOKING constantly for a ******* MAN. Is that what straight girls do? I didn't think so... But as I look around, really look, the world makes it seem as though every ******* thing is centered upon finding and keeping a man. And I don't want one. And I resent having to explain that day in and day out to everybody I ever meet, and even to people who have known me for years and KNOW how I feel about the subject. And no, nothing set this off- this is how it is all the time. I am just disgusted sometimes, that if I don't shout constantly (obnoxiously) people will slide me into my designated spot in the world- a white picket fence with a hubby and 2.5 kids and a small adhd medication habit- and I will be LOST to that. Obliterated by what is expected of me. I'm not doing it. I will never do it. I don't want a man. I don't want to BE a man. I don't want to marry a man. Honestly, on days when I truly allow myself to think about this subject in depth, I don't even want to LOOK at a ******* man. I don't want to know that because my hair is long and my waist happens to be 20 inches, men find me attractive. That my long eyelashes and high heels make it oh-so-hard-to-believe I'm not straight, and that much more disappointing if, in fact, they ever do believe me on the subject. I don't want to look up by accident and see a guy leering at my ***. I don't want my sarcastic remarks taken as flirting. I don't want to ever hear the phrase "You're too pretty to be a lesbian." again. I'm not gay because I'm angry at men. I'm angry at men because I'm a woman. Being gay happens to slide the binary into focus even more. Masculinity is valued. Femininity is insulting. There are classes on it. And I understand that not all men are *******, but honestly... all men take from me. They do. I'm sorry if that offends you, or if that makes it hard to view the world the way you do, but hey, it offends me. Offense is not an order of change. It's how you feel. And I am deeply offended that men win over me. I'm offended that it's a contest, and I'm offended that I am ill equipped to compete. I'm offended that women seem to see having a boyfriend as an achievement, as something you earn and flaunt and show off to other girls and boast of, when I was hardly able to hold hands with the girl I loved in high school, in fear that her family would find out. I'm offended that she couldn't be proud to be with me the way she'd be proud to bring a boy home and plunk him down at the dinner table on Thanksgiving- "Look, Ma, I got one!" I will always be offended. I don't expect anything to be done about it. But I do sit up nights and think about it. I do. It bothers me that men are worth more than I am- and for what? What are they really that I am not? The answer is very simple and utterly infuriating in its pointlessness: They are men.
This would be the rant that ended up on facebook this morning... And this would be the comment I left below it:
(I swear to god, do NOT comment on here and try to begin a debate about individuals and how men are all different people and blanket statements are unfair and- no. I happen to have a brain. I do know this. I'm talking big picture, large scale, the gender that rules the earth and has since the dawn of time, and the things I've lost because of the culture that has grown out of that. And so help me, if you try to start an argument about how I'm actually the one victimizing people, I will lose my mind. It is my right to be offended, and if you are offended by my offense, that is your right. And we both have our lovely emotional rights, and we needn't talk about it. Okay? Okay.)
Mark Wanless Aug 2016
the glassy grasshoppers shatter
when bitten       with straight white teeth
chilled yellow peach pulp       a glacier
low blond table wood       biting silk liquid
fresh hyacinth       jasmine
music       plunk on plunk
pearl skin       soft cloud
rose petal       lips
Rose DiMatteo Jan 2010
to spark the story funny cards are best
that reindeer's bushy ******* and his backward grin
makes each of us a burly teamster Santa  
but best of all, the irony of ***-end-joy
makes this the perfect millennial American Greeting
                to plunk down the Wal-Mart buck-fifty for

alas, the real juice of narrative's left at the store
the all-night mind spins out its setting
action arch of dialogue to dénouement
then lost in the well-stocked silence of stuff

somewhere in those reels, maybe a better person
crafts hearts breaking open to a generous life
and emerges from those screenings joyful—
grateful for the chance to evolve from the self-serving
                multitude of errors sporting masks
posts gentle merry wishes and even ribald humor
                to that impossible God-blessed everyone
Scott Chase Jul 2018
The blind man slowly rises to his feet. Bending over and momentarily fumbling for his walking stick.Finding it propped against the flat topped boulder he uses as both a table top and chair. He takes the usual 27 steps to the mouth of the cave.Just before reaching the opening, he feels the slight breeze freshening his cheeks while gently tossing his beard about. As if nature were trying to comb his his coarse and weathered ****** hair.
At 28 steps, the sun greets his skin with an early morning warmth. A faint touch of dew washes through his nostrils, reminding him of the brief rain shower that woke him just before the break of day. Justifying the stiffness in his joints. Yes, best to sit a spell and allow the sun to warm the marrow. Perhaps keeping his movements spry and youthful for an hour or two. Carefully measured to a bit arduous after that.
Now, the morning unfolds before and below him in the high mountain meadow that provides him most of his meager needs. The stream to his left, babbling it's way across the rocks and tickling his ears. Then, rushing outward and downward, diagonally across the meadow. Slowing on the far right side before narrowing and winding it's way into the hardwoods. His memory still strong, long after his sight left him those..... how many years ago now?
The cry of an eagle pierces his ears. No doubt a rodent or rabbit is in peril shortly. Not a fish he ponders. Just across the stream,not too far, maybe forty to fifty feet, the sudden scraping of hooves against the small pebbled bottom of the stream. Preceded by the hollow plunk of the nervous steps of a fawn as she slowly lowers her head to quench her thirst before bedding down for the day. Doe is nearby watching her, listening intently for signs of danger to her young one. Yes,there it is, a rushed deep and anxious breath tells him so.
The old man ambles back into the cave to fetch his hat.

Now, tell me...Did you see what the blind man saw?
spysgrandson Oct 2011
(Old Lyrics referring to those heard from "vinyl" albums of the 1960s)

from dusty cardboard covers
and winged time that flew by
oh poetic ponderous parchment
you have become my sacrament
my sense and soul, my mind’s eye

my grandchild cries in the background
faux fighting to stay awake
while I sit in monitored light
distracted by her playful plight
penning lines for others to partake

some have scripture and prayer
to make their journey into the divine
I plunk rhapsodic rhyme on an electric page
inspired by what I read in a golden age
now seen by me in tragic decline

so I whisper words of the mystical muse
and let them be my guiding light
and weave me through this tangled dream
like some moonbeam on a trickling stream
flowing into my deepening night
Bryana Twice Oct 2015
we think we understand gravity
we think it is weak
we assume some apples will fall

in fields of much less colour
the sound is flatter
the leaves are damper

gravity hangs too heavy on some
heavier than we think on some
or admit on some

it is natural to reduce it
we all know a guy who says
some apples just fall ka-plunk

and that's gravity   get over it!
knowing we can't actually
get over it

not really!
I know a guy who thinks
gravity works in multiple dimensions

and we can only account
for part of its strength
so the rest remains felt but unseen

That would explain the dimmer light
the clenched off drowning of sound;
that would explain this half-lit world!

the blurred nerves  in the going of motion…
I have adjusted accordingly.
I have a skeleton crew

to keep things ticking over
so I can take the weight
of all those other places.
Leone Lamp Apr 2021
The sun is hot this summer
Like it was last summer
It's too hot to play indoors
Let's don trunks and sandals
For our journey to Turtle Rock,
It's not too far a walk.

Wild carrots grow along hot asphalt
We're chewing Queen Anne's lace
The journey offers time to talk
We talk and walk at our own pace
I see Mosby Creek through the trees,
We're getting near the place

Cruise down the path
Rotten egg's always last!
We're barefoot before the first bend
Look out, leaves of three!
Poison oak let us be!
Lay down our towels
We're here my friend

Me first! Dibs! I call the rope swing!
I shout, jumping over that tranquil spot
Y'know the one, where you go over the creek,
Because of that awkward rock
I grab the rope, run round to the edge
And launch myself sidewards right off the ledge!
Ker-plunk! Time to swim,
Summer's here, life begins.
I wrote this about the swimming hole down the road from where I grew up. It hit 80° the other day, time to hit the creeks.
~2009
Jordan Frances Apr 2016
To my fake nails
That flaunted a pastel color in the fall
I don't remember why, exactly
I only recall ripping you off, one by one
Like petals from a daisy
It hurt, but I liked the sound of glue
Tearing off dead skin
Plunk you into the trash can
Because you didn't scratch his eyes out
Like you were told to
You didn't react
Like you were told to
Your body didn't fight back
Like you were told to
Instead, body break body shatter
Like glass on wood floor
Now, I watch her fall as smoothly as I did
When will she shatter for him?
Now, my real nails dig into my wrists
Holding onto everything you took
When you - I don't know what to call it anymore
Call it ****** assault
Shatter
Call it revictimization
Shatter
But that makes it seems like it was never his fault shatter in the first place
When your life becomes nothing
But sharpened nails and broken glass
You forget what you are made out of.
I see his iron bar face
But I am composed of diamond
Because the only thing that can break one
Is itself.
Poem #2 in my new series.
Harsh Apr 2015
The weather is really light out; the breeze is cool but these sheets are warm and it's overcast but not cloudy. It's the perfect weather to wear sweatpants and tee shir- no, actually, it's the perfect weather to wear your skin atop mine. The perfect weather to caress your curves under these soft sheets, letting my body warm yours, letting my hands hold yours, letting my eyes drown in yours. It's the perfect weather to coat that lovely face of yours with happy kisses and smiles. It's the perfect weather to talk about how we'll raise Marlye and how big or small our house will be in Bremerton. It's the perfect weather to lie down on your stomach and list the reasons why you make me smile.

*But, in reality, you're not here.
So, it's the perfect weather for me to silently pad downstairs in sweatpants and a hoodie at 3 in the morning, start a *** of coffee, and plunk out lonely melodies on this piano of mine as I wait for my coffee and my heart to warm up. It's the perfect weather for my bones to ache for you, the perfect weather for my lips to still longingly have the lingering taste of you.

It's the perfect weather to miss you.

And you know I'm at a loss for words right now because I'm talking about the ******* weather.
This is a heavier rendition of an earlier piece I entitled "October Comforts." I wrote both at the same time but I didn't really like this version as much, but I decided to share anyways.
When class let out at RHS
we'd head over to the Roadrunner.

We sipped cokes, smoked and told jokes.  

We gab away about the breaking scandals,
foibles and doomed love affairs vexing ourselves
and fellow classmates.

Cartoons danced on the back wall
fully animating the teenage angst
running rampant in the room.

In between bites of Mr. Snyder's
delicious French Fries and
charbroiled burgers,

Beamie would share her wise counsel,
opening an understanding ear while
offering an obliging shoulder
for tears and comfort.

Sharing with Beamie,
a trouble disclosed was instantly halved,
joys were resoundingly doubled.

Beamie’s resolute friendship
was beautifully wrapped
in the simple gift of her presence.

The loud jukebox would blare
Alice Cooper’s “Eighteen”
Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” or
The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes”.  

Beamie didnt care much
for hard rock so she
sidle up to the juke,
drop a dime and play
Chicago’s “Colour My World”.

Beamie loved the song.  
She’d get lost in the rapture
of its ethereal melody.  For her,
I believe the song reflected the empathy
and deep emotional connection she so cherished
with friends and the people she deeply loved.

So to honor our dear friend, I plunk
another dime into the juke to spin
her favorite tune once more.

...As time goes by,
I realize, just what
You mean to me…

Dearest Beamie,
we marvel at the
rich abundant life
you crafted for yourself
and all who were blessed
to be touched by your love.

You leave this world
surrounded by a
thriving family and
a diverse community
of friends authored
by the love you so
unconditionally
shared through a
selfless life…

...And now
Now that you're near
Promise your love
That I've waited to share...

Beamie, you have kept
every promise, every pledge
you made to Lou, Michelle,
Jessica, Mason, Haley
Julio, Norberto and
your diverse group
of colleagues and
beloved friends.  

Your love created a
new generation that carries
the blessed DNA of a vibrant
spirit.  

It will grow and illuminate
the pathways and hearts of
many successive generations.

...And dreams
Of our moments together
Color my world with hope of loving you...

Beamie, you lived
a well lived life.

As your travel back
to the *****
of eternal love,
your spirit walks
with all who you
loved and all who
deeply loved you.

The hues, palettes
and rainbow of colors
you generously painted
onto family and friends
indelibly marks our identity

The memory
of your perfect
alabaster smile
ignites a instant joy
at the mention
of your name.

Your round brown eyes
manifested the earthen
wisdom you generously shared.

The scarlet flame
of a fully bloomed
summer rose
recollects your open heart
and sacred home
and the warm hospitality
offered to all who were
blessed to knock on your door.

The emotional avowal
of your ebullient embrace
chased away the blues
of doubt on many occasions
and reassured the
affirmation of friendship.

The silver strands
of your noble tresses
crowns your being
in maternal saintliness.

Dearest Beamie,
So many in this
drab gray world
have been colored
by the brilliant palette
of your blessed life.
I know you added
some wonderful
pictographs to the
multicolored mosaic
of my life's story.

I bless you for
our golden friendship.

Well done beloved.
God Bless and Godspeed.
love, mac

Kathleen P. Bumpass
3/25/56 - 6/1/17

Music Selection:
Chicago, Colour My World

6/2/17
Long Branch
jbm
written for a beloved friend
and recited at Beamie's funeral service 6/5/17
PK Wakefield Dec 2011
the mountains stand with thickness
they stand out behind my house
i hear them thinking out there
thinking just summer or winter
they think on them flowers and
rivers and i think them purest
magic with whom i collude with
on hoary frosted eves i plunk
through the neat lips of trees
about the mountains hard mouth
i trundle and mutter with the
naked boughs of them those
straight moon piercing oafs
they cut her pretty waxing *****
into finite lovely ribbons
and i fold them 1x1 into my
soul, i gather up the loose
strength of the moon's hair into
my palm and sticking it in my
pocket i heft my sturdy frame
back to where i left my car sleeping
Tallie Mar 2018
The words won’t string together
I type and type
Backspace. Backspace.

Thoughts pour like a waterfall
They plummet to the bottom.
Splash. Splash. Plunk.

Tears fall like love
A girl falls in love. The guy never catches.
Thunk. “Ouch”
chimaera Oct 2014
the night in turmoil
a bumble jumble fumble
of croaks, hoo hoo, purrs, stridulous chirping

then a sudden cringe, ******!,
shush shush
hush, gurgling creek,
hush, whiffled leaves

clippety-cloppety
clippety-cloppety
clok clok clok

a schwing, zing, zip
and a plunk
and a plonk
in a whoosh
and then a scrunche scrunche
and

clok clok clok
clippety-cloppety
clippety-cloppety

silence burbles

tick tock tick tock

shh, shh,
listen:

a sluggy chugalug
and a fuzz of tiny tunes:
a yelp, a eep

stilness

a purr a buzz
putt putt putt
slowly back in motion
the burbles, whiffs, croaks,
the stridulous bumble jumble
of a crickety night
...and this was really helpful:
http://en.m.wiktionary.org/wiki/Category:English_onomatopoeias
Kayleigh Robyn Sep 2013
It starts with a quiet night
a warm cup of tea
a pile of notebooks
filled up with nothing at all
there's a fountain
and a globe
a computer
and a pen

it starts with a noise
the beginnings of a drumbeat
the plunk of being called
a single lamp
illuminates
there's a rose
and a cat
some music
and a girl

it starts with a smile
a subtle curve
not quite a grin
a glimmer of hope
sends feelings singing
there's a phone
and a text
there's more music
and a boy

it starts with a name
some simple syllables
a feeling of fate
a thought of without reasoning
alive
there's a page
ripped out of a notebook
filled with thoughts
a note
a poem
there's a voice
of a girl

it starts with a song
a familiar verse
a pile of notebooks
not scattered around
a feeling of doubt
a lack of self-confidence
there's a shudder
and a sigh
a bowl of chips
a table
the slumped over figure
of a girl

it ends with a chime
the clock strikes three
a blinding light
ther's an empty table
a pulled out chair
a pile of notebooks
she left lying there
a new national anthem
some music
but no girl
Hannah Morse Feb 2014
The scent of wild garlic plumps the air
in the narrow, deep valley of the brook.
The oak trees either side
reach across, clasping hands,
trapping the heat and the smell.

A trout ***** up stream,
jumping the shallow current.
Crouching on the pebble beach,
two children watch it land,
plunk,
in the depths further up.

'Fish! That's what we need, fish!'
He blunders up the river,
hands outstretched,
as though to catch the trout in his palms.

Deepening the rock pool,
scuds scurrying out of sight,
the girl notices the thin, black water slug
stretched out on her chalky forearm.

Pincering it off with her fingers,
she doesn't scream until
spotting the ****** mark,
as the leech reaches up
to wrap itself round her finger.

With a flick of her wrist,
it splacks onto a dry, flat rock.
She crushes its body with a pebble,
and the smell of iron mingles with the garlic.
M Aug 2017
The fisherman casts his lure into the undisturbed water
The soft "plunk" sends ripples to the farthest reaches of the pool
His bait is shiny, it dances to a rhythm that is impossible to follow
It catches my eye, as it never fails to do
I swim towards it as I've done so many times before
I know I should leave it be, I know where this road goes
But I'm already caught
He reels me in
As I'm being pulled away I scold myself for my stupidity
I'm pulled out of the water and for a brief moment I can't breath
It's a feeling that I've become so familiar with that I no longer fear it
The fisherman drops me in his bucket
For hours I'm left to swim around without direction
Until he releases me, he always releases me
I swim back home, I've already forgotten the lure and its magic
Until I hear the "plunk" again
And I'm reminded that I'm not the one in control
Molly Oct 2013
Keeping Time

Since you left the faucet’s started dripping.
I asked it to stop; It would not.

The lithe silver neck wilts as it cries,
Watching me make the coffee
Nodding out tears that go plunk all morning,
Like it understands why two cups is too many
And the extra stagnates all day in the carafe
Staining the glass the sick color of burnt chocolate.

I catch myself swaying along with the ticking
In idle evenings spent staring at a blank TV screen.
It wastes water, keeps time, my immutable metronome
while I burn down slowly like someone left in a hurry
and forgot to shut off the oven.

In fitful dreams the dripping is a knock at the door
gone unanswered, for I am distracted in the kitchen
trembling with fury, strangling to death
that mercurial throat that drummed a lonely racket
in the stainless steel basin, counting out mocking measures
of this new silence.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
It is again, plunk into pit of being
See it as is, truer than what is believing
Misconceiving notion was, still quizzed
Taken back to cage humility

Sterile, these tears, flush waves emotion
Devotion to you dear, causing commotion
Hardly do I go there, yet comes the missing
Insisting on revisiting the elicit

Still pouring over, drains illusion
Intrusion cruel, truth bearing contusion
Purge hid secrets kept by psyche's rule
Plant seeds in dry field's thought

Caught waiting for monsoon to wash over
Soak essence enduring, be nature, know her
Rain overcomes me, shell relinquished
Distinguished, I sprout again

And then, I remember once more
I am extinct
There are only a certain given number of fails.
It's about Kielbasa,
This sausage.

This is the age.

Theres nothing better about a girl,
If she likes...
             Kielbasa.....
Better than fish.....

Cause I mean.

Plunk it in my duts,
Why you rough?
To be so jagged is to be cuffed,
By meat links.
James Floss Jan 2018
Jimmy junior
Doesn’t exist
Might’ve been
Hiccup echo

Purple lump
Passed
Surpassed
Gone
PK Wakefield Mar 2011
1(first
how came we
to god
           laid in ruby sand
a reticent meadow
of unyielding flowers
where walked i and You
in crisp vagrant unwinteR   . at complete crepitus
                            of illustrious tumors gritty
                            golden loose punish
                            of tawny excelling light
                            so for what to it slinks
habitually
                  atthe root of poppies striking fumble
a smell careening
                              of accurate stemming plunk(the stout muscle of dawn crept stupidly
                up      the
                                   ******* fat
                                            the mountains bridle
                                               with rigid imposing flint
                                gray skin
aaaand
             slowly naked
                            the full and bashful earth
PJ Poesy Oct 2016
Raindrops plunk upon aluminum
siding and window sill
Outside, such turmoil,
yet I can only sit still
Swishing winds  interrogate trees,
causing them to drop their leaves
and pretenses
Confessions of bareness
propagate an awareness
of little mismanaged defenses
This sullen Fall charms places between suburban track homes
Places where cornstalk bunching
settles for quaint decor
When in Rome...
how it never feels like here
PK Wakefield Apr 2011
(I this very am a contradiction to itself)
this which is
the very thing i am
is not at all a multitude of singularities
but a single multitude of multiple singulars
i am large
                and small
                                and enormously
                                                           a colour daft as starry days
                                                                                                         and brightly nights
and with pale meter
my hards are soft
and softs are hard
                                         (and i am like an onion
                                          in petals of purple skin
                                          an acrid flavour imps
                                          my beam of darkly
                                          steeply cooler hotter
                                          breaths that buzz
                                          like wondrous flies
                                          in ample valleys or
                                          cotton pasted flesh
                                          in denim
                                          )your jeans were on my floorIfoundthemthismorning
and i woke up to call you just so i could touch your voice with my ears
and kiss the treble of its throat with my gangling soul waxing profusely
with sparks of verdant poems blossoming in the uncommon pit of the stomach of my gross futile blithe brain because you made them with the
errant tattoo of your slight and tremendous music bustling its enormous
yawn over the roof of (my) rainbow hard heart that would like to comment in Your plunk of navel ringing tiny glittering barely hairs my smooth and
pinkish crumpled crumbs of love and sprinkle you with careless *** sometime maybe SWOON.
Aztec Warrior Nov 2015
Basho On The Night Stand**

I.
I found Basho sitting on my night stand;
he was measuring the distance
plum blossoms flew
when blown by Autumn wind.
It was an exercise
a mental confrontation
of spirit and nature
that is oft mystified
into confusion.

II.
Why is it
that the resonance
from the meeting of frog and pond,
leads most to a mythical,
non-existent god
or karma
or zen?
When it is pleasing enough
and real, to listen
and appreciate
the dynamics of tingling synapses
and neurons leaping
in a conscious mind.
To be in awe of the beauty of the leap.
To sing the notes that ripple
out in waves.

III.
Found Basho’s ancient pond
saw his huge frog leaping with
resonance and splash.

And I was awed by the Ker-plunk!

redzone /Aztec Warrior 8.17.12
Wandering in notebooks again.. written when I was using pen name 'redzone'
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
stand tall stupid arbor meats
peacefully deadened pursuit
of apathy grandly posited
a smooth unmarking
the soil goes
plunk",
The single tear
gliding to the ground
landing with a plunk
That no one can hear but you
That single tear
sailing down your cheek
that tear
can tell its story
the story of heartbreak
death
sadness
life and loss
That single tear
that you friends and family
can see with clarity
they will know
the story of that tear
as soon as they see it slide
down your pale face
just that one glistening tear
says it all
How you can tell sadness from fear and loss. The comfort and light your friends and family brings into your life. Cherish those moments of comfort. Because they won't last forever
Apachi Ram Fatal Jun 2017
the night we stay with Satan\
shore cycles of Karma will swing\
true plink betwix auditorium plunk\
Kin deep wreaking frail grim reap\
Keeping the Peace maker horn\
charmer reborn slumber Sparrow\
swarm base oiling gladness churn\
long face wide zygomorphic burial\
laced golden silence relish relics daze\
tyrance maze efface miraculous Mayans\
fingere lunge literal transliterating Dunya\
          distill animation by God triangulate\
  Panagia onomatopoeia layman infiltratIon\
red writen circuit burnt innocence clipped\
insulant urn of the surgat son\
opening null locking sun in all dials\
primeval mercifulness\
primordial noteworthiness\
may be relieving points for taking\
and giving a flying shackle **** back\
one down pass it around another lie\

shoved down the throat again\
found in the bottomless pit awake it\
() thing worse than being lost when\
it's your Necessities that are looking\
Ain't that the truth although tainted\
Eluding absentmindedly words\
flow retroactively channeling\
purposeful jurisdiction thinking\
actuality is thee meant to be what\

consequently conceptualized where\
attitudes collect pealing aptitude\
manifests inception dictated in\
comforts own skin pretentious\
dictators impose upon Carthage Pillars\
irritatedly prioritizing Pagan fillers\
reflect surround sinners encroach\

exploring Asia Minor capacity inspect delve interest\
coach self linguist design intellect major retrospect\
outspand intrinsically extort distortion awaken\
infernal declarations transmogrify\
straight lines entwine utterance\
embrace praise Raise feathers halo\
  Altitude of the Almighty deity maker\
genuflect bare Manitou provocate heir bait\

albeit Iron Maiden answers prayers fate\
giveth and be not deceived receive\
A divinity Key degree Aleph hook creek\
handling sobbing grief debrief steam decree\
kneeling bleeding evaporate disguised healing\
trees spree free be guarded prophetic maven\
emancipate  to the seventh greet Phoenician Valhalla Heavens\
We haven't left the dark ages
here is hope wishing we will
Katy Owens Sep 2013
dear friend,

it's not just me

everyone says
you're beautiful

just
the way you are

makeup removed
mask slips off
falls plunk to the ground

just
the way you are

a joy,
delight
a glorious sight

outside merely reflecting
deepest beauty within

true love's eyes
are open and they see

you just
the way you are

true love's desire
that one day you'll
too see

you are beautiful

just
the way you are

loving arms reaching,
wish
to hold you tight

spin you, twirling
a dance

because you
were made to dance with love

for you are beautiful

just
the way you are

love,

— The End —