"plink" poems
Alcoholism took my father away from me.
I watched him destroy his life from the age of five.
When Austin left us- I watched his life shatter completely.
I started to plink away on the piano.
Then he started to pick up the pieces.
He got his life together, remarried, and is trying to repay a lost childhood.
So I continue to play.
Now, I'm watching both my sister's life come to crumbles at the lips of a bottle.
So I play louder.
One has gone to rehab for drugs and alcohol.
She is getting better- back on her feet.
The other has moved out and cut off communication with our Father.
So I keep playing.
I'll write a sonng or two for you-
and I'll wait for you to come home.
All I've ever known alcohol to do- is destroy.
And people wonder why the smell nauseates me..
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
time flies by
and so does the wind against my window pane
rain drops concoct a symphony:
plink
plink
plink
my body is comfortably numb
though,
my thoughts are quite the opposite
time flies by and so do the feelings inside my head
they are lost
searching for some sort of salvation,
searching for you,
running,
walking,
crawling
for you.
time flies by and so do my memories of you
i revisit them
the good, the bad,
and the broken
if it's healthy-
it hurts
if it's haunting-
it hurts.
time flies by while i waste away in bed
and i wonder if you are,
too.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Drop a stone in a well
And wait for it to
Splash into the water depths
You feel
Exist
Interminable seconds pass
And the echo of contact
Does not bounce up the stony sides
A white pebble
Gleamless as it falls through dark darker
Than pitch at midnight
Falls
And nothing more
The consummation of sound
Is never made
It won't be
And yet
You wait
With an ear to the yawning mouth
You wait
Perhaps forever
For the satisfaction
The confirmation
Of a plink at the bottom of a well.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
The decaying mansions of English language
Rot and recede
into teenage grasses
with each unspoken year
The hired help have left their hair unmown and surrendered their uniform dress
Content with the neglect of nature
taking its timely course
When the architects and master masons of linguistics
Survey their forgotten plans in the heaven of English literature
They are not dismayed
but patiently sit and sit
The pristine edifices of the classics
Once grand and clad in deferential brick
Stand scaffolded and unread
The doors unlocked, ajar and hopelessly inviting
Into the library of the English canon
The dusty cloak on the carpets of grammar
Sheets thrown over the disused armchairs of archaic words
Echoing the plink of the out-of-tune pianoforte of the perfectly crafted short story
Bathrooms of formal poetry
With the rusty plumbing of metre and rhyme
Whereas the temporary outhouses,
hastily arranged huts of slang and idiom
are adorned by the living grasses of new forms,
creepers of half remembered dreams
mulching leaves of half formed thoughts
forests of half forgotten loves
writhing in living incompleteness
Which will in turn harden and fossilize
And we can then rue the passing of our once organic lingo
Dec 14, 2009
Dec 14, 2009 at 10:18 AM UTC
Summer raining on the Eastern seaboard
I liked you better before November, personally
There are metal shards floating in this bathwater
Their own tiny islands of pain
A mirror in shards face up on the floor
Guess that is just another 7 years of bad luck
Pennies are dropping into the bathtub
Copper going plink plink plink
Tiny rivulets running their paths
That's just the sound of my lifeline going down the drain, again
Smells like metal and tastes like pain
Red river gushing from my veins
Locked door trying to staunch the flow of secrets
Head swimming to the tile floor
clink clink clink
Scars these days open so easily
Like the Raven said, Nevermore
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
Sssttttuhhp....clunk.
Plink..plinkplink...flip, ***** **** plink.
Donk, donkdonk, plink, doink, ****
Flipflap..dink, plinkplink, doink.
Doink, doinkdoink, whirrrrrr, buzzzzzzzz ****
"Oh ****
Sssttttuhhp....clunk.
Plink, doinkbink, flipflap, bink.
Twirrrrrrrrtwirrrrrrrr, twirrrrrrr *****
flipflap.....clunk
"Oh....Man"!
Sssttttuhhp....clunk.
Plinkplinkboinkdoink...flip...bonk shhhupduuuup.
**** doink, ***** shuuuup.
plink, ploinkploink, **** doink.
booooouuuuupboooooouuuup...boink
flipflap...clunk
"Shoot"!
Sssttttuhhp....clunk.
plinkplinkplinkplink, doink flipflap, bonk, ***** twirrrrrr.
doink, ***** bonk, wuuuuuup, twirrrrrr, puurrrrrrrr.
plink, ploink, doinkdoink, purrrrrrrr, shuuuuupshuuuup
plinkplinkplink, doink, flip, doink, flip, trrrruuuuurrrrp.
"YES"! (shakes machine)
TILT! TILT! TILT!
"NOooooooooo"!
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 8:02 PM UTC
There was a particularly nasty looking garden spider
Crawling up the cracked molding of my window
Not that he looked particularly nasty compared to other spiders
In fact, up close, spiders are one of the wisest looking creatures that exist
But I don't have eight eyes like the garden spider
So I can't see that without the help of a camera lens
So to me, he just looked
Nasty
Buzzing from behind my curtain
A particularly nasty looking yellow jacket
Landed next to the spider
I didn't need a camera lens
Close up or far away
Some things are just
Evil
The spider must have sensed this too
With a leap
He grappled the wasp
And they tumbled
Buzzing
To my uneven hardwood floor
Landing with a small
Distinct plink
And I stood over them
While they tussled
As I have stood over a million things
Watching with glazed indifference
While creatures purer in their existence than I
Fought for their lives
I could see that the spider was doing poorly
The yellow jacket was giving it to him in the abdomen
Jamming his stinger in and pulling it out and jamming it in again
Until the spider started leaking white and green
And started fighting less and less
The yellow jacket
Smugly victorious
Save one crippled wing
Started to putter away
But I brought a rolled up newspaper down on the both of them
Like a pillar falling from the front of some great Roman temple
When the Gauls sacked it
Retracting the paper
They had both been reduced to wet smudges
I felt bad for killing the spider
I wish I could have trapped him in cup with a card over the top
And placed him outside on a leaf in the garden
So he could rule where he was meant to
But I considered it an act of mercy
I couldn't stand to see a noble being end like that
And you should always ***** out evil
If you have an opening
I sat back on my bed
Considering it a wash
A bit of beauty for a bit of order
As it has always been
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
Jax slinks to the bowl
swipes a paw across the brink
litter in his drink
Java to the sink
jumps up to drink faucet drops
before they ker-plink
M J stops to think
before deigns to take a drink
lynx philoso-fur
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 3:27 PM UTC
He peels an azure rind
sure to find click-clack gears clocking
tin-men's timid-toed steps
But these clouds conceal gut-
taut strings rain drops plink, teasing out
hours of palsy-foot jigs
Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 9:12 AM UTC
Fine sand grains coat my toes
as pure, crystal waves break,
playful, ancient, against the shore.
The swaying plink of reggae guitar
bounces over the sand,
lulling a laze in my core
then emanates out across the beach,
past the break,
and out to sea.
Jan 19, 2020
Jan 19, 2020 at 7:18 PM UTC
I watch each delicate thread
Pull away
(Frail twine,
The string of life,
Warn from wash and
Off white)
The plink of one more
Surrender as
One by one
Their little hands
Let go under the pressure
(Too taxing;
Cracked glass
Invasive fissures
Wiggling their way
Downward until
Wrath forces its way
To the surface)
And prepare to lose
(Control
Tumbling upward in a
Bittersweet cone of
Fermented
Nineteenseventyeight
Exquisite wine
Ready to shoot
Straight to the brain
Unraveling the ties,
Letting the pieces fall)
Myself in fragments
Scattered upon the floor
Of who I really am
(or who I never knew
But learned to grow
Apart from.
Caged in my fear
Savagely
Awaiting freedom
So prohibited
;Slavery)
Until I shed my shell
(the painted
Actionfiguretell
Of the mold
I came from.
An assembly line model
Struck in posses
Clothed in garments of
Rejected leisure)
And feel my truenity
(the gentle nature
Peel out
And bloom
Like the dark rose
I’ve seen time and time again
Amidst a lot of pebbles
Waiting so eagerly
To be picked by
The one naïve
Green soul
To let the eye fall
In color
And lick the blood of christ
So tainted
With illusion)
***** the finger
Let the blood run out
Bleed me out
( ailments birthed
of a gentle betrayal
disease my being.
embalmed of any
logic for sense
the salvation of patience is
left by the wayside;
a token for those who
stop to think )
My sanity ridded
Corpse
A poor excuse
For my former self
(falling)
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 12:27 AM UTC
thoughts dripping -plink, plink-
coagulating into a suffiently-sized puddle
some
transparent and luminescent as diamonds
refracting light into white-hot shards
piercing and radiant
others
black ink dank and dark
as unappealing as a rusty pillow
caustic like hydrochloric acid
the tinctures wrestle and combine
motor oil in water, rainbow patterns at night
suddenly a painful thump,
as I've hit my forehead on my dusty keyboard again.
with this, a parting word -
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sTJ7AzBIJoI
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
Is in the shower.
Curtained off, it's the one room that actually
Washes away the pains from your face.
Salty, bitter drops of time spent unwisely,
Fall down to the drain at your feet.
Disappear.
Cut off from everyone else
Surrounded by those who would listen,
Protect you from being heard.
They softly plink against the glass and your body just the same.
There is no judgment here. No.
Not in this room.
And that's what comforts you the most.
That this imaginary room is the one place you can let it all out.
Spill your darkest secrets to the linoleum
Knowing it will only echo your thoughts.
Not loud enough for anyone to hear
Over the rushing water.
No. You're safe there.
And that's why.
The reason you are able to come out of it all
Looking as if nothing had ever happened.
Knowing that,
Once you step out of the warmth and into the cold air
Into the bigger room,
No one will ever know
That you secretly cry.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 8:33 AM UTC
The water inside those indigo pools, are frozen glitter
Silver clouds filled with metallic raindrops
The
plink,
plink tunes
From metal rain freezes into a song
Stuck between sky and earth
Like alloy stars turning into diamonds
Shall we freeze like stone statues fused with sparkling crystals
Or
be liquid sunshine bursting with a golden edge
Melting the beauty with warmness
Which heals and brightens a crooked smile
That holds droplets of laughter
Medicine for heart and soul
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
in, out
in, out
keep telling yourself its okay
and things will turn out fine
you cant change this one, dear
i know you want to
but you cant do a thing, sweetie
just take a breath and hold it
long after your face turns blue
if you hold it long enough it might do
if you wake again in a room draped in white
tubes sprouting out your veins
its quite alright, my love
for you just need to hold it longer
for as time passes just pretend
pretend like you can hold it together
for someone will believe
and let you be
but this time
when that comes
take things nice and slow
in
out
feel the wind breeze against your face
high in the sky
almost touching the stars
as you can hear honks from cars
the salty smell hitting your nose
as you just let it go
dropping, dropping
down you go
until
finally
you hear the whistling of wind in your ears
your hair flowing like the water below
and suddenly
plink
just like a raindrop
you fall from the sky
but instead of stopping, you fall further
this time
not gravity.
your greif and misery
dragging you down
yet the farther you go
it doesnt feel heavy
you feel light, floating even
until
you pop up
looking around, you find yourself in a river
a river of lost souls
finally,
finally.
you have reached
your final destination.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
floating backward
on my back down a muddy river
at a cloud's pace banked by willows & sweet clover
with long branches of oaks stretching across to meet
hot sunshine burning spots on my face forearms & stomach
an invisible hand forcing my eyes to stay closed
& projecting dancing pinwheels of
curled peacock fire on my thin eyelids
i can hear the echo voices of everyone on
shore whirling in the soft wet part of my brain
so awfully warbled by the water in my ears as
i lay there with top water debris spurting playfully
from my lips with a pinched smile
carved between my cheeks
thinking what a shame it'd be to drown
no longer caressed by willow branches trailing
across the surface
to sink down
under a blue sky during a cloud race
into a quiet place where words no longer mean anything
& all i can hear anyway is the profound hiss
of a dying airbubble slipping away from my nose
open my eyes to look i can see it escape
& explode ascending into sunlight
refracting just eight feet away
how wonderful it is to drift down into
the soft silk blanket of dark water
with all the pain & piano music in the world
trapped in my pounding heart
as my friends dive bomb to save me
the drumroll kicks in with the dramamine
& sweet pear wine i had in a pack lunch
to keep away the eager panic hunger
it's accompanied by the soft indie
plink & pluck of violin strings &
someone in suspenders blowing a harmonica
as the nothingness struggles to enfold me
crawling over the shiny pores of my face
while my friends peel back
at it in layers
by re-breathing
their whiskey into my lungs
beating my chest
with their closed fists
& blowing my nose into a t-shirt in the sand
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
Something along the lines of mythical scary beast.
Standing on the cables.
Watching where he's stood.
Needs no execution.
Wants no plink, plink, fizz.
Watches you also.
When he's settled and safe.
His head flicks from side to side, guided by his eyes.
Just a clever scavenger.
Hunting the detritus left in a fast food bag.
No interest in how old it is,
A stench of rotten chicken wrapped around discarded bones.
It's said the birds can not smell, but this fellow, he's truly tempted.
From his perch he invaded the packet.
Stole the contents my my what a racket.
The store fella aware of the bird, flicking and scratching at the paper packet.
Flapped his arms, shooing the bird.
Picked up the bag.
In more of a flap than the now perching bird.
Circle of co-dependence continued.
The raven, the ******* and the fast food store man.
(C) Livvi
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 7:40 AM UTC
The shells and mortar plink and blast around him.
Razor wire stretches as far as the eye can see.
Pitfalls, muddied dirt, and God only knows what else
is all within the path that is entrenched before him.
He took up his rifle a long time ago;
pledging to do what he had to,
pledging to defend what he ought.
He took many laborious steps alone.
He crawled beneath the wires.
He dodged the mortar shots,
though the debris was a much harder hazard to avoid.
He even fell into some pitfalls,
but managed to pull himself out of that muddied dirt.
He felt alone on the battlefield.
And from where he was positioned,
bullets rained down upon him.
He sought safety behind a wall of the very same
muddied dirt that had been his hazard.
And just when he felt he could go no further,
a hand reached in front of him, offering to pull him to
a safer place.
It was a hand that all at once seemed familiar and foreign,
known and unknown.
And the man to whom the hand belonged simply smiled at the soldier,
and said, "We're moving on."
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
Before I forget:
the pictures up
the stairs in your
old house and
a littler you in
a baseball jersey
"I was never good
at sports"
Me neither
did I really walk
that short little hallway
that many times
oh,there you are
downstairs on the
piano
plink plink
plink
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
there is a leak
in the roof
of our house
no doubt
caused by,
the winds of the past week.
now
the rains
are coming in.....
one drippity
drop
at
time
we put a bucket under it, at
first,
splosh, splosh
but
now have replaced it with a
glass bowl
plink
plink,plink
plinkety
plink
tommorow my husband
will climb up and fix
the roof
until then, we will listen to
the rain's
song
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
There's an old
photo I have
of you from
your old house
nothing but
your shadow
as you played
the piano
plink
plink
plink
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
He was a sea captain who ran a very tight ship
The ship’s name was “Evil Drift”
Captain Hammersaw treated his crew as if they were slaves
Punishment would be harsh if they didn’t behave
Once during a fierce storm, the waves would often overpower the ship and hit the deck, and cause it too dip
When one of his crew made a mistake in following the captain’s orders, Captain Hammersaw would throw a crewmember in the sea to the sharks
Captain Hammersaw would attempt to maneuver the ship and avoid the rocks
He was a shrewd Captain with determined powers
Captain Hammersaw could make one walk the plink with no time to think
Also the same that would feed anyone too the fishes of Davey jones Locker
But most importantly, Captain Hammersaw was a pirate that goes after treasure he wants and gets
But in Captain Hammersaw’s mind, there are no regrets
With the show of the sword, Captain Hammersaw is always determined in not to share
He is a captain you need to proceed in caution in beware
A man of the sea, an image figure who all can see
Into the waves of a ship’s unknown, and the fog that hide with the tails of another tide.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
In the park, soft-study of sands and swings,
Where the birds while away the unabridged air
Like rains on green, copper roofs ~ their wings.
So I have touched my rainy fingers on the fountain’s surface,
And tum-tumed at the dumpy belly of a dog,
So I have felt the vendor’s balloons like cantaloupes for freshness,
So I have a pocket-change of smiles for all.
At the fountain’s edge,
Like green-molded quaystones feather-singed
By the touchstrokes of the arcing wings of the sea,
Or like a saucer of warm milk
For the alley-cats to drink the milkiness of sun
And then with their paws,
Plink at overturning the day into porcelain shadows.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 6:54 PM UTC
The water trickles slowly out of the faucet.
Plink plonk
Raindrops leaping to their deaths.
And I fear that when the last one falls,
Nothing will remain of me.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC