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grumpy thumb Oct 2015
Treated the plywood to be weatherproof, jigsawed to size base, sides and roof.
Applied non-toxic wood glue,
clamped pieces 'til sturdy and dry
not forgetting an entry hole through which birds may fly.
Took time with the birdhouse,
hung it snug in a tree.
If it will be used for the winter
I'm waiting to see.
Amanda Feb 2014
One* day, I hope you know, sweet heart.
That words spoken from your lips to mine were tied by that smile
&
ribboned by wispy threads of memories,

the way you stared at me in off-handed moments;
your eyes
playing peek-a-boo with mine
across a place filled with beating hearts.

Mine was the fastest, that I do know.

That you pulled pieces of my heart apart
slow & soft
like a promise,

then jigsawed it back together.

But surely, it splintered into indecipherable pieces that escapes my hopeful fingertips.

The irony is I don't wish that upon you either.
I hope you do know,
I
really
*do.
I truly think that sweet-heart is a gorgeous thing to call someone. :")
Oh my goodness, about to reach a milestone in Hello Poetry.
aydouaoiudaoda.
*happy dance*
Hope you enjoyed this nonsensical writing!
xo
this bowl can still
be repaired
even if it
seems broken
irredeemably
even if its pieces
have been trodden
underfoot
further ground down
in an effort
to recover those
scattered fragments
as unlikely as
it may be that
these edges can
be jigsawed together
aligned once more
it could simply be
a case of
embracing the cracks
that might remain
filling them
with something
to be marvelled at
Amanda Jan 2014
In
three
simple,
mundane
words.

- in the same way the most beautiful phrase ‘I love you’ is jigsawed together-

I can do the impossible;
coalesce and meld every little thing;
your little laugh and phenomenons beyond our outstretched fingertips .

That is life will
mercifully or regretfully go on.
Originally by Robert Frost.
The original poem is beautiful.

I hope *crosses fingers* that I have done some degree of justice to his little piece of writing.
It is rather fun to make your own rendition on something such as this.
After all, everyone has a tiny tune to sing.  
x
Samuel Lombardo Nov 2014
Think of sustainability in your life;
you want inspiration-
think of your creativity!
Think about a puzzle
so jigsawed that perhaps you need
silence and time
to make the puzzle work.  
The reality is the picture,
the destiny, and
the creativity that you made
from this situation.  
In silence you are welcomed
to present actions that
inspire thought and precision.
If you worry about the future,
stress about the past,
then your present is stuck,
which means that in reality,
you will always feel stuck
and fear the past,
unless you open your eyes to
see what you have and move forward.
Just remember to leave
your negative thoughts of me behind,
instead of wondering if I will change,
because with time there comes change,
and it is not up to you to change me.
Dasonofgod Apr 2020
At creation
Everything was in shape
The earth's systems jigsawed
The nature,in perfect form
Adam,the king erred
Earth in turmoil
The Globe in  natural anomy

To feed,man eats man
To drink,man ***** man
To move man rides  man
Pharaoh,ordained
Taskmaster of iron will
Human right  abused
Human freedom caged
A fresh alter is built
Alter of Corruption

Give us a Moses
To give us a Joshua
Who will disciple a Caleb.
Terrorism pervades the Globe
Jihadism,song of the world
Crimes,our neighbour
Diseases,unwanted guests
Our anchor,reeds they turned
On the alter of Corruption.

Ours,is an overheated alter
Fans by the wind of 'selves'
From all sides
Selves,Leviathans that feed
Feeding  our gods of Corruption

TO repress selves
Immune your soul
To insulate your  spirit
Displace the monster ,
The monster of Corruption
From the  root
Cleanse the  alter
The the alter of Corruption.
M G Hsieh Jul 2019
...fell down and shattered into a gadzillion pieces.

It was an accident.
It was fate.
It was moment of weakness.
It was meant to be.

It was a gadzillion pieces of
broken words,
unkept promises,
unspoken hopes.

It was a gadzillion
drops of tears,
gusts of emotions,
jigsawed thoughts.

All those pieces swept into the wind,
spread across sand and sea,
whispered under every breath
and buried... buried.

They unfold and twist,
collide and explode.
Pressurized and purified,
proven true, it

lands back to the very heart of where it started--
with You.
Existential nihilism rent psyche asunder
courtesy unforeseen deadly bombs
lobbed by computer hacker and scammer
rolled into one nasty,
short and brutish lout,
whereby his aggrieved targeted victim
experiences absolutely zero qualms.

Though common horse sense
I generally applaud
within these lovely bones
an undersize fellow whose forehead broad
methinks perchance twenty first century
can witness remake of Exosquad

linkedin with mental, physical,
and spiritual fiasco fraud
no doubt grist for the cinematic mill
made for movie of the week,
where prominent product placement
of once iconic iPod,
but illustrious position
in Apple's product lineup
came to an end.

Apple finally killed the “iPod” brand,
just over twenty years
since original introduction in 2001
creating perfectly fitting
pièce de résistance jigsawed

replaced by smartphones,
such as the iPhone,
which can both store music
and access music streaming services
such as Spotify and Apple Music.

Nevertheless, and despite efforts
to exorcise mailer daemons
rage against the machine
that doth mauraud,
while a tempest blows
furious in my mind as well outside,
thus I gladly nod

acknowledgement toward Mother Nature
for natural timely spatial effects
bending boughs analogous to quad
of cheerleaders executing tricks
while accompanying color guards
exhibit purposeful antics done roughshod
for the benefit of mister Kite.

Distraction writing reasonable rhyme
temporarily offsets carbon footprint
to stomp furiously on account of cyber crime
wracking noggin how I could be lame
easily being conned, dogged,
goaded, hectored, kick/jump started, ...
now yours truly haint gotta dime
to his name, attributed to fool hardiness
poached, fried, embezzled...
oh that human slime
letting him manipulate me
as if he pointed gun -
which spelled "BANG"
when fired, now triggers
profound unnecessary anguish.
There is a switch on the control panel,
what channel would you like me to be?

I wear an eye patch, no match for the bandaid
no ****** Lucozade either
give me *** and my mind can run like the wind.

When I'm stuck, don't give a **** until Mother Superior
appears, then it's fear and dread,

once when..
..oh such a long time back
I pulled a muscle in my back
looking back at it
and it wasn't worth it.

can you see how we fit together
as if jigsawed,?
made like a board game
the same as millions of others.
PoemsofaDad Nov 2018
Sometimes, when I entertain
for but a tiny moment
a memory of you – however jigsawed, fragmented, or cut into some chronological melange
I find myself treading water.
Lost in a cold black-blue baltic sea.
Bobbing hopelessly.
Shivering bitterly
from the sadness of your loss.

Other days, the memories warm me.
Like bright mountain sunlight
rolling down my cheeks
over my back
turned toward the light of your love
the space, your presence once filled
heating my clothing
leaving me toasty.

The sum: you haunt me.
But,
in all the ways, I could ever wish you would.

I see you
in the kids: their faces, their bodies, their personalities, their choices
in their little ***** grins
in the lines that dart
from their smiles to my heart.

I see you
standing, silently in the shadows
there around the corner
watching with that stoic focus
so common to your face
with the things that meant the most to you
contently smiling.

I hear you
singing late at night
in the ear of my memory
on that old well-loved
maple wood guitar.
And I wish I’d told you then
how much I loved it – and would cherish it
now that you’re gone.

In the firelight that flickers
licking its way to tender orange morsels
of a memory’s distant ember
slowly burning out within
this mind.
So fragile.
I’m just trying to hold on
so the kids might know you.

But desolately, you’re slipping.
Far further than you’ve already gone
– through the black coattail of death.
Now
through the fingertips of memory.
The haunting
slowly
fading…

I can’t scream loud enough!
Pray hard enough.
Curse strong enough!
To arrest the decay…
… just when I thought I’d gotten used
to losing you
once.

You were my love.
I, yours.
And I miss you
Mum.

(Check out more of my work at PoemsofaDad.com)
Check out my full collection of poems at poemsofadad.com, or via the ‘PoemsofaDad’ Facebook or Twitter pages.

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