"jigsaws" poems
You were always a grand mystery to me
Just like that ten thousand piece puzzle I had always attempted
Scrambling on the floor
Trying to fit a million jigsaws together
That were from different puzzles
There was one in the corner of the room from a puzzle
Of a few cats sitting in a wheelbarrow
And ones from a dolphin in mid air
Trying to flip through a hoop
As mesmerizing as it was to finger through the pieces
It sure was hell trying to shove them together
But that's just it
We can never shove the pieces of life together
Especially someone else's
It never works out
So perhaps if you let that person be
They'll figure out their own jigsaw
Complete the cats in the wheelbarrow picture
And finally see that dolphin jump through the hoop
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
My Jigsaws Missing Piece
Dad?
I still remember.
I was just 5 when you left us.
I asked every day for a week when you'd be home.
I missed you, I hurt, I ached...
...But you never came home.
I missed your voice Dad, your smile and your laugh.
Dad?
I still remember the fun that we had.
Before you left, we had our one family holiday.
Me, perched on your shoulder.
I was invincible and happy. Carried on the shoulders of a giant.
My Giant.
My Dad.
But Then something happened Dad.
Dad?
I don't know what happened.
I was too young to notice, too young to understand.
One day we were family,
The next you were gone.
Dad?
Can you help me?
How do I recall that jigsaw piece that happened so long ago?
It's the only piece I'm missing from my old broken home.
All the things that I recall during every waking hour,
They're all pieces, of a part of me, they're pieces I hold dear.
I close my eyes and hold you there,
You're still my shield and my guide.
You help me through my darkest hours, when I feel I'm most in need.
Your laughter and your smile and the funny names you gave,
They are all pieces of my broken jigsaw.
They're my memories of you, my Dad.
Dad?
John Flanagan 4/1/2017
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
"Write fourteen lines on Growing Up, a sonnet,"
the teacher told us. "Don't forget, the rhymes
must make a pattern; I've told you several times.
The subject's easy. You've all got ideas on it."
Who does he think I am? Some second Milton?
Another Shakespeare? An Eliot? A Tennyson?
Compared to theirs, my mind's as dead as venison,
slightly less fresh than over-ripened Stilton.
"A poem's the equivalent in words
of something I once felt," the poet said.
Clues to another's feelings, like the sherds
of ancient pots, or jigsaws in the head.
A few curt words my feelings clearly tell,
one simple sentence: Growing Up is hell.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC
I call it the Changeover;
like an analogue radio searching for a signal
sometimes it's clear
sometimes it's static
sometimes it's in between
somewhere between far away and near
somewhere lost in the middle
between Signal and Static.
Clear Day the signal reaches out its arms as far as the eye can see
and the ears can hear
and the senses can feel
and taste buds pop and linger
and revel in new experience
and comfort in knowing
and wrapped in wonderment.
Changeover Day is somewhere between Clear Day and Nowhere
struggling to tune in
backwards or forwards
or sideways or upwards
to something
to anything that resembles a signal
like hearing voices in another room
an argument through a wall
the indecipherable murmur of music
the clamber of ushered noise
the mishmash and cacophony
like a symphony of Morse code.
Static Day is dark day
there is no signal
no senses
no sound
only indeterminate fuzz
and the crackle of broken glass
and the foghorn
and the white noise
the confusion and delusion
the paranoia of shifting jigsaws
changing pieces that never fit together
can almost make out a face through the frosted glass
the smear like bird **** on a window
halfheartedly wiped with lackadaisical whimsy
and greasy chip shop newspaper.
In the Static there is no wind
no heart to beat
no empathy or sympathy
just
cold
hard
steel
out of place in a room of feathers and feeling.
You just have to ride out the storm
tell yourself:
it'll be calm soon
it'll be calm soon
it'll be calm soon
The Changeover
from Static to Signal
and the welcome return of voices
and breathing
and beating
and feeling.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
I hope you find it brave girl
i hope you find someone that does more than embrace your flaws
no, i hope you find someone that colors outside your lines
someone that sees your rough edges and jigsaws themselves to fit into you
i hope that you find that brave girl
i hope you are loved like you deserve
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
I'm Humpty Dumpty, you know my name
I'm Humpty Dumpty of wall sitting fame
All the kings horses and all the kings men
Are useless at jigsaws
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 6:40 AM UTC
It's curious to think
our individual body parts
do very little
to tell our stories
or reveal our identities.
But when added
together and contextualized,
we comprehend more
than words can bear.
I wonder how many
pieces it takes
to recognize
a puzzle as such
and for fragments to
heed deeper meaning.
I wonder at what point
the soul enters and attaches
itself -- and at what point
we dignify ourselves
as more than
mobile jigsaws.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 3:36 AM UTC
I feel this ache, trying desperately to decay my hope, My happiness.
Uncertainty sparkles up at me from my finger.
Is your face supposed to be here
I know that mine does not cross your thoughts.
the winter likes to hold me close.
I get lost, I forget myself, for I second I'm just another no one.
But you're still a lovely someone.
Bouncing off of my sparkling uncertainty.
You could never fit into this awkward puzzle.
The pieces never seem to fit together.
Maybe they never will.
Tears are just another close friend.
But smiles are closer, along with laughter.
I'll just continue to sleep, to live in my colorful dreams.
When I see your face, I'll just remember,
puzzle pieces don't fit together.
If they did, what fun would life be?
I'll keep the jigsaws exclusive to my dreams.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
third-eyed horses,
noble steeds,
told god,
I'll give the seed,
the seed to salvation or revolution,
no resolution to losing,
all that you've work for
to get where you otta be,
with three eyes,
who knows what you can succeed,
/
I wasn't even sure enough
That you would stay,
The lovin shall prosper,
I keep replacing jigsaws cause I
Can't find the right piece,
I wanna find peace,
In you,
but not on the streets.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
Courage is something I will never have.
Like Christmas presents,
I will never get what I asked for.
Content is something I never understood.
Like history and math,
I never really bothered learning.
Truth is something I can never believe.
Like magicians,
They put you at awe with a pinch of misdirection.
Passion is something I can never maintain.
Like Swiss watches,
Too much effort, too much time, too much risk.
Games are things I will never play.
Like Scrabble,
I have too little vocabulary for too many variables.
Greed is a part I can never avoid.
Like speed,
The faster I go, the faster I go.
You are something I will never get.
Like poker,
I must never cash in more than I can afford.
I guess you are something I truly regret.
Like soap opera,
I cried for something unreal, tear for nothing surreal.
I guess you are something dismay.
Like rainy nights,
Sad songs drummed the rain drops.
I guess you are you, ultimately.
We disconnect like two unfit jigsaws,
We reconnect like two fit strangers.
We reflect, deflect and subject to many a change,
But at the end,
We conclude in silence.
As the curtain drop to a close,
Stillness filled our hearts.
Emptiness filled our dreams.
While speechlessness filled our mouths,
We forget every nip of attraction lost.
Lost to, not mine, but your utmost desire.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
Take a trip inside of my mind
But be warned that there are worse things than
Lions, and tigers, and bears.
The monsters that guard this jungle mind
Aren’t soft and nice when they choose to be
They are horrifying,
Bloodthirsty,
Larger than life,
All sharp teeth and horns.
Take a trip inside of my mind
But know it’s easy to get lost in
Mazes, and illusions, and metaphors.
The jigsaws aren’t easy 50 piece puzzles
They are thousands of broken words
With no guarantee
That they will fit together
Nicely-
Or at all
Take a trip inside of my mind
But remember that you will find memories
Broken, and wonderful, and messy.
These recollections will tell you who I am
They say where I came from,
fears,
dreams,
hopes,
And lack there-of.
Take a trip inside of my mind
But it isn’t overly charming between the
Monstrosities, and mazes, and memories.
If beautiful is what you were searching for
You can only find it in glimpses between
Sharp teeth,
Broken words,
Lost hope,
And jumbled jungle vines.
So if you decide
To take a trip inside of my mind,
Take note of the
Beautiful disaster,
Organized chaos,
And sweet sorrow.
Be gentle,
Be cautious,
Be aware.
Because this is one mangled mind,
And you are one of the first
To go inside.
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 9:58 AM UTC
Whatever floats your boat they say
But hey,
kinda hard to reach them anyway
Sir, my ideas and dreams were hue yesterday.
Today, it's blue and grey
Where are my happy colors?
Will you folks ever be back anytime, today?
My goals,
are thousand pieces of jigsaw puzzle.
Hard to connect each other.
Some pieces are missing.
I know. I know.
Young man, always remember
Your dreams are just scattered jigsaws
Nail it to your soul
You're not a broken mirror.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
Escaped, is that truly the objective adjective
A feeling perhaps everyone has projected
Or are we seeking within filling to feel secure
Are we affixing words for our selfish cures
Let us take our thought and dissect its pieces
Fit the jigsaws, does it compliment with ease
Photographs stuck on milk cartons like cement
The directive is the fleeting human element
Living in ones past, shadowed assurance from last
Foibles of human inquiry questioning with haste
Lapsing the collective logic of the inner sage
Soul bombarded, thwarted, strengthening with age
Examine not observe nor merely think your being
Vignettes to films are you truly sure your seeing
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 12:20 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
Through the trees , I will follow,
you into the waterfalls of bliss,
but hope ignorance lingers,
I feel the blood on my finger,
must have been a real love stinger,
if the bees are out today,
need to wear some extra yellow
to avoid decay,
I go where the road will take me,
if I float today,
cherry blossoms on the morrow,
everything is happy today,
taking on 7 years of poverty for a
better heaven,
but the devil has a hold on me
with cloud out side
and an unsure expression,
valley road is all I need.
/
Putting pieces together to find
My way,
I wasn't even sure enough
That you would stay,
The love in shall prosper,
I keep replacing jigsaws cause I
Can't find the right piece,
I wanna find peace,
In you,
Beautiful chocolate covered rose,
Is it edible,
To get the kisses that I want is
It eligible,
But I keep putting more together,
Maybe this will go on forever.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
Dear shattered moon
Let your pieces drag the sun
Shooting stars forming rainbows
Untill the dawn has begun
Jigsaws in formations
Millions of dreams to explore
Basking in the rays of you
Reflecting the waves on shore
Towers leaning, obtaining
The warm décor
Flowers on the open air
The smiles painted under a dusty floor
Little whispers of art
Black holes in empty rooms
Constellations in the moon
Loves evaporating fumes
To be not one with ones self
Half and half inside your coffee cup
A difference between
Six feet under and a million miles up
Never disturbing
The content of the beast
The savaging lust
The constant of the feast
Patient of a rendering love
Picture frames holding foreign lands
I could only roam in silent days
When darkness and light came hand in hand
Drown not just the stars
But the strings attached
Puppets of a sinner
The bridge collapsed
Mighty hands are the only hands
That could build the moon again
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
life can be a jigsaw you make the pieces fit
live it day day take bit by bit
make your self a picture of how your life should be
put the pieces in so you can plainly see
when your jigsaws finished very nice and neat
then you will see your life now it is complete
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
I fear a day
When you'll sit next to me
And my phone will vibrate
A message from you asking what's for lunch?
I fear a day
When talented beings
Educated with graduate degrees
Will work in MacDonalds
For minimum wage
I fear a day
Where I'll need to take out a mortgage
For a parking fee
Daylight robbery
I fear a day
Where kids will no longer
Play at the park
No one ever heard of jigsaws
And wooden train sets
I fear a day
When strangers would be able to see
My every post
People I don't even know
Will know all about me
I fear a day
When people will drive to the gym
To run on the treadmill
And we'll all forget
The luminous glow of the moon
I fear a day
We'll forget about stars
And handwritten cards
When we'll care more about cars
Than our counterparts
I fear a day
When the world will all speak English
And read shakespeare
Wear the same high street gear
And eat KFC
I fear a day
Where honour and dignity
Respect and modesty
Will be a thing of the past
And those who hold steadfast
To their culture and traditions
Ways of life
Will be mocked and ridiculed as backwards
I fear a day
When all my fears
Come true
And that day a part of me will die inside
I'll lose the sound of your voice
And mums special home-made recipes with secret ingredients
I'll lose the way your letters felt
Slanted and joined so rounded together
The way the cross on the t and the dot on the i's leaned to hug one another
I'll lose the rush of the wind
As I felt how it was to fly on a swing
The reassuring touch on my back as you pushed and held me back then helped me to stop
I fear a day
I will breathe but cease to exist
Lost in mere memories of a past
Where I was meant to be
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
noise and confusion front
centre of pure light
rolling grey mass obscures
it
mills white into frequency
that has peaks touching
lows
it
steals night pricked into
spectral stall spaced out
on god labels and sci-
gobbledygook
so
dreamers can dance
fragile hearts into hope
lies
grey is white
rainbows are gold
names are cures
passionates lean hard
fragments that lore's
peddle as jigsaws
boxed with image
of whole
complex puzzles rattle
the futility of :
cover
whole and virtuous
open
inside is the same : broken
fix
me
(no bits missing
the grey is my underside)
frustration until
completion then
frustration with
maintenance of
completeness
(Back in the box)
reality reels results in
fondness for familiarity
played on
simpler puzzles
when we knew the shapes
by touch
and we put ourselves together
in the dark
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
smaller than anything, no talk or touch
on the inside you’re growing a rose bush, a thorn in your side
i know this, because i helped grow it there.
it is dying now. you forgot to look after it, its drying up in your gut
hardly red at all
black and tarred and all tied up.
i lean in and i ask it sadly “do you need some help?”
but it does not reply, and you are sleeping though
you do not reply anyway.
your skin tells me that you are warm, alive, but by the way you’re breathing
on my shoulder, and the nicotine stains in-between your fingers loose across your cheek
tell me that you have never felt the warm at all.
and then maybe i pull you closer
to keep you from freezing over like the iceberg
bodies fit like jigsaws when they are in love but ours do not fit at all and the bits in between where my skin lacks your’s make me want to arch and die in-between the white.
and in my frail effort, in your limpness, pale, it occurs to me that
you are the white, the iceberg
half-asleep with you my eyes are closed but even when they weren’t
i couldn’t see you anyway
you are bigger than anything i’d imagined.
i haven’t felt anything in 7 weeks and 1 day and if i woke you up i think i might cry.
the cold killed the rosebush and where my palms try desperately to hug your stomach
im crying, saying
*i cannot bring the sunshine back to you
i cannot bring the sunshine back to you*
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
Faith is like breathing.
You can rest assured that
no matter what you are doing,
your lungs will keep on
drinking the air and
carrying oxygen through your blood and to
every last vestige in your body.
Give up trying to control it,
as it will do as it pleases
regardless
of your attempts to slowly **** yourself or
extinguish all ambiguity and randomness
in the world around you.
Control out of chaos?
Your eyes waking up in the morning is chaos.
Each lash bending
slightly in proportion
to every other lash it is connected too.
We are like plants,
where our roots interconnect and
stretch back further than
recorded history to a time where
we planted the seeds
in fear
that our family would splinter and
mutate into a massive **** of
imaginative constructs like
nations and creeds
which we knit so tediously into
every new idea or situation that attracts itself to us.
Like mirrors to the world,
our eyes only reflect
what they have been shown.
Both in distorted waves of fantasia and
in clear pictures and representations of
our fragmented pasts.
Our memories are jigsaws,
putting them together only to realize
that the reward looks nothing like
the picture we thought we were building for ourselves.
No matter how dark and dismal some pieces may appear
they are only there to keep us from
going blind in the light.
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 6:22 PM UTC
You darken light
so shine bright
oxymoron's juxtapositions finding oneself in pondering situations
humor in each step , fairy lights guide the path less traveled
feeling the peace pieces fit together
jigsaws of unabridged meaning
simply seething with the intimate feeling of moonlight
hopping from idea to idea to thought to thought
love's boundaries are naught and love's hugs are many
loves kisses flow plentiful
indigo rivers on far off archipelagos snake into brown rivers flows mixing merging
the same happens in the soul
culminations and starters
Pudding just a little while after
A lot around , a lot within , a lot in addition to the whimsical nature of life's flight of fancy
floating feather drops.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
I hate jigsaws,
****** happy pictures
cut into shapes
so we can
put them back together
and smile at how far we've come,
only to rip them apart
and scatter their pieces
haphazardly
without a shred of care.
I hate jigsaws
they remind me of what we've become
they remind me that the word human has no place within the word humanity anymore.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
With hair strung down like
Arachnid spit
Sleeping lakes ripple in terror
At your feet
Jigsaws torn by frustrated agonized
Hands
Pieces that will never fit
Never did
I want to polish it like a trophy for the sun
But instead watch it spoil
Dry tangerine in a humid attic
It's just never good enough
Make like the chimera
Like the souls of iguanas
It's just never good enough
But you don't have to be
That
No, not at all
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
life can be a jigsaw you make the pieces fit
live it day day take bit by bit.
make your self a picture of how your life should be
put the pieces in so you can plainly see.
when your jigsaws finished very nice and neat
then you will see your life now it is complete
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC