Fragments Picked To Bits
Fragments picked to bits,
Leave bits of fragments picked...
With a wish when witnessed,
Those fragments picked to bits...
Had more potential when left to sit,
Alone.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
It's impossible to move, to live, to operate at any level without leaving traces, bits, seemingly meaningless fragments of personal information.
quote by William Gibson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where will i find you again?
Where will I find you again?
The world is too vast,
Too crowded,
Distances too wide
And we stand
Separated by time.
In this invisible
Haze called life,
I found you,
As a lock
Finds its long lost key.
You unlocked
What lay hidden,
Long forgotten
A few bits
Disintegrated
Lost to time.
But with you
I picked those bits
Disintegrated
Bits lost to time
And built a whole new city
Hidden from them all.
One fine day
The lock no longer fitted the key
And as much
I tried
You just locked up
Yourself too tight.
Hiding from me
all that sunshine
Its lovely thoughts
Which would melt me
Within me
Time and again
And my city
Devoid the sunshine
Lay deserted.
Where will I ever find you again?
Will I ever find you again?
poem by Anjali Kakati
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You Picked the Right Day for Torture
You picked the right day for torture.
It was too quiet and serene,
To be left untampered.
You wanted your presence felt...
And it was.
You picked the right day for torture
With or without a diet regimen
Or implementation of facts.
What you do behind one's back...
Is left to your interpretation.
Your rules and dispositions are taught!
Although not followed,
And neither held in high esteem.
You picked the right day for torture...
Perhaps now you can see in bright daylight,
The victims you continue to abuse
Are of your own kind.
And of them none can say you frighten.
Yet all have been too quick to say you are crazed!
And today you are here believing you will be praised,
And honored?
You picked the right day for torture!
And how much of it you take...
Will not leave a witness to feel remorse,
Or show heartbreak!
They have come to watch you exploit,
Your own pain!
You have picked the right day for torture!
Everyone came to give you the limelight,
And the fame you claim!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Frammento
A fragment is something incomplete
Something broken-off, severed,
Detached, segregated,
A fragment of a conversation,
Extant fragments of an ancient
Document written on stone,
A fragment of my poetry,
How
do
i
say
it?
………………………………….
Some fragments of myself
Missing some fragments of
Myself hidden, and you will
Not find them, too many fragments
like lice in a native woman's
hair spreading on her head
I place them where
You cannot find them because
You presume too much
To know me to love me,
Along this line, so many parts
are detached, perhaps my navel
my mole, my thumb
my right ear, my left eye
So many parts severed, perhaps
My head from my heart
my mind from my soul
my past from my future
Some extant fragments of
My past self, written on some
Stones still unturned, yes
I have pretended so much
And you cannot detect
Which is true from false
i have become so many parts
of myself, now in the last hours
fragmented
wanting to be whole again..
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Simple Thoughts
Simple thoughts
Simple minds
Draw up the curtain blinds
Lets see what is inside
A long weary journey home
built in a city far from Rome
With each gear the thoughts accelerate
Dreading the point when home is near
Shortly they disintegrate into fragments
Framents of love
Fragments of hope
Fragments of light in
the middle of night
Fragments of a peaceful bed
To rest ones tired swollen body
from a days work
after been well fed
They disintegrate into
Fragments of a night drink
All the bitterness and sorrow
can now sink
The mind can no longer think
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Fragments Of My Poetry
The fragments of my poetry
Mirror the tempests green
The billows black and frothing
In my breast.
The fragments of my poetry
Are chromosomes littered randomly
But from them the body of poetry
Can rise.
The fragments of my poetry
Are like the broken mirror:
That I broke silently -
My heart is broken.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Hello Candice, Are You Sure Of Yourself?
you speak of some bits, bits and bits
of bits buried underneath our hearts and
bones and you want them
to be unraveled bit by bit
that there is always a way, a manner
a process, some means
to an end, to find that light at the end of the tunnel
i am born on a complicated day.
And then i have grown hairs on my head
They too are complications
and my fingers do not have the same lengths
and shapes
That is also another complication
And my feet are not straight
And my face is not proportional
There are angles of deflection
There are lights in me which are refracted
And i may appear so far
And my hands may bend a little
It is because of the difference in our index
I am myself sometimes. I am not myself most of the times.
I ask you then: Are you sure of yourself?
Is that you? If yes, I am telling you
I am not me. I am somebody else.
If No, do not mind me at all.
I am having the tantrums of the poet
A dough with yeast. A grapefruit sour to your lips.
I am irony. I am another riddle.
I like to make myself readable. How many syllables do you
need? Tell me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We are bits of stellar matter that got cold by accident, bits of a star gone wrong.
quote by Arthur Eddington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Many works of the ancients have become fragments. Many works of the moderns are fragments at the time of their origin.
quote by Karl Wilhelm Friedrich Schlegel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fragments Of My Life....
so many fragments of my life
scattered on the floor
on the skies they were taken
by the wind
to the oceans they were pressed
by the rain
there were risings and fallings
there were so many fillings
i always move on
not bothering to pick them up
i cut myself into pieces again
time after time
into more countless fragments
i do not bother those parts
those sheddings
for they are no longer mine
but for the world
and then the last fragment was taken away
and i am left with nothing
and then the perfection was done
i am from nothing and to nothing i must go
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I couldn't care less about who sees my bits... My friends asked how I could do scenes like that and not get excited, but it wasn't like that. My bits looked the size of a cashew nut!
quote by Colin Farrell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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X-File
Biking home, all alone.
‘Black' ice, at night.
Wheels gave way, didn't stop.
‘Handle-Bars' over the top.
Wrists ‘bent' and hurt,
Face grazed with blood and dirt.
Couple of days, go for X. RAYS.
They did detect, ‘needle' like object.
In my right wrist, was there something I had missed?
I was in ‘confused shock', yes took aback.
Recalling the accident, only the face did blood ‘vent'.
No other puncture, just conjecture!
Did ‘it' ‘get in' on impact, some how leaving skin intact?
With no wound, after hitting the ground?
Then as now, I don't know how?
Mind I did ‘rack', an answer I did lack!
Previously had blood test, first prick did ‘resist'!
Tried, she did again, did she leave something in?
No ‘other' miss-use, or drug abuse!
Reason or answer to find I cannot, it happened, bits still got.
To give it a last slant, was it a ‘Alien implant'?
Mystery, no idea absolutely?
Doc's advice/ opinion get removed or leave in.!
Chose to get extracted, couldn't have neglected.
On day of operation, got ‘new' information.
The surgeon did say to me, remember vividly.
"Can take out main object", he comments,
"But not the fragments"!
"The ‘fragments' were too small, won't touch at all"!
I was not even aware, anything else was in there.
Well they did remove, got the ‘thing' to prove.
The answer does still elude, no ‘end' to conclude.
Shake my head, puzzled smile, my very own X-File.
poem by Guy Lipmore (2009)
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Get Up Off Your Pity Pot To Stop It
To wiggle out from under all doubts,
With a hanging them out to dry...
In front of passersby to eye,
Is intended to get attention.
Give those petty bits of pity,
To solicit empathy...
Away.
Today.
And...
Throw those doubts you've picked to pity,
With that selfishness that doesn't pay...
To get attention to gain.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Get up off your pity pot to drop.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.
Fight those doubts to stop and dropp them.
'Cause no pity benefits.
Fight those doubts to stop and dropp them.
'Cause no pity benefits.
And...
Believe this or not,
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.
Give those petty bits of pity,
To solicit empathy...
Away.
Today.
And...
Throw those doubts you've picked to pity,
With that selfishness that doesn't pay...
To get attention to gain.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it quick!
Get up off your pity pot to stop this quick.
'Cause believe this or not...
Your pity does not benefit.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it quick!
'Cause believe this or not...
Your pity does not benefit,
One bit.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Among The Ashes
In among the ashes
of your old love letters
the fragments of your
contemptuous love lay.
The hopes that were dashed
when the chips were down.
The dreams that you abandoned
in the games you played.
In among the ashes
of your old love letters
the fragments of your
flirtatious heart lay.
The constant cheating
that brought our stronghold down.
The flames now licking wounds
of your constant forays.
In among the ashes
of your old love letters
the fragments of what
could have been lay.
Instead, I’m burning bridges
putting the past and you behind.
Burning your old love letters
that you left behind
to taunt and remind me
of the love I thought was mine.
Now the ashes I scatter to the four winds
and the place to where you might have gone
abandoning home and family
for just another fling.
26 August 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Reflection of God
Thoughts are like ripples,
gently flowing over
the surface of the mind.
Deep inside us
we bear the image of God,
the ripples of thought break that image
into fragments.
It is as if you are looking in
a lake full of ripples-
It is a full moon night,
and the lake is reflecting
the beautiful moon.
But the lake is full of ripples
You cannot gather the moon together;
the moon goes on splitting
into a thousand fragments.
The whole lake seems to be
spread over by the moon-
the silvery beauty, softly broken apart;
many a fragments is seen floating-
all around.
Then the wind stops,
the ripples disappear:
those fragments start falling into one moon.
The silver that was spread
all over the lake,
now becomes more concentrated
into one place - into one moon.
When the lake
is completely without ripples,
the moon is reflected perfectly.
God is reflected perfectly
when there is no ripple in you.
poem by Nazmul Haque
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Weird Science
(weird science)
Plastic tubes and pots and pans
Bits and pieces and
Magic from the hand
Were makin
(weird science)
Things Ive never seen before
Behind bolted doors
Talent and imagination
(weird science)
Not what teacher said to do
Makin dreams come true
Living tissue, warm flesh
(weird science)
Plastic tubes and pots and pans
Bits and pieces (and)
Bits and pieces (and)
Chorus
(bits of) my creation--is it real?
Its my creation--i do not know
No hesitation--no heart of gold
Just flesh and blood--i do not know
From my heart and from my hand
Why dont people understand
My intentions . . . . oooh, weird . . . .
Weird science!!
(weird science)
Magic and technology
Voodoo dolls and chants
Electricity
Were makin
(weird science)
Fantasy and microchips
Shooting from the hip
Something different
Were makin
(weird science)
Pictures from a magazine
Diagrams and charts
Mending broken hearts (and makin)
(weird science)
Something like a recipe
Bits and pieces . . . .
Bits and pieces . . . .
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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5. My Bitten Finger
Much bolder than a lion
As crafty as a fox
That little furry hamster
I took home in a box
In the pet shop looking cuddly
Picked quickly didn’t linger
I should have seen the warning signs
When it bit my middle finger
I picked it for its cuteness
Dark brown with bright red eyes
I pointed out the one I’d picked
Imagine my surprise
It reared up where I pointed
Its whiskers started twitching
Then bit into my finger
For sure it needed stitching
The owner thought it funny
I tried to shake it free
This furry little ball of fluff
Had certainly picked me
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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The amount of information that can be stored by the ultimate laptop, 10 to the 31st bits, is much higher than the 10 to the 10th bits stored on current laptops.
quote by Seth Lloyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Still thinking of you
In this summer night
I am still thinking about you...
Without any disdain...
Fragments of thoughts
Spill over to paper floors...
Fragments of internal life
Honoring the mind and heart
With inscriptions of free
And unrestrained imaginations
While still thinking about you...
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Ol Ben Lucas
(kinky friedman)
Ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick
But back again it grows.
Well, ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick,
But back again it grows.
When its cotton picking time in texas,
Boys, its booger picking time for ben.
Hed raise that finger mean and hostile
Stick it in that waitin nostril,
Here he comes with a green one once again.
All right, pick it, eric!
Ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick,
But back again it grows.
Everybody!
Ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose,
He picked and picked till it made you sick
But back again it grows.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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