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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Story Of A Search For A Poem

A man went in search of a Poem
He searched everywhere he walked
He searched inside himself
He searched inside the poems of others
He searched and searched -

And what came to him were fragments of many poems
And he thought perhaps that they themselves were the poem
But they refused to be satisfied with themselves-

So he searched for a way to put them together-
But in searching came upon more fragments
With each new fragment totally re-ordering those that had gone before-

So he thought ‘I went looking for one poem but found many
Perhaps there are only many poems’

And he began to write them down
And felt at times that he had found many poems
But always too he knew he had not found the one-

So he searched and searched again
And could not find the Poem-

He is still searching
And does not know where the poem is
Sometimes he thinks it is hidden in the many already written
But he does not have the eye to discern it the heart to feel it-

He now is surrounded by poems-
They are everywhere-
But he still cannot find the One Poem which is the Poem for him
The Poem which is his Poem and his Poem alone-

He says he is still searching and will search to the end of his days
But he is old now and soon may be too weak to search
And so the Poem he seeks the one he has longed for all his life
May never be found
Though he goes on searching still.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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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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Fragments (2)

I see fragments
Of memories
Scattered in the floor
Of our past
I am bound
And my hands are dying
I am muted
By bitterness and pain
I am a broken bone
My heart is maimed
My mind is floating
Like clouds drifting
I see fragments
I see leaves
Blown by the wind
I can do nothing
I see dusts
The wind has come
And everything
Is blown away
I see emptiness
I hear nothing
I am here.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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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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Splintering Heart

(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth)
Theres a hot hard hurt
Burnin under her skin
And it pricks her like thorns
And its needles and pins
And it twists in her body
And I know what it is
And Im paying in pain
But its the cost of the high
till the weight of the secret
And the weight of the lie
Makes my heart want to burst
Feel the ache as time goes by
Getting better and worse
Getting better and worse
And theres a screw that I tighten
As I dream of the kiss
And it twists and it cuts me
And you know what it is?
Its a fragment of love
From a splintering heart
And it tears her apart, yeah
But not as much as this
So you save up your tears
For the moments alone
till the splinters you gather
Leave you glass-hard and numb
And the same sun is shining
On the old and the young
On the saints and the sinners
On the weak and the strong
And theres a burning and freezing
And a cross for a kiss
So she learns to stop dreaming
And you know how it is
With these fragments of love
And this splintering heart
With the fragments
And this splintering heart

song performed by by Marillion
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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What is human memory?" Manning asked. He gazed at the air as he spoke, as if lecturing an invisible audience - as perhaps he was. "It certainly is not a passive recording mechanism, like a digital disc or a tape. It is more like a story-telling machine. Sensory information is broken down into shards of perception, which are broken down again to be stored as memory fragments. And at night, as the body rests, these fragments are brought out from storage, reassembled and replayed. Each run-through etches them deeper into the brain's neural structure. And each time a memory is rehearsed or recalled it is elaborated. We may add a little, lose a little, tinker with the logic, fill in sections that have faded, perhaps even conflate disparate events.In extreme cases, we refer to this as confabulation. The brain creates and recreates the past, producing, in the end, a version of events that may bear little resemblance to what actually occurred. To first order, I believe it's true to say that everything I remember is false

Arthur C. Clarke in The Light of Other Days
Submitted by Catalin Popescu
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Fragments

Hold my thoughts Im at an impasse
Past the place I stopped before
The sweepers sweeping fragments
Of my head out the door
And the ice it burns upon my forehead
The calmness starts to scream
Must I always hold the upright
When my soul longs to dream
Chorus:
Is it too much to find an answer
Is it too much to hold you close
Is it too much to find a reason
Is it too much to free my soul
From self control
I cant get it any better
I always end up killing time
Time for love and time for living
Time to find whats really mine
Chorus twice
And I know youre always waiting for me
You take me far away
And I know youre holding me
And its better now . . .
And its better now . . .
And its better now . . .

song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fragments

the fragments
of glass
lay on the floor

some parts
of us are
hidden

red wine stains
and petals
of a yellow daffodil

a window
opening to the blue
sky

night as dark as
my black
underwear

some stars
begin to glow

from your eyes
as i wait

asking for
some answers

i go outside
looking for you

this is the hub
of the city

i am silent
walking alone
along its
crowded streets

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Normally, we are happy to find a fragment of jaw, a few isolated teeth, a bit of an arm, a bit of a skull. But to find associated body parts is extremely rare.

quote by Donald Johanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fragrants of my heart

Scooping up the dyed pieces dried stiff,
From the burning sun that is yet young,
Swift time command that nothing be lost,
And took faith to where the wind has blown.

Our dreams and hopes away from the course,
To collect all the fragments our thoughts own,
In burning pain, when residue silence eclipse,
The forlorn path our marred visage has worn.

We look at defeat with pools of citadel eyes,
Arch back determine to complete the sentence,
And remember how love was like a daunting quiz,
Where youthful time and words made no sense.

And having found too, my heart was broken,
Just as those brunt pieces became blunt,
I stoop to mend, in borrowed feelings began,
Slowly to collect the fragments of my heart.

And close emotions where other doors open,
For a new entrance into my shrouded soul,
Betrayal bruises the air with every breath taken,
Fragments of our lives throughout the world.

Trail with participle phrase and Reciprocate,
Against the wretched barriers and angry fire,
In lonely afterthought every pain fixes the subordinate,
Until winding time became the only obvious healer.

poem by Gerry Legister
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A Silken Cloth

Sometimes we look but cannot see
the beauty there before us.
Sometimes we let go of something
we should have hung onto.
This happens all the time
concerning matters of the heart.

Sometimes our head rules our heart
and something wonderful is lost.
In the years that follow,
we live with our regret
of not following our heart
instead of following our head.

We reflect in our memories
making up what might have been,
when it is too late for us
to turn back the clock.
Always wondering what would have happened
if we had followed our heart.

We cannot foresee the future
and our destiny is always shrouded
within a silken cloth.
We can only go where
our future plans to lead us,
and our destiny is written.

Our what ifs and wonderings
are just fragments of our dreams.
Reality is where we live
and our time is mapped out
in a future shrouded
within a silken cloth.

26 September 2011

poem by David Harris
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Sceletons Of Society

Minutes seem like days
Since fire ruled the sky
The rich became the beggars
And the fools became the wise
Memories linger in my brain
Of burning from the acid rain
A pain I never have won

Nothing here remains
No future and no past
No one could foresee
The end that came so fast
Hear the prophet make his guess
That paradise lies to the west
So join his quest for the sun

Shades of death are all I see
Fragments of what used to be

The world slowly decays
Destruction fills my eyes
Harboring the image
Of a spiraling demise
Burning winds release they fury
Simulating judge and jury
Drifting flurries of pain

Deafening silence reigns
As twilight fills the sky
Eventual supremacy
Daylight waits to die
Darkness always calls my name
A pawn in this recurring game
Humanity going insane

Shades of death are all I see
Fragments of what used to be

Minutes seem like days
Corrosion fills the sky
Morbid dreams of anarchy
Brought judgement in disguise
Memories linger in my brain
Life with nothing more to gain
Perpetual madness remains

Shades of death are all I see
Skeletons of society
Fragments of what used to be
Skeletons of society

song performed by by Slayer from Seasons In The Abyss
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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Sappho To Artemis Reevaluated

Sappho so much lost,
so little extant,
like all great classical
Greek minds dilute

poets playwrights
historians writers,
curse of scribal culture,
wars fragmenting papyrus

Sappho partially entombed
in own verse body poetic
survival whims spay frayed fate
incomplete fragments scanned

in 600 BC you invoke verse
as devotee to goddess Artemis
in 2010 AD images are read words
internet computer generated

we strive to scan the gap of ages
antique age medicine science religion
all one mind embodied unified reality
parallels modern great god science

your belief was absolute imbued the air
all you thought ate breathed embodied god
heralded scientific age worships technology
communication dissipates into individualism

fragmented extravagant intemperate soulless
society indulges intemperate pursuit of pleasure

poem by Terence George Craddock
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