Poems

14 • metaphor

you try to piece together
a thousand machine-cut, polished
pieces of moon
jigsaw
the moon's in the middle
slightly to the left, like a heart

the rim of the heart is cloudy
concealing needles of starlight that pierce the darkness
(walking barefoot across them
would definitely hurt)
these clouds, nebulae
this chaos you know
is delight, part of the game
a necessary confusion
you try to piece together the round of the moon
         (why is the moon out of shape
         cracked
         won't fit together?)

the moon says things were like this to begin with -
scattered
a thousand pieces of moon cluttering the bed
you are trapped in the moon
in your own
chaotic imagery

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Comments (3)

the impossible game

Thank you for sharing such a good poem and meaning. Hope you can compose more with more topics to expand. Wish you more success!bouncing balls

Peter Mullins

After further work…

Around beam-barricaded
bedsides, shards of crafted light
wait to pierce through naked soles,
yet look left, just off centre,
roughly where the heart should be,
a chaos-cluster spews, foals,
cloudy-edged, joyous, required
confusion’s wild scattering;
the still pools, the perfect bowls
of your imagination,
have been, the moon says, the snare
for jigsaw habited souls:
a thousand splinters of moon
will not piece together whole.

Peter Mullins

A thousand splinters of moon will not piece together whole. Beam-barricaded bedsides are where shards of crafted light wait to pierce each naked sole, yet look left, just off centre, roughly where the heart should be, where the chaos-clusters foal, cloudly-edged, joyous, and free, while image-confusion traps each jigsaw obsessive soul. A thousand splinters of moon will not piece together whole.

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