Puzzle Pieces

[RSaba]

I'm looking for feedback on this - first poem I have written in several months, feeling a bit rusty. Fire away!

Puzzle Pieces (v. 2)


I’ve been sitting here for hours now,

right foot falling asleep under my left thigh,
toes twitching with a need to stand up
that I can’t seem to answer.
My bones quiver, my collarbone shifts,
my ribs creak and my spine straightens,
keeping my head upright
as it turns toward the window
and sighs heavily,
as if it’s been here one too many times.
The curtain whispers in my ear,
the single-paned window rattles softly
against my knuckles, and my fingers move
like the legs of a spider
as he drops down from the ceiling.
I describe my body slowly,
from head to toe,
as if doing this will make it real,
as if taking control of my image could somehow
give me control of my life, of my movement,
and of my thoughts.
I describe my body from outside,
from above, as if I were a puzzle
to be solved, to be broken and made whole
again and again, until pieces begin to disappear
behind the furniture, and frustration appears in the spaces
left by those small fractions of me that meant nothing much
until they were gone.
You weren’t just one of those pieces.
You were the straight edge, the corners,
the definition and the safety
that kept the wayward parts of this puzzle
from escaping into the dust and dirt.
You were the last piece, the satisfaction,
the beginning and the end, the metaphor
for sanity that made all too much sense to me
as this description of my body fades into the darkness
of my mind and those puzzle pieces are lost in the cracks
while you are lost to me in the real world
and I am coming apart, piece by piece,
swallowed by the furniture and the grass,
the concrete and the rushing water
and the wind that pulled my hair from my face
as I kissed you good-bye
as if to say,
“Make this perfect,
just in case.”
 




Puzzle Pieces (original)

I’ve been sitting here for hours now,

right foot falling asleep under the weight of my left thigh,

toes twitching with a need to stand up

that I can’t seem to answer.

My bones quiver, my collarbone shifts,

my ribs creak and my spine lifts itself

away from the muscle that binds me to the floor,

winding its way up my back and keeping my head upright

as it turns toward the window once more

and sighs, not audibly,

but still heavily, as if it’s done this

one too many times.

The curtain whispers in my ear,

the single-paned window rattles softly

against my knuckles, and my fingers move

like the legs of a spider as he drops from the ceiling

and makes his way down to the floor.

I describe my body slowly, from head to toe

and back again,

as if doing this will make it real,

as if taking control of my image could somehow

give me control of my life, of my movement,

and of my thoughts.

I describe my body as if from outside,

as if from above, as if I were a puzzle

to be solved, to be broken and made whole

again and again, until pieces begin to disappear

behind the furniture, and frustration appears in the spaces

left by those small fractions of me that meant nothing much

until they were gone.

You weren’t just one of those pieces.

You were the straight edge, the corners,

the definition and the safety

that finished this puzzle and kept those wayward parts

from escaping into the dust and dirt.

You were the last piece, the satisfaction,

the beginning and the end, the metaphor

for sanity that made all too much sense to me

as this description of my body fades into the darkness

of my mind and those puzzle pieces are lost to me in the cracks

while you are lost to me in the real world

and I am coming apart, piece by piece,

swallowed by the furniture and the grass,

the concrete and the rushing water

and the wind that pulled my hair from my face

as I kissed you good-bye

as if to say,

“Make this perfect,

just in case.”

[rowens]

that finished this puzzle and kept those wayward parts

from escaping into the dust and dirt.

You were the last piece, the satisfaction,

the beginning and the end, the metaphor


I like that part. And I like this poem especially because of that part. I can't say that, because you posted this in Serious, and that says that you are as confident as a person on this site can be without being confident enough not to have to ask anyone on a website if it's good enough. And maybe it's not good enough, but I can't say that. If I were to say it was good enough just based on the draft you alone created, you would think less of me; and having seen your photograph, I don't want you to think so badly of me.

as it turns toward the window once more

and sighs, not audibly,

but still heavily, as if it’s done this

one too many times.

I like that. Why?


The curtain whispers in my ear,

the single-paned window rattles softly

against my knuckles, and my fingers move

like the legs of a spider as he drops from the ceiling

and makes his way down to the floor.

I describe my body slowly

I like that too.

I don't want to rearrange your poem to the point that I would have made it myself. And I kind of want you to wonder why I like those parts. Or why anyone might like those parts, though it might just be I like them for personal reasons which is even more reason for you to wonder about them.

“Make this perfect,

just in case.”

When I got to the end, I liked that. How you ended it. I might not have said enough, but I'm not done yet. It's the Internet, so I sometimes have to come back and make more comments. The Internet makes it sometimes seem that I've said enough, although I knew all the while that I haven't. But I don't claim that I've said enough. Nor that I'm not coming back, to read it again, and to maybe have something better to say.

[ray]

Hello RSaba. The poem seems to take an awful long time to get to this

I describe my body slowly, from head to toe

which is where I thought it took off/got interesting. My opinion is that what went before should be truncated, at least. This section below is nicely done, though I think parts would be better than fractions. Nobody refers to jigsaw fractions.

until pieces begin to disappear

behind the furniture, and frustration appears in the spaces


left by those small fractions of me that meant nothing much

until they were gone.

Can someone be the straight edges, the corners and the last piece as well? Perhaps. I'd have been satisfied with just the former.
I'm not so keen on the closing 2 lines. They seem vague when they could have been specific and continue the puzzle theme.

Title - It Takes Me Hours







 

[Wjames]

I'm looking for feedback on this - first poem I have written in several months, feeling a bit rusty. Fire away!


Puzzle Pieces (hoping for an alternate title)


I’ve been sitting here for hours now,

right foot falling asleep under the weight of my left thigh,

toes twitching with a need to stand up

that I can’t seem to answer.

My bones quiver, my collarbone shifts,

my ribs creak and my spine lifts itself

away from the muscle that binds me to the floor,

winding its way up my back and keeping my head upright

as it turns toward the window once more

and sighs, not audibly,

but still heavily, as if it’s done this

one too many times. I can feel the frustration and lack of control in this sentence, but I can't understand/paint a picture of what's actually supposed to be going on.

The curtain whispers in my ear,

the single-paned window rattles softly

against my knuckles, and my fingers move

like the legs of a spider as he drops from the ceiling

and makes his way down to the floor. I don't think you need "down" here. I think you're describing searching behind a couch or something for a missing puzzle piece, but I could be wrong.

I describe my body slowly, from head to toe

and back again,

as if doing this will make it real,

as if taking control of my image could somehow

give me control of my life, of my movement,

and of my thoughts. It does feel like this sentence is where the meat of the poem really starts.

I describe my body as if from outside,

as if from above, as if I were a puzzle You use "as if" 5 times in a short span, you could change some of them if you want to.


to be solved, to be broken and made whole

again and again, until pieces begin to disappear

behind the furniture, and frustration appears in the spaces

left by those small fractions of me that meant nothing much

until they were gone.

You weren’t just one of those pieces.

You were the straight edge, the corners,

the definition and the safety

that finished this puzzle and kept those wayward parts

from escaping into the dust and dirt. I don't think you need "the".

You were the last piece, the satisfaction,

the beginning and the end, the metaphor

for sanity that made all too much sense to me

as this description of my body fades into the darkness

of my mind and those puzzle pieces are lost to me in the cracks I like this line better without "to me".

while you are lost to me in the real world

and I am coming apart, piece by piece,

swallowed by the furniture and the grass,

the concrete and the rushing water I think you could cut the four "the's" here.

and the wind that pulled my hair from my face

as I kissed you good-bye

as if to say,

“Make this perfect,

just in case.” Great ending.

I think it's a really good poem, but the first three sentences do seem a little bit long to me. They do set-up the atmosphere of frustration nicely, but I think you could cut some of it out without really taking much away from the poem. Aside from that, the only nits I have are little things that might tidy up the poem a bit.

Potential Titles:

Beneath the Couch

Caked in Dust

Incomplete

[rowens]

I’ve been sitting here for hours now,

right foot falling asleep under the weight of my left thigh,

toes twitching with a need to stand up

that I can’t seem to answer.

My bones quiver, my collarbone shifts,


Some people like to trim their poems of word excess I guess. But I think more words add to the poem. The feeling of waiting, of being stuck.
The "here" in the first line; the "seem to" in the can't seem to answer line. I think things like that add to the poem, the way it's spoken. There are more words like that throughout it.
I still want to say more. So plan on doing it.
Do you have any second thoughts about the poem, or any new ideas yet?

[rowens]

as if I were a puzzle

to be solved, to be broken and made whole

again and again, until pieces begin to disappear

behind the furniture, and frustration appears in the spaces

left by those small fractions of me that meant nothing much

until they were gone.

You weren’t just one of those pieces.

You were the straight edge, the corners,

the definition and the safety

that finished this puzzle and kept those wayward parts

from escaping into the dust and dirt.

You were the last piece, the satisfaction,

the beginning and the end, the metaphor

for sanity that made all too much sense to me

as this description of my body fades into the darkness

of my mind and those puzzle pieces are lost to me in the cracks

while you are lost to me in the real world

and I am coming apart, piece by piece,

swallowed by the furniture and the grass


I like all of that bit. The only part I wondered about was the "again and again", that's really the only part where I thought there could be less words, it could just say

I describe my body as if from outside,

as if from above, as if I were a puzzle

to be solved, to be broken and made whole

again, until pieces begin to disappear

But what do you think?

[RSaba]

Thanks for all the feedback guys (esp. rowens: 3 posts!). I'll update it once I've done some edits.

[rowens]

Well, the first post was mostly about myself. And the other two were pretty short. I liked the poem, and didn't want to say much to influence what you did with it, but wanted to say enough to make you wonder if you should do more with it.

[RSaba]

Alright, I've got a second version up. Thanks guys!

[coy]

I'm looking for feedback on this - first poem I have written in several months, feeling a bit rusty. Fire away!

Puzzle Pieces (v. 2)


I’ve been sitting here for hours now,

right foot falling asleep under my left thigh,
toes twitching with a need to stand up
that I can’t seem to answer. use a stronger word than answer.
My bones quiver, my collarbone shifts,
my ribs creak and my spine straightens,
keeping my head upright
as it turns toward the window
and sighs heavily,
as if it’s been here one too many times.
The curtain whispers in my ear,
the single-paned window rattles softly
against my knuckles. and My fingers move I felt that sentence dragged on much too long and reads easier without 'and'. I put a period after knuckles for you to consider
like the legs of a spider
as he drops down from the ceiling.
I describe my body slowly,
from head to toe,
as if doing this will make it real,
as if taking control of my image could somehow
give me control of my life, of my movement,
and of my thoughts.
I describe my body from outside,
from above, as if I were a puzzle
to be solved, to be broken and made whole
again and again, until pieces begin to disappear
behind the furniture, and frustration appears in the spaces
left by those small fractions of me that meant nothing much
until they were gone.
consider a new stanza here for the idea shift.

You weren’t just one of those pieces.
You were the straight edge, the corners,you're attributing him -- a single person -- to all the corners?
the definition and the safety
that kept the wayward parts of this puzzle
from escaping into the dust and dirt.
You were the last piece, the satisfaction, and now here he is regarded as an individual piece, the last piece. You see the logical inconsistency, right?
the beginning and the end, the metaphor
for sanity that made all too much sense to me clunky, unneeded words.
as this description of my body fades into the darkness.
i personally would put a period at the end of line above and end the poem here. you most likely won't do that, but i thought i'd share my thoughts.

 

Solid writing, accessible theme, not many changes necessary. Enjoyed the read!

[rowens]

I’ve been sitting here for hours now,

right foot falling asleep under my left thigh,
toes twitching with a need to stand up
that I can’t seem to answer.

I've been sitting here for hours,
foot falling asleep under my thigh,
toes twitching with the need to stand


Is the right foot, left thigh significant? The pointing out of it?
Have you flirted with many minor changes? Things that might add or subtract?



My bones quiver, my collarbone shifts,
my ribs creak and my spine straightens,
keeping my head upright
as it turns toward the window
and sighs heavily,
as if it’s been here one too many times.
The curtain whispers in my ear,
the single-paned window rattles softly
against my knuckles, and my fingers move
like the legs of a spider
as he drops down from the ceiling.
I describe my body slowly,
from head to toe,
as if doing this will make it real,
as if taking control of my image could somehow
give me control of my life, of my movement,
and of my thoughts.
I describe my body from outside,
from above, as if I were a puzzle
to be solved, to be broken and made whole
again and again, until pieces begin to disappear
behind the furniture, and frustration appears in the spaces
left by those small fractions of me that meant nothing much
until they were gone.
You weren’t just one of those pieces.
You were the straight edge, the corners,
the definition and the safety
that kept the wayward parts of this puzzle
from escaping into the dust and dirt.
You were the last piece, the satisfaction,
the beginning and the end, the metaphor
for sanity that made all too much sense to me
as this description of my body fades into the darkness
of my mind and those puzzle pieces are lost in the cracks
while you are lost to me in the real world
and I am coming apart, piece by piece,
swallowed by the furniture and the grass,
the concrete and the rushing water
and the wind that pulled my hair from my face
as I kissed you good-bye
as if to say,
“Make this perfect,
just in case.”
 

Again, I'll come back to this, in its second version. It's a lot to think about, especially before you get down to "as if I were a puzzle".