Best Fragmented Poems
In my thoughts poetic words are swirling, I found writing at an early age,
Tumbling and whirling, like caged birds; Depth of spirit and creativity are mine;
Trapped and reckless to be set free, Memories are free flowing in my words,
I must find paper and pen and release; Deep inspired poetry releases the past;
The fluttering, my muse is screaming, I drift and float, soul searching my inner life,
In my head, or is that me? Meaningful words pour out the sorrow.
I start to write and sad poems come, I let go of the past, I let the pain drift,
Creeping, word bleeding on paper; I lay each sorrowful and weeping word bare;
Oh do all poets struggle or just me? Bleeding upon a white page of paper,
And as I pen my verse, I weep. My poems are full of tears and memories.
The writing done, I sigh a tear, I have laid open this heart for all to see,
My muse has set me free; The story of my life can be found easily;
Memories are all I have, Photographs that float in my dreamy thoughts,
And the rain is falling down. The tomb is wet, so dark, so cold.
The pages of my life fluttering, Words deep engraved for all eternity,
Past the ornate gate; The wind takes my long hair and trees tremble;
Voices and murmurs calling me, Past the ornate gate and winding road,
I kiss dead lips and caress cold hands. I so often stand in this place of sorrow.
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September 26, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/Cracked and Fragmented Words
Copyright Protected, ID 15- 712-305-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Inspired by the poem Crack like fissures written by Richard Lamoureux
My fractured head, my rough- hewn eyes
Dismembered parts of a dissociated mind
My body severed like Kandinsky’s art.
Spread across a canvas
Corner to sharp corner
Leave no space unfilled
But nothing touches,
Nothing resembles its former self
Yet all pieces can see all others
Contained for now
Within the borders of a frame
But floundering in a cosmos of
A jagged life.
Let all the pieces land.
Ephemeral in the sand
Here today, gone tomorrow,
But no, it seems a sharded edge must cut another slice of day
Bring in a cello, a vase of deathly violets
Obscurise them, nothing can be what it was
From the Old Order must be drawn a New Meaning
It is an old dream, brown, crumbling at edges,
best that I leave this old dream undisturbed -
I am the dream,
it whispers soft.
I wrestle with the covers pushing it away,
but the ghosts of the past still come drifting;
they come like a silent crowd in the night,
so many come to haunt me, maybe forever.
Do other people have these too,
these frequent nighttime ghost whispers?
I am the dream,
of your regrets.
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May 27, 2018
Poetry/Verse/I am the Dream
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1026-473-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
My invention - Fragmented Verse
12 lines, 4 verses, includes indention on some lines
Indented lines 26/28 8/8 26/28
Line 9 and 10 - a question ?
Syllables- 12/10/4/4 12/10/10/12 8/8 4/4
In my thoughts poetic words are swirling,
tumbling and whirling like caged birds;
trapped and demanding to be free,
Oh, I must find paper and pen to release them.
My muse is screaming and words are fluttering,
in my head or is that my heart;
I start to write and sad poems come,
words bleeding and dripping from my pen.
Do all poets struggle just like me,
as I pen my words and weep;
the writing done I sigh the pain,
my muse has been set free for now.
Memories are all I have,
and the rain is falling outside my window;
and the pages of my life flutter,
past the ornate gate where voices murmur;
and at night I kiss dead lips and withered hands.
Crushed under the hand of fate,
misery shadows my day.
For looking into your eyes,
I saw hope crumbling away.
Fragmented fantasies morphed
into long-forgotten fears.
And dreams began to flounder,
in a sea of fallen tears.
When feelings felt out of place,
suspicions began to rise.
And yet, ignoring the truth,
I closed my eyes to your lies.
But now that you have left me,
my whole world's falling apart.
And I don't know what to do,
or even worse, where to start.
(Quatrain)
10/21/2015
Half a year ago we were in bed and in love.
Insistent lips danced between sunshine smiles.
Our hands entwined;
the clock’s marched.
Beside dreams of a white dress and honey kisses,
my winter coat now withers on the floor.
The tundra of cold sheets between us grows
while echoes of bitter words chap my face.
We both know that seasons must change,
but why must you too, my darling?
Love, like summer,
succumbs to time.
2/25/2021-- written for Emile Pinet's contest-- fragmented verse
The forest was lush green and dripping of moss and rain,
Glittering glass streams meandered past dark foliage and trees;
And wild flowers dropped their petals into the water,
Where they drifted down waterfalls into sapphire blue lakes.
I listened deeply to the rippling water kissing the wet rocks,
And the forest was loudly chirping and breathing and beckoning me;
Then I heard my name being called from a faraway place,
It undulated in the tangled branches and whispered on the wind.
The voice called my name over and over and I ran towards it,
My sobbing a loud moaning wail lost in the vast forest and streams;
And it was dark night, the blue sky had withered away,
The stars trembled as I ran through the maze, calling out for mother . . .
Then, I awoke, weeping.
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November 4, 2013
Poetry/Verse/Fragmented Dream
Copyright Protected, ID 11-517-299-04
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La FRance
Submitted to the Premier contest, Mid August 2018
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 2018
Fourth Place
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Featured poem - February 23, 2014
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Written for the contest, Poem of the Week,
Sponsor, Poet Destroyer, Judged 2013
Honourable Mention
I met my maker on Halloween night, Halloween night, a night for horror,
It was an unnatural death; It was full of fright;
Death met me in a maple forest, The rain was falling,
On the edge of town. Oh the night was so dark.
I lay in the brittle leaves, I heard a man's harsh breath,
My eyes stared in horror; The forest was full of fog;
It was a violent death, A Dracula came with sharp teeth,
A dark veil of hair across my eyes. I had seen his dark silhouette following.
Stars twinkled down on me, Why had I come for a walk,
I looked beautiful, except; The man had skin so white;
I was dead, I should have run away,
It was a small wound. When he reached for me, I screamed.
All my blood was drained, A mere mark on my white throat,
I was a fool; To go walking on Halloween night alone:
And why this maple forest, With every form of ghost and vampire lurking,
They took me to the morgue. Draped my body in a sheet.
Oh I was white, And that sheet was white,
And I lay there waiting; Then I felt the sheet being pulled away;
I had an odd feeling, I felt his wrist on my lips,
Then I was drinking with thirst. And I knew I would be forever, undead.
______________________________
Oct0ber 2, 2015
Free Verse
For the contest, Your Own Favourite Halloween Poem
Sponsor, Carol Eastman
First Place
Most people in denial of world pollution,
are they blindfolded, what other reasons?
as messenger,
I beg all heed!
mechanically, chemically, killing life,
seas, oceans, lakes, rivers, hear nature scream,
in the process of a mass extinction,
do not stay in denial, shed your blindfolds, please!
I am a messenger, harken,
natures word's, her truth I do speak,
humanity,
she cries for it!
Fragmented Verse Poetry Contest - Sponsored by Broken Wings- Dear Heart
6/24/18
2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 22
Contest Judged: 10/22/2025 8:59:00 AM
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
( 1st Place )
Written: October 16, 2025
I gather the pieces of myself
glass scattered at twilight,
each shard reflecting a version of you,
I never got to keep.
You move through me
as second nature,
love only a mirror
of your own desire.
I bleed silently…
my veins a quiet maps of memories,
my heart a church with broken pews,
its pews empty, save for echoes
of hymns we never sang.
If love is communion:
I am the wafer-
torn, chewed,
passed along,
never whole again.
The wind drags your absence
through the hollows of my ribs
and yet I stretch,
toward the warmth of a hand that stays,
toward a voice
gentle enough to hold me whole,
not one that tears
or leaves me scattered on cold stone.
I walk alongside the pieces of myself,
letting the light find their edges,
to see within the fractures
a quiet strength returning shape.
If someone looks my way…
these scattered shards will gleam,
exposing the self,
reborn from what lingers.
And if I fall again,
I will rise—
step by jagged step,
piece by fragile piece,
until the horizon is mine to claim,
until my heart learns to be a home
again,
a cathedral of light.
Fragmented
By Nathan Hannen
In this gentle dream I glide through sleepy air
On through what is right and the devils lair
With no realization of time as a constant amount
The idea of reasoning, Paramount
Paralysed by the inability to see straight through black
Beautifully protected though in visions of attack
I wake
The End.
I am lost in my thoughts
musing and pondering feelings
and in my contemplation thoughts crumple
reveries crumbling with age- frail and weak
falling into fragments
just threads of my decaying memories
from the many corridors of my mind
and I write words . . .
that crash together- fold and curl
I crumple the paper
casting it to the floor to wither and die
papers gather wrinkled, crinkled
I, daydream in deep thoughts . . .
of time, places, faces
silent thoughts -jumbled knots
brooding thoughts . . . crumbled pieces broken
I pick up my pen to write of shadows
twisting, twirling, and whirling inside me
but words disintegrate
and I tear the page into tiny fragments
I am struggling to find a dream, I dreamt
or memory . . . .
thoughts are gathering again
(quick, quick pick up the pen)
write- write before the thought is lost again
this fragile seed growing wild now
oh, thoughts are kisses . . . .
that come drifting
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January 9, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/fragmented thoughts
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1319-783-09
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Crumpled Thoughts
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 01/16/2021
First Place
I think sometimes,
in an effort to sell reflections
of life,
egotistic mirrors
break themselves
into a million pieces.
Fractured verses,
bent and poisoned,
deformed from the ill-treatment
of delicate lines;
echoes of poetry.
©All rights reserved. Author Marcela Villar M. 2014
I pose, clad fully with a spinal disorder
Music flows in my blood and I wana dance to India’s border
I wana sway my hips
When I hear sexy beats
But this pain makes me feel like flat soda
I peek through the window and I see your grey car
Please, hold me close tonight in a dance
Don’t be a miser and let it brew in to full romance
This desire pines deep; piercing my soul
To be able to groove with the rain, my only goal
I wana feel the lifts of your powerful arm
Dance with me to Paris; give this pounding heart some calm
Hold me closer than close tonight
And I swear I will be your Ballerina delight
Gently Kiss my rosy belly ring
And I will on your thighs wildly swing
Tug me close and push me away, never
In your love; whirl me forever.
LIVES NO LONGER FRAGMENTED
Their lives in fragments, no longer,
they've left, "Valley of Shame".
They're no longer "Nobody,"
they're somebody ... with a name.
They're a composite of females,
complexions of all hues.
Variety of nationalities,
"entitled" ... paid their dues.
Don't assume women illiterate,
or of a lower class.
That they are "ladies of the street",
or girls ... living too fast.
Don't assume and don't imagine,
worst lifestyles, daily see.
These are ordinary females,
ladies ... like you and me.
Framented by something in life,
heart and essence erased.
In past, saw themselves invisible,
no soul, no heart ... no face.
September 17, 2020