Puzzle Fizzle

Puzzle Fizzle (a poem about pieces)

When life shatters into a potpourri of pieces,

One must pick up possibilities,

And puzzle them back together… into poetry.


Yesterday was the bottom of the valley of a hard week.  I have to climb another mountain to get out.  And I can’t afford the psychiatrist I need because the health insurance we have gave us strict guidelines to follow for choosing one, and no one in our area fits their requirements.  My car is showing warning lights again, and I am afraid to take it in.  It runs fine.  But I don’t need that warning light giving any of the local mechanics the idea that they can charge me large fees for car parts and service hours when they might not actually be needed.  Money is running out and I do not have the good enough health required to get even a part time job.  I write a lot.  But my writing career at this point is an expense, not an income.  Many shattered pieces to this puzzle.  But I did finish the putting together of the latest grand Paffooney, the portrait of Mary and the Invisible Captain Dettbarn.

Mary and the Captain

So, how will I put everything back together?  My family depends on me doing so.  The old puzzle piecer must never give up and must always keep puzzling, fitting bizarre piece to jagged hole.  You may have noticed that this post is short of the 500-word goal, but a picture is worth a thousand words, and I have created two original pictures for this post.  And there is poetry pieced together by the penultimate alliteration of the proud letter “P”.


Filed under humor, Paffooney, poetry

7 responses to “Puzzle Fizzle

  1. One piece at a time my friend. It will take shape.

  2. It may interest you to know that the biggest problem of this week is now solved. I made that piece fit!

    • Excellent. I am glad you solved your personal puzzle. When I was little, I loved jigsaw puzzles. It continued into my adult life when my kids were young. My passion waned with my eyesight and older bones sitting doing puzzles.

      • My sisters and I usually do a puzzle or two every summer at family reunions in Iowa. We nickname various recurring shapes to make them easier to sort and match quickly. We call them “bug-heads”, “cowboys”, “club-foots”, “club-foot-cowboys”, “three-headed-cowboys”, “angels”, “two-headed angels”, “club-foot angels”, “double bug-heads”, and “flowers”, among other things. People watch us and get a kick out of our wacky “puzzle language”. I also tell jokes and my sisters either laugh or hit me. (I may have to write a post about this before 2015 is over.)

  3. I don’t find pleasure in your troubles, but I do enjoy your writing.

    • It is ironic, but some of my best writing comes about because of my troubles. It is therapy as well as a necessary daily routine. And it;s okay if you enjoy it, because my writing about it means I’ve already survived it.

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