in the pleasure of discovering
words rhymes rhythms
i'm a gluttonous poet.

day and night
bite of my growing appetite
makes me sink low

i don't notice
broken pieces
shattered peaces
around me

i breathe in writing
eat and drink
poetry

crazed obsessed stressed
my poetry
like any other debauchery
is an escape ride
someplace to hide

i'm a poet
subservient
to the pleasures of words rhymes rhythms.

The flickering light of the lantern’s flame
lays lightly upon the lingering stream.
I do not know where the water leads,
but I’ll drink my fill till the aches subside.
The moss grows rampant among the trees
in this mighty forest that eyes have forgot.
And still I sit, watching it grow
until the words in the songs of birds grow clear.
The heartbeat of the soil slowly churns
beneath my bunions and well-traversed heels.
The sky won’t fall, so I have time to wait.
Just like the ferry, tethered to the old dying walnut.

my friends, my friends
we are birds on power lines
huddled for warmth
specks against the grey
surrounded by the late october gloom
and the steam rising up from the gutters
we are restless and sour
eyes pointing outward
-
every step
every teensy, solitary step
sealed with egg shell footprints
womb nostalgia
tenderness found in autumn colored flashes,
moth-wick sparkles, and fried dandelion blossoms
we remember our grandmas’ knuckles,
chipped tiles on the kitchen floor
-
my dear, my dear
we are stray brown tabbies
bellowing rumble, ears stripped of fur
settled into our corner of the front porch
once we were roustabouts;
waltzing to the waxing and wane
carpeted floors gave way to concrete chill
but now the summers seem longer
-
the smell of cardboard,
cinder block walls, and duck pond water
stale memories with naked omens
we turn to face the chilling draft;
tomorrow
harping on and on about grey areas
while we kick up alley gravel
balanced by surface tension
-
under quilts counting freckles
plasma paychecks peddling uphill

This is not a poem,
but an image representing one.

I am the flightless pelican.
I’ve found myself with my mouth full,
my stomach full, and so much still on my plate.
Possessed by an inhuman hunger,
I will gorge upon pure potential.
I will yowl on and on, without sleep.
-
I have sand between my toes.
My shoes are glued to my feet.
Keep on running ‘til the calluses come.
There has to be a point where I stop to sweat,
and I’ll finally get my sigh of relief.
I have one ride left on my bus pass.
-
I have a tendency to ramble
and languish in my own stench.
People tend to forget this at first;
lured in by the false face of a genetic fluke.
They want to know the impression I left,
not the procrastinator; the cud-chewing goat.
-
I can’t sleep being held,
or if I feel someone’s breath in the still.
I start to feel the urge to burrow
into the quiet quilts; patchwork Promised Land.
I cater to the crowd that caters to themselves,
but I’m no Utilitarian. Fox and Lion.
-
I have cousins like brothers,
and I have brothers like strangers.
Stray cats with names
and a copy of The Mahabharata that I stash my money in.
I’m sitting on a sunny pier with my hook in the water;
avoiding conflict with no bait.  
-
Paper cuts from the gold leaf
on the edges of hymn book pages
with burgundy leather covers.
These guilty cuts, bleeding for what seems like hours,
while we steadily forget that anyone was singing.
Alone with our thoughts in the crowd.

I searched your face for words
as you drummed softly on my knee.
Poetry hidden within your pores.
paints through my mind a melody.

A kiss in the darkness to a new year.
I close my eyes and listen to the beat.
Vibrating colors I see, feel or do I hear?
Inspires me - create something for the Lord:

To see, feel, hear, taste and smell so clear
I give thanks for the way Jesus restores
with blessings, lessons, senses and love so near
Heavenly rewards I will never afford.

your silhouette is a scene of Christ’s creativity.
Those rhythms show sensations that He’s in motion  
your heart-beat sounds of His life giving power.
your lips taste like the sweetness of answered prayers.

I smell His provisions and it is quiet for a moment.
...You're just a man...
But, you make me want to love God more fiercely.
Feelings are fickle compared to Christ, so consistent.

He’s the reasons we’re here, like this.
We may run off time.
He will be the reason when we’re gone.
OH dear, I may run out of sense and rhymes.

His love will remain.

okay so let's just spread some love
if there is a poet on this site who you think is awesome and deserves some recognition, just because, let's brighten someone's day.

So you label it "You Know Who's Awesome?"
and then in the poem section you write their name then you literally just post that. oh and if you want, include their name as a hashtag and in the notes write WHY they are awesome or if you are in a rush you don't need to include hashtags or notes, just announce to the world they are awesome and leave it at that :)

here, I'll start:

You Know Who's Awesome? (sorry, this would normally be the title)

Frank Ruland :)