I was making out a list of things I am grateful for which includes many things but I will list a few:
   Family
   Good friends
   Friends here on Hello Poetry
It made me think that one person on Hello Poetry deserves my Thank You and the Thank You of all of us here on Hello Poetry, the founder Eliot York who faithfully maintains this site that we all utilize. We might not always think about expressing gratitude for this site that we enjoy so much. There is no time like the present to do so.
Here's a Shout out to Eliot York who is responsible for all of us having this Great site to use to share our poetry!
With sincere, Gratitude this Shout out of Thanks goes to You!

“I have something for you to remember me by,” said Tim.

    He held a little foam Hippo – the lone play animal supplied by the loonybin to patients in need.

     It was brand new – just as every Hippo looked – and I wondered why he’d chosen something seemingly impersonal in comparison to his other, odd gifts.

     However, what he did next made his hippo – my hippo – absolutely ideal. To people like Tim and I, that is.

     For, to my astonishment, he casually took the toy in his hands, twisted, and ripped it cleanly  in two.

     He ripped off its head, which he gave to me, whilst he kept the body.

    I will never get rid of that mutilated, foam hippo head. For he understood what no one else had ever come near.

     In this way – perhaps – Tim and I became synonyms. Synonyms for what ignorant perceptions would later christen ******, or merely, crazy (the latter - coined by those who remain too depressingly colloquial to invent unfounded diagnoses).

     These epithets, catalyzed post personifying such societal taboos as Tim or I committed, follow me still, and have yet to disperse.
  
     A criticaster disaster, personified.

     Yes; in this way – Tim and I became synonymously insane.


•

Enormous earth
Crawling over water,
The eagle's flap is a whirlwind
Across sudden forests,
Tops like pointed greenery
And formidable roots.

She is caught in the moonlit aureole,
Shimmering like waves on stars,
The wears her flattery,
The echoes of enchantment.

Stilled in a frame, through a window,
Adrift in the generations of home,
Wrapped in memory, a picture
Remains,

Visions like a poet in a new world
Held captivated by the blue sun
In the diamond reflecting reflections
In the depths of the endless Word.

Like ashes swarming
Sunken in the debris of the form,
Or even the crossroads
Where a stop is received open,
Holding the pace bearing down
On one's reach, far out in the distance;

Where am I going in a rushing brush with life?

The question questions the self,
An answer spades the mirror,
So quick like a plume of smoke
Out of a hurried motor,
The comet that comes and goes
Slicing generations in waiting,
To and from encircling eternal likenesses,
Uncertain about Faith's certainties,
the ceaseless wheel keeps spinning,
A dizzying compass.

The why is immobile, the what is is the experience.

I half shed a tear when another
Bites the immortal dust,
What is a damp ravine drawn
At the cliff of a road lined with stones?
All is erosional,
The enormous draws out endlessly
With poignant time,
So I pace myself
Down to the exploding minute,
Because time only burns
But never passes.....

I grew wings
For you,
And became an impatient moth
Circling your fiery brand.
      
And I became like water,
Your thirst from the storm,
Daily you drank of me,
The drought in my body.

So I became a wild dahlia,
And you cut me from the stem,
The flower that grew had not yet
Known what it was to bloom.

    Devastate me,
I am blessed with every wound
Your love opens, blessed is your knife,
And praise the alter, I await.

      Cut me a thousand times,
     I am your crimsoned lover,
The rose blood is flowing with your
Everything, I bleed deeply.

      Instead of a ring of promise
Love, I will make a ring of thorns,
I will wear a necklace anchors,
They would drown me into you.

      Devastated:
You will see me smile,
You will see me hurting.

      And when you realize the love,
You will cry for me,
And you will be mine forever.

In the end
I was, but I will cease to be,
A thought on the project called life.
And the thirst for answers
We don't know to ask,
Abandoned by time.

I am not what I was when I was born,
I have become someone else
In the elastic anxiety,
Which was really nothing to worry about.

What is beautiful
That is infinite,
Fleetingly we were all magnificent
In the oblivion,
        Death is a contrast,
Unlike life where nothing is guaranteed,
A revelation to our defined being.

    In the end
We we figure out the answer
To the questions that should
Not be asked,
Posthumous wisdom.

Dear eliot@hellopoetry.com
how does it feel to control thousands of poem
to decide which are good enough to be the poem of the day
have you ever written a poem
was it slam
was it funny
how do you decide who represents their feelings the best
your work seems underrated
so thankyou
thankyou for making the tough decisions

If our love was not
The sleepless lover
Alone in torment,
Alone and questioning;

If the armour were not natural
As it is spiritually connected,
An abyss filling and emptying
At the whim of the lover's presence;

If our love were not
The perfect dream in a life of sorrow,
The missed lover pounding
At the door they closed behind them;

If our love were not some
Anonymous destiny,
Like a godless world guided
By chance lost without
The other but forced to
Live;

If it were not hunger,
The missing touch,
A pillow held tightly, alone;

If our love was the sky
Raining embers of burning joy,
Both a volcanic passion
And an erupting void;

If my touch was not
On your skin,
Then these hands would
Never have touched glory;

If our love
Did not evoke Eros,
If we did not become miracle
And the tragedy;

If my eyes had never lay
Upon you,
Then they would have never ooened;

If your body did not
Humm the electric for me
And only me,
If the hundreds of kisses
I can still feel pressed upon
My like moist and pure
With its eternal surrender;

If our bodies as separately
As together joined in this world,
Naked and glowing,
Two becoming one,
Our last breath the first into
One another,
Then our love is real
And a dream,
Eternal and momentary.

Over the wide cold earth,
You walk back to the door,
By the fleeting pain I endure,
I don't know whether to open
Or close this chapter.
     You come lukewarm in color
And shivering with guilt,
My heart yearns to open the door,
From a word yet to he spoken,
      The essential within which was us
Before you left,
You wear a coat of tears as your
Hand placed flat against the door,
     I feel its presence
And place mine the same.
How much of the soul
      Do you want to **** in me,
To forgive you, to hold you?
Should this be the final sky
    From whence ocean tides once
Touched us, even as gentle air,
Should I open the door in full anguish
In this flowering sorrow,
    My heart nostalgic and broken?