Please God

give me a poet

i scrawl it on the foggy shower door each morn

absurdic or acerbic

i don't care

with or without suitable underwear

one of those dreamy beamy smiling idiots found wandering

eyes looking up and out onto the world less harsh

because his thrilling mind has transubstantiated it

with whimsical verse

or"take no prisoner" risk taking emotion

when ever his pen falls to paper

and begins it's adventurist meandering

he can have a blank verse whimsical flair like Thomas Lux

or a torrid but lightly restrained persona like Pablo Neruda

my table and my appetite is set for either lovely beast

i welcome them to my poetic feast so

Please God

send me a poet

by Nan

http://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/2012/apr/04/poetry-i-think-youre-wonderful/

I think you’re wonderful.

I’m driving my car

and your name is on every mailbox.

I’m kissing you

and my shoes crawl away

in darkness, sweet gadgets

sing in my wrists, the life

I dumped into the river years ago

is reported found in the Philippines....

Why do I tell you this?

Because your lingerie

is burning, because a lone drop

of rain is falling somewhere

above the Sahara, because

I think you’re wonderful.

i adore this poem by..Thomas Lux...it just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy...and is exactly the kind of poet i want...Lord help me....hahahahahaha...

i am happy to see he will be doing some readings of his work here at SDSU Scripps Cottage in early April

another that comes to mind is this one by Pablo Neruda

Bird

It was passed from one bird to another,

the whole gift of the day.

The day went from flute to flute,

went dressed in vegetation,

in flights which opened a tunnel

through the wind would pass

to where birds were breaking open

the dense blue air -

and there, night came in.

When I returned from so many journeys,

I stayed suspended and green

between sun and geography -

I saw how wings worked,

how perfumes are transmitted

by feathery telegraph,

and from above I saw the path,

the springs and the roof tiles,

the fishermen at their trades,

the trousers of the foam;

I saw it all from my green sky.

I had no more alphabet

than the swallows in their courses,

the tiny, shining water

of the small bird on fire

which dances out of the pollen.

Pablo Neruda

and for those of you who want to read community Reader poets more often here's the link http://www.sandiegoreader.com/weblogs/groups/poetry/