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A Second More

Kill me slow
Not as fast
Gun harm bleeding
Out my heart.
You will live a second more
When you end my life

You will live a day or more
Or another eon,
Waiting for what I have found
Right before your gun

I hate sometimes
And love sometimes
I cry and laugh again sometimes.
I hold sometimes
another soul
And promise it myself

I go to bed unsound sometimes

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poem by August Landing
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Interactions

INTERACTIONS Sonnet CCL
Shared dreams shan't interact if to her mind
Address lost lustre, fealty found unsound.
Neverneverland mocks schemes love signed,
Grief supplanting joy's watch overwound.
The dream to gleam as team, live, die for you,
Over, could I feel? Each playful tune
Might atrophy, dream's theme perceived untrue
As bloom doom sentenced 'neath grim gibbous moon,
My work held back from tracked eternity
As mirage fate deflates, time won't ret[r]ain.
Urgent hope wars against great odds, seeks key
Duet no Callas could interpret. Pain,
Expelled from Eden, must ensue, to dust
Change shared goals, souls in harmony? Unjust!

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XXXVII

She seemed to change as if with a change of the wind,
And growing serious sighed, ``Now look,'' she said,
``You think me a mad woman and unkind,
But that is nonsense. I am sound of head
And not unsound of heart, ah, no, not there!
But you turn my head with your John the Baptist's face.
I will not be made jealous, so beware.''
She looked entreatingly as if for grace,
And held me by the arm. ``We are strangers both
Among these heavy Lyonnese. By right
We so should hold together. Tell me truth.
You never saw me, did you, till to--night?''
I said, ``I came here not twelve hours ago!
Why should you think it?'' ``No,'' she broke in, ``no.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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You Can't Take It With You Rob

Rob preferred to be left all on his own
to live his life in his house all alone.
Seeking only to accumulate wealth
even when detrimental to his health.

Eking out a piece of string by the inch
and tear off bits of paper at a pinch.
Bought out of date food because it's cheaper
kept his accounts just like a book-keeper.

'You can't take it all with you, Rob', I said
'Why don't you give it all away instead? '
A philosophy he found so unsound
yet between us a great friendship was found.

But mammon is a hard task master at its best
and took its toll upon him giving him no rest.
God has called him to give account of all he'd done
and his estates' distributed and all has now gone.

poem by Royston
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Outspoken Token Against Unspoken Horrors Bespoken Under the Cloak of War

From atom bomb to sniper's mortal mark
what justifies the twisted logic found
by man - his own worst enemy - who'd sound
his trumpet blast though flound'ring in the dark?
Machiavelli, Bismarck now lie stark,
but blood and iron power plays profound
appear to those who chose high hopes to ground
in tanks and serried ranks, as brutal shark
atop the food-chain profits they'd earmark
to turn stool-pigeon fool to corpse hell-bound.
Through history war's logic raw, unsound,
has channelled aggression more through bite than bark,
living room for dread doom, tomb's question-mark
which hangs on self-made gallow, time unwound.
Unwound or wound? Crime 'gainst humanity,
Freedom, fame, named for blind 'who would not see.'

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Poetry Magazines

Poetry magazines are a lot of poo
They send your poems back to you
With little notes and friendly words
As a poet you`re a wordless nerd

They`d probably send Bill Shakespeare back
And call John Keats a lot of crap
And as for our dear Ezra Pound
I`m sorry sir- you`re so unsound

Your iambs are no good at all
Your prosody a lot of balls
The theme this month is vegetables
From turnips we read nothing at all...

So here`s a tip to all you poets
Forget this literary posh don`t-know-its
Let the people judge what`s good or bad
Here`s to a democratic, international, anti-capital
publisher and magazine free Internet - FREE POETRY

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poem by Leslie Philibert
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Circle unbroken

I remember a day somewhere in time,
Before these words were spoken.
When I was still your little one
And our circle was unbroken.
.
Then I came to the foot of your bed
Watching, , helpless, sighing
Shallow breathing, then a gasp
Then silence. Someone crying.

In this grey world I dressed in black
In somber tones of night
I walked like one still in shock
Uncertain of the light.

Sometimes I sat here in your room
Quiet and alone
As if the presence of your things
Could lure your presence home.

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poem by John F. McCullagh
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Fate's Watershed Awaits Ahead 1722

I who was king, taught all to sing, when Greenland still was green,
scoff at the way most homage pay today to progress crowned.
Fat profit's ring, its scorpion sting shall strike, spike anguish keen,
oh lack a day! Man's lost his way, with motives so unsound.
I who foresaw from shore to shore how wonderlust would mean
no stone unturned, deserved, ill earned, in search of mirage dreams
when rotten core exploits the poor, when little in between
extremes is learned, with justice spurned and bridges burned it seems.

I who remain in etching plain, on bone forever set
call all to see that history for vengeance cries aloud.
Fate's watershed awaits ahead to help this world forget
that man once walked, at nothing balked, to stand out from the crowd,
exploiting earth throughout its girth, ambitions daily whet
by hubris swank and reasons rank, by ways in which rank proud
sought to oppress, yet nonetheless Time, grinning, will not let
poor jokes to last, and very fast shall flood man's pride low bowed.

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Princess of Bright

Princess of Bright

Aerial was that friction match and I,
beguiled by her beaming glare, luminous,
Glorious amid red rose beds, flowery,
Radiant of her young Springs and vows!

Dazzling and glistening the air around
with bees to seethe in redemptive light,
a sprite! Was I the blessed unsound,
a mere mortal! Lurid but unfit, albeit!

And then, like an aeriform, descended
to fill my emptiness, ascetic severeness;
acceptable, wed scented, well respected,
my openhearted vacancy, and nothingness.

Princess of Bright, lucent, deplorable,
aloof! A nonadjacent mistress, in Utopia,
to navigate in veinal dreams lamentable,

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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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End Of Reality....by Talile Ali

I LOVE YOU BABY
AND I KNOW YOU LOVE ME
SO WHY IS IT BABE
THAT WE BOTH ACT SO CRAZY
FIRST WE'RE PITCHING WOO
THEN WE TALK OF OUR LIVES
EVENTUALLY WE'RE DOIN IT
THEN WE EAT AND HAVE SOME WINE
THEN THE NEXT DAY YOU ARE YELLING
ABOUT A DROP OF HALF AND HALF
I'M JUST PLAYING WITH THE BABY
WERE JUST PLAYING, NOTHIN ELSE
I TELL YOU THAT I USED IT
YOU SCREAM AND YELL SOME MORE
AND LIKE THE DOPEY ASS I AM
I ENGAGE YOU IN THIS SCREWED WAR
I TRY TO GET AWAY
YOU CHASE ME UP THE HALL
YOU WITCH ABOUT THE DUMPSTER
AND HOW I FILLED IT ALL

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poem by Talile Ali
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