The Poet 


Scott Taylor 

No Second Coming 

Now make your music sadly; 
Sweet lady, make it long: 
Sing to sad hearts a gladly 
Forgotten song. 

Sing low for summer flowers 
Long buried in the frost: 
Sing long for the quiet hours 
Forever lost. 

Sing sadly, and discover 
No lean notes known before. 
Sweet lady, know your lover 
Returns no more. 

Paul Wappenstein 

The Poet 

I sit and I write and I kid myself 
Yet every word and every sight 
seems to rhyme or have some metre 
perhaps bizarre, perhaps understood 
My mind in flight seems to 
connect 
empty spaces. 

Michael Amato 

The End of the World 

The end of the world is not 
something I would care to watch 
on the late show, sandwiched 
between eleven o'clock news 
& the star spangled banner 
The end of the world 
should be perused at leisure 
with a tall Collins by the pool 
& soft music 

~ 

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