Note: Followed links may open in a new browser window.

An Octopus on A Blue Note

By: Michael Bates


An octo with a banjo
bangs out just jazz.
He's deep...two, three
leagues below sea level.
He's cool-groovy
in a marine green grotto.

But when the tide's high,
he jams under a jetty.
Currents meet there.
Together they wreak waves
which swinging swimmers
can crawl to, and
"scuba, dubi, do, man,"
sometimes beat out.

Storm!

By: I.B. Rad


Crumpled leaves
rustle down 
cobbled blocks
as bobbing atop
choppy waves
fishing boats
hustle into harbor.
Tacking nippy gusts, 
padding townies
hang on hoods
while plastic bags -
those errant birds! -
drop, flop over rooftops.
Tapping his pipe,
an old guru grunts, 
"Big blow's on its' way!"

30 October

By: Glen Faure


From a single snowflake’s visit
came a small surprise today.
He was of course
not enough to shovel
too small to eat too
delicate to hold too
genteel for concern and 
entirely too perfect to forget.

Now, drifting into sleep,
pulling blankets warmly up around my chin
I'm considering tomorrow’s festival
of costumes and chicanery—
and wondering if all his brother flakes
might arrive disguised as Winter.

This Plant Called Life

By: Travis Tapley


This plant called life is very sweet,
Delicate flower from our God 
It grows wherever love's complete.

With tender care always replete,
The insecureness of its sod,
This plant called life is very sweet.

Strong foundation, its roots concrete,
The weeds will never run roughshod,
It grows wherever love's complete.

Feed it "humble" and not "conceit,"
The uniqueness of every pod,
This plant called life is very sweet.

Nourishing hand, void of deceit,
Each different, not to be called odd,
It grows wherever loves complete.

Watch it bloom and never deplete,
Only fade where darkness has trod,
This plant called life is very sweet,
It grows wherever love's complete.