Tidal Tune

Art by Marie France Oosterhof

I poison my food forgetting to pray

Letting the day

Or night fall into illusory questioning, Read More


Calling All Poets: Hosting Tonight’s Poetry Prompt at dVerse

Painting by Debra Hurd

Hey friends. What do you say we forgo the madness of shopping deals and instead head on over to dVerse Poet’s Pub for jazz night? Cos tonight at the best online venue the “tempo goes up, lights go down” as we channel our inner Harlem cool cat, beatnik, or sultry sax soloist playing the subway stations of an anonymous city. Existential Baker, Olde Punk, and Carlos, I’m looking especially at you, but I’d like to see all my blogging friends’ takes on jazz/beat poetry. Hit the below link to see the prompt and ideas on how to get started if tryptophan got the better of you. Then share your work and read others’! Gobble gobble and much love, 




Photography by Armelle Touzeau

Broken brocade;

Where do I put this sequin when the sequence

Falls like notes from the cellar door?

On my knees searching on the dirty waxed floor

Hands graze gypsy mambo scuff-marks

And dirty martini olive-swords.

Candles glow in distant red bulbs,

My search waxes dim.

How does poetry save the world like God? Read More

Lyrical Love: Step Right Up

Art by Kingsley Wallis

Now don’t go getting too excited about a tax-refund shopping spree. First have a listen to this beat/jazz poem-song by Tom Waits, written in 1976, and you might think twice about how to spend your money. Or, the snaky salesman might successfully tempt you into trying the miracle product. “It finds you a job, it is a job… It sanitizes for your protection, it gives you an erection, it wins the election…” Read More


Frederico and his band playing, me and Jashy happy with jazzy stuff like Crakkity Adam’s Apple banging the drums, a waitress called Bonita, and ice cubes. The once in awhile soft glance the two of us share like the low breathy break Read More



I caught a reptile like a cold

And released the chimerical chameleon

Who always finds my scent,

The aromas of every note ever played

Still lingering in a mind frayed

Up a jazz line and it lays bent

On a sleepy city that stirs

What in a hollow world?


© 2011, Amaya Engleking

They Call Me Mr. Pitiful


Art: “Otis Redding” by mercedes

They call me Mr. Pitiful cuz I forget I’m just a pretty girl and my baby won’t stop flappin’ his dragonfly wings but I don’t mind what he does when he sings and we’re sippin’ eggnog and Irish mist and Christ our souls have just been kissed. “All that drink she ought to avoid!” I do, psst-pssters, when I am unemployed but it’s been a hard day of watchin’ paint dry and I’ve earned this happy hour with my guy so we’ll keep up this noggy nine-o’clock jig and from the Saint Doggy tree we’ll pick a fig Read More