You may consider it extremely odd
I’m so easily influenced by a cephalopod
Eight arms, three hearts, blue blood, nine brains
All unique, yet something else remains
The most important fact on which to think?
Cephalopods, like poets, possess special ink
Oh Octopi
Oh Octopi up in the sky
I wonder why you are so high
Don’t mean to pry but please reply
I have to try to reason why
Why are you shy? Why can you fly?
Please tell me why and do not lie
We're Octopi. On us you spy?
Imply we're shy? Imply we lie?
Don't wonder why we’re in the sky
Do not defy and do not pry
Do not decry — That’s our reply
Quickly comply! We do not lie
Oh my, oh my, I'll never pry
I'll not decry nor you defy
I will comply, on me rely
Oh, Octopi up in the sky
You do not lie! So high you fly!
To you I bid adieu — Bye-bye!
I have a bunch of snails in my home, he said.
I would not know what to do I replied. What have you done?
So far, I am classifying then into categories red.
I have squid, octopus and gastropods too, he said, for fun.
I was shocked and horrified, wondering about his house.
Are they salt water, fresh water or land beings? I queried.
They are frightening, scary, and they chase my mouse.
I saw one run past and It was clammy and harried.
Let’s have tea at my house I promptly suggested.
As an oversized octopus climbed out of his kitchen sink.
I am going crazy he replied. I feel I am being tested.
What is your opinion? What do you think?
In that September early evening
The waves came strolling in
From far beyond my line of sight.
The horizon was nothing
But a fading glimpse of yesterday
As the day turned into night.
Water lapped up on the sand
Completing its titanic, oceanic journey
Before turning back once more;
Flooding my mind
With thoughts, emotions and memories
At the edge of the ocean floor.
As I watched the water swirl into eddies
And tide pools attract everything
From sea urchins to cephalopods
Reminding me that we’re all in-different
Phases of tidal pull until returning
Back to God.
The colors in the sky were brilliant
As if Michelangelo and Da Vinci
Had been hired to paint the scene.
And sitting there watching the sun disappear
I was struck by the idea that as the old song sings:
Life is but a dream.
The wind came in from the sea and blew me to pieces
scattered me through the hills of the Mission and Noe Valley
i saw it all
the saint of the fog was welcoming me
as i assembled my self on the north beach
The husk of me drifted back to shore
Crisp glints of glass greeted me
as a solid I begin to move with the rotation of the planet
clockwise blooming Dahlias' circled the mirror agents
buzzing in the coffee shops,
bookstores and the dens of the cephalopods
Ignored by the wall
the door began to creek
advancing the return of silence
my ride to oblivion
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