For the 2025 Summer Muses’ Gallery, Highland Park Poetry asked poets to write about a message in a bottle. These selected poems investigate everything you ever wanted to know about this desperate and optimistic communication from distress messages, scientific studies, invitations to possible pen pals, and love letters. There are also variations on this form of improbable communications like time capsules, interstellar radio messages, and more. Poems are grouped into three sections: Time, Bottle, and Message.
May these poets’ words inspire you to keep your eyes open for messages or to craft your own.

Many thanks to all of the poets who honored us by sharing their writing. 
Enjoy!
Mary Beth Bretzlauf William Carey Jennifer Dotson Irene Hoffman Julie Isaacson Jen Meyer 
Highland Park Poetry Press Editors

How We Communicate
by Arlene Gay Levine

A gigantic radio telescope scansthe predawn sky searching the galaxy for messages sent by other worlds.It is absurd to think we are alone?
In December, face South and there’s Orion hunting The Seven Sisters.Is it luck that Zeus, hungry for Europa, became a Bullto offer the girls protection of the eternal kind?Maybe they wanted to be caught; cosmic crossed wires.
Like ours. We speak in code with only a look in the eye or slight inclination of body to give us away. Hold your breath as on a clear night you detecta flickering light; another galaxy is winking at youbut you don’t get the joke.
Scan the sky for answers, read palms or cards,gaze in crystal balls and decipher tea leavesto know yourself and so know others.Do you grasp the magic frequency on which wordsare understood the way they’re meant or do you say one thing and mean another?
Have you searched light-years, a missing piece of the whole,missing a chance at stardom? Ignoring broadcasts from withinyou wait for the radio telescope to reassure you.It is our destiny to discover we are never alone.

Theodosia Burr Writes a Note, Hoping Her Message Will Reach Her Father
by Joan Leotta

                If you find this, pray send news to my father,Aaron Burr of Albany, that his daughteris alive, at present, in the care ofa fisherman and his wife.They collected me and the portraitI was bringing to you, father,from the stormy January seas.His wife protected mefrom pirates who wantedto do me harm, but yesterdaya fever began in me andalthough this good woman, Anne,spoons much soup and tea into me,banks the fire regularly to warm me,I feel soon I will join my son in Heaven,come to you only in dreamsfor my body will rest here..and soon.This couple has said they willkeep my portrait to give to youin case you ever find your way here.Be consoled with this, dear father, a goodwoman will mop my brow andhold my hand as I enter the next world,that I did not perish alone in cold wavesor by the knife of a pirate knave.Your loving daughter,Theodosia

Dear Sis
by Elizabeth Stanley King

                 In Memory of 1st Lt. Robert L. Patin
My officer asked us to write home before we fly into battles supporting the Allied invasion. I can’t mail it until later. Can’t risk the enemy finding it. I know Ihaven’t written much, but I transferred to the 86th Fighter Squadron, in the 79th Fighter Group. I am in north Africa now, flying a P-40D. We kicked Rommel out of Africa - 250,000 Italian and German soldiers surrendered. But, we lost some good pilots. Your baby must be so big now! Can’t wait tomeet him. He will make a fine pilot someday.                Remember Pearl Harbor!!              Bob * * *Dear Mrs. Stanley,  I am your brother’s commanding officer, this letter, addressed to you, was in Bob’s belongings. I am sorry to say he flew through a cloud bank over Corsica making a combat maneuver on July 13, 1944. He didn’t make it. He is buried just outside Rome.                              Plot 1, Row 12, Grave 64, Sicily-Rome               American Cemetery, Nettuno, Italy Please accept my condolences,Major LeCouer

Slow Messaging Service
by Duane Anderson

Rumors are floating aroundthat you are planning on sendinga message in a bottle, and if sowho will you be sending it to?Do you have a bottle, a paper, a pen,and do you even know how to write?All I have are questions right now,
so go ahead with your planand if your bottle ever reaches meif I am truly your intended destination,I will gladly respond back in kind,answering your message with one of my own.We will become pen palswith a very slow delivering service.

Tom Langlands, Photographer

Alice Bettridge on Isle Royale
by Jennifer Dotson

I wasn’t supposed to be on boardI was a last moment substitution as assistant stewardess on theKamloops, eager for the bonus pay.
At first we had hope when our lifeboat actually made it to shore.The waves were wicked, tossing us about so we were grateful to
reach land again. We shakewith the cold but also relief – to bestill alive because surely the worstis behind us. We are the survivors.
Hope plummets as we realize where we are is nothing but wilderness. No one is coming to rescue us. No one knows where 
we are. Focusing on tasks – makeshelter from the wind and cold, ration our limited supplies, fold our bodies close to keep alive. 
But the ice in our hearts eats usfrom the inside and one by onethe others stop and I am all alone.I won’t last much longer. I miss
my mom and dad and I knowthey will be sad. I just pray my
note reaches them so they willstop wondering and worrying.

How to Build a Terrarium: 1972
by Don Shearn

Find an Almaden jug of wine. Drink the wine. It is better than Boone's Farm, Ripple or bottom shelf Gallo.
Select your plants. I favor Earth Stars, African Violets, and Zebras.
There are no holes in a terrarium so you need to create drainage layers.Start with crushed stone or gravel. Layer activated charcoal over the stones. Spoon a couple of inches of a potting soil/moss mixture atop the charcoal.
Remove the plants from their pots. Tease the roots apart. Trim the yellowed or damaged leaves. Use long tweezers to place the plants through the narrow opening. Gently work with the mounds and clumps to arrange the plants in a pleasing array.
Sit in a darkened room, dank, warm and humid.
Comfort the plants. 
Sit beside a tall, blonde hippie and listen to him talk about the Middle East.
Deliver the products while driving a 1965, eight-cylinder Chevy Nova witha faulty radiator and bad suspension.
At the retail shop in downtown Oakland on Christmas Eve, a guy writes me a check.He uses a department store credit card for his ID. The check bounced.
My father died that year.
Two years later, I met the kidnappers of Patty Hearst.Only I thought they were friends of a friend.
Somewhere, somehow, my name is in the Congressional Record. Guilty only of bad choices.

Extension
by Matt McGee

Ricky and Nikki became neighborswhen he was ten and she was eleven,and the first thing Nikki’s parents decidedwas that the house was too small. An architect was called, permits led to framework being erectedand that’s when the invitations went out to all the kids;Sharpies and Marks-A-Lot were handed out, the assignment:decorate the bare boards before the drywallers arrived.
When Nikki passed away at 43, her parents sold the houseto the bidder willing to clean their slate. The new ownerscame with new plans, and drywall was soon removed.Ricky trespassed at 3AM, flashlight in hand, reading messages left decades earlier, remembering none,especially the one in a tight, random cornerNIKKI LOVES RICKY, a sentiment she’d failed to share in real life, throughtwo short marriages and fourchildren, words like ghostsreleased by time and tide.

Fear of Flyingby Carol Alfus

Amongst the day’s meager catch, Petros finds a small clay vessel tangled in his net. With his knifehe digs out a waxy plug in the bottle’s neck. Also stuck in the neck is a twig with something wrapped around it. A few shakes releases it,and Petros unrolls a piece of papyrus, covered with tiny, cramped writing:
Help! My father and I have been trapped for many months on the Isle of Crete, and I fear he is going mad. Desperate to escape this place, he is building wings of sticks, feathers and wax so we may fly off the island.Fly! My father is a clever man, but this plan is lunacy.Even if we soar like the golden eagles,we tempt the anger of our lord Zeus for entering his realm.The wings are almost complete. Father wishes to leaveat dawn on the morning of the next neap tide.I am young and do not wish to die. Please-- send a boat to the southern shore near the highest cliff.I beg you--save me from this folly!
Petros hefts the bottle in his hand—he will find a good use for this.A simple fisherman, he neither knows nor caresabout the meaning of the scratches on the papyrus, but it will make good kindling for his cook fire. As Petros turns to haul his boat further ashore,he hears a distant splash behind him,as if a very large, heavy bird has fallen into the ocean.

A Letter Within a Letter
by Marie Asner

When I was in junior high school, The United Nationsbegan a pen-pal newsletter for students in other countries Month by month went by, and finally I decided to writeto someone and selected a girl my age in Chile.Her name was Yvette, who wrote and spoke Spanish, pluslearning English in school.  Yvette had a younger brother and sisterwith school not far from their small house built on a hillside.Her mother was a homemaker and father worked in a hardware store.We wrote for two years, exchanging photographs and handkerchiefs.After a tremendous earthquake in Chile in 1959, and several months went by,I began to worry.  My mother contacted the editor of the United Nations newsletter and found that Yvette’s section of her city was demolished in the earthquake. Months went by, and then came a letter enclosed in an envelopefrom a city in Chile. A friend of the family had found my letter and addressand kindly sent Yvette's letter to me. The letter was short and told about having to movebecause of earth tremors being stronger and lasting longer.She signed it, “Your friend, always, Yvette.” They never made it.

Blue Bottle
by Jan Chronister

I find it intact on a visitto our back twenty,a hayfield last mowed years ago.
I can picture the farmer—tractor barely works,rain clouds threaten,twelve milk cows waitto be let in the barn.
His stomach hurts,has bothered him all summer.He carries the Milk of Magnesiawherever he goes.
One day he drinks the last,throws the bottle down in despair,not caring if it lands in the tractor’s path.

Uncle Lyle
by Carol L. Gloor

never played with a full deck, and thencoming back from World War IIwith what they called shell shock.They ran electric current through his brain because that seemedto help some people.That triggered a late blooming brain tumorbut it didn’t matter because he stayed the child he always was.He was great on Friday nights in his pick-up truck for us kids.Always any movie we wanted.Always as much popcorn, ice creamas any of us could eat.Want some more?Sure, you got it.Then we asked let’s drive around
and we did, long summer nightsup and down Sheridan Road,through the rich suburbs,Glencoe, Winnetka, curtainedwith the soft roar of the Lake,then back to Chicago, where wesnuck in, quiet micewho knew we would grow up and Lyle wouldn’t. But everyone was still happy.

The Palm Readingby Mary Beth Bretzlauf

Remember how excited we were to have our palm read?She wasn’t a gypsy at the county fairbut Mom’s co-worker, the mother of a classmate we didn’t particularly get along with.In truth, we just didn’t know her.
Well, fifteen-year-old us, to the candy striper who life’s was going into the crapper, this sixty-five-year-old version of uscan finally ease our mind.
I recall the feeling of never going to be popular, never having a date, the folks getting divorcedand that underlying thoughtthat maybe, the palm reader was doing Mom a favor to make us feel better.
So, relax, she knew what she was doing.We did date quite a few guys,many friends have come and goneand still come into our life
so when people ask if there’s someone special in our life – not now and maybe not again, but we a son and grandsonand the greatest of friends because they’re poets!

The Carcass is the Message
by Miranda P. Dotson

Its first career was dinosaurWho lived hunted and frolicked happily ever after without knowing what was to come 
Its second career was a Second Comingseeping out of the Earth whose throat slit dripping---plunk     plunk     plunk---off the altar of a few Prophets' shares 
Its third career lasted approximately ten minutestemporary relief for a parched humanwho herself did not have much time
amid the scorched ruins of what once could have been called a homelong after there was nothing left to gush from the land's bleeding wounds
she held the flesh of what once held a dinosaur weightless and benign in her hands she saw the bottle for the ghost it was fracked from the underworld 
the price for its anger at being taken from its sleep haunting everyone with a pair of lungs or gills who wasn't, of course, a Prophet 
if she had paper she might write an apology for those Prophets' sins but the disfigured carcass is the message 
she watched the sunlight bounce like thunderbolts off its curved formas it floated away from a coast that was for a short time, considered California 
and wished it a safe journey to rejoin its grieving ancestors in the world's first gyrating burial ground that had swelled to a land mass three times the size of a place she once, considered France 

I've Written Poems All My Life
by Jackie Chou

I've written poems all my life.
I've filled the pageswith oceans of words.
I've uncorked the bottle and released the genie in me.
I've written poems all my life.
The candles and the lampshave all burned out.
I've written poems all my lifedespite your dirty looks.
You can turn your back and walk away from me.
But I write poems,and I've done it all my life.

Behemoth
By Caden Hartsburg

In the middle of the sea,a wet paper may be stuck in the reeds.Usually, paper disintegrates,but this note infiltrates.Survives impossibility,outlives the wicked.It never washes up on the shores,its secrets are kept inside as the ocean roars.This note sank to the bottom a long time ago.The Titanic is a behemoth in the void of the world. 

Her Note
By Carl "Papa" Palmer

I recognize her flowing calligraphyalways with brown India ink usingher engraved Sheaffer gold nib pen
on a monogrammed linen envelopemy name and address titled outsideinside a poem she wrote just for me
found by a cleaning team memberbehind the nightstand in her roommagnanimously stamped and sent
an old-fashioned letter in her handfrom the heart of my oldest friendarriving eleven days after she died

Pioneer Ten
by Jim Hanson

Pioneer Ten cut the umbilical chordon January two thousand threestarting off its pad on earthaway from its booster rocketthen eight billion miles gone,its last message weak and garbledand silent never heard again
its whereabouts thereafter unknownlast at the constellation of Taurus,the great white bull shining in the darkfor Zeus once the greatest of gods toreceive Pioneer Ten and its message 
and if heard not by gods, then perhaps by fellow beings of the universe,evolved a billion years before uswith omniscience accumulatedabout verses of uni and meta
and responding through light years of timeto share science and technologyof energy, matter and lifeand to reveal cosmic consciousness beyond stars and human existence
from contact, we may still discoverdimensions before the beginning of time and beyond edges of spacethrough the stars of Taurus that light theway to endless possibilities.
Where may be the ultimate placefor Pioneer Ten to come to rest,to tell others of our existenceon a planet riding the outside armof a galaxy swirling in darkness?

You Can Have Paul Newmanby Mike Freveletti

It is I who live here nowamongst the scatteredVHS tapes and detritusof a past life wheremy mother had postersaffixed to the wallsof her American dreamPaul Newman the hustlerPaul Newman the banditPaul Newman the not my father who of courseleft decades ago becausehe couldn’t competehow could you with Paulbut I know who he really isin 1999 starring as Dodgein Message in a Bottlethe Nicholas Sparks novelwhich should’ve remainedpaper instead of decimatingmy filmic taste & so if you’rereading this you can havePaul Newman, just bloodytake him & do me a favorgive me Jackie Gleason.

Love Rings Out
by Morgan Silas Donnelly

Love rings out in clear black nightA bell without soundA fire without heatA jury without sight
Love rings out in clear dewy dawnA blue bird singsA kettle whistlesThe village comes aliveA doe nuzzles her fawn
Love rings out in clear bright dayWorkers yell instructionsCoffee is pouredDogs go for walksRecess arrives, and children play
Love rings out across the milesAcross the wavesAcross the chasmsTo the stars and to the heavenswhen sweet memories bubble upand smiles erupton the two who share knowingof how sweet love can be
---
First published in the author’s collection Whispers of the Deep (tiny gnat publishing, 2025)

Gone Missing: Sea Glass
by Ann Malaspina

On Eastern beachesgreen waves lap emptyexcept for shattered shells hungry seals and plastic. 
The shards of bottles tossed with hopes for Salvationsent off with promises of Rescuegone missing from the shore.
We can travel for weeks from Cape May to Ogunquitsearching seaweed and debris             but only in vain pursuit. 
Ask the experts: Women like mewho combed Burying Hill Beachin the winter of 1970filling pockets with sea glass and trolls.
Even then I knew the orphan treasure –worn smooth by bitter saltmade mad by migrant moons –held no messages, only grief.

After a Photograph
By Lennart Lundh

You come back the next day,and what you worked so hardto capture and preserveis no longer there, buriedby the tide-carried, wave-tossedsand, the water’s trick on us.
Love can be just like that, as can friendships, possessions,the vaguely remembered Wonders of the World. And the world as well.Yes, even the memories you tuck awayin your head for safekeeping will fade.
And yet you keep your camera handy,the notebook, sketch book, recorder,even though you know it’s futile,that it won’t matter to anyonebecause everyone will be gone.Still, you bet on the chance, every day.

Facedown
by Laurinda Lind

As if I were an unreadunsigned sealed message from a different age, I 
floated facedown to the century humming what you hear at the bottom 
of river beds, breathing broken with the rest of the refugees unlucky 
of lung, but ashore we spilled onto land, put out shoots, grew into soil as in 
gained ground, as in faced them all down

Family Letter
by Jacqueline Stearns

A sunny day in West Palm Beach Florida. Michele frowns at the sound of the chiming doorbell. Her twin daughters are flying in from Atlanta she doesn't have time for... Grumbling, she answers the door. No one is there. Glancing down, Michele spies a brown box. Mystified, she takes it into the house. Opening the package, gasping in surprise at the sight of an emerald green bottle. Popping the cork, shaking out a letter. Words jump out at her. 

Dearest sister, it's been ten years since we've seen each other. Thinking about you, afraid to reach out, not knowing what to say. Do you ever think about me. We had such a beautiful connection, shared so many interests. My heart breaks I know we'll never see each other again. Words not spoken. Anger and devastation wiping out love. I miss being part of a family. Thanksgiving. Talking to Mom about our favorite TV shows. Singing as we did dishes. Just wanted you to know I haven't forgotten.

Michele swallows a silent sob, whispers I haven't either.

Now is the Time
by Marjorie Rissman

to open the bottleto remove the corkto peer insideto gaze on emptinessorto gaze at a scrollto find words fromsomeone, somewheresent purposely to me,to anyone lucky enoughto find the bottle bobbingin the sea, sitting on the beach,enmeshed in seaweed.It is time for discoveryto break the seal to break the bottle open to capture its contentsand try to understand the words written in a foreign language.

Message Found in a Space Capsule: to the Earth We Left Behind
by Beatriz F. Fernandez

To touch the face of another world,that is all we space voyagers dreamed about—So many barriers overcome, yet we battle on—restless in our nightmarish sleep
What if we awakenonly to find we still dream—and what we left behind has followed us?
Branded with Earth’s angry blue birthmark,what if we carry the past as a hidden cursein our doomed blood and fall like a plagueon some bright new world?
This message you may never hearcarries our voices, our hearts, our fears—slowly we grow roots in new ground,the chattering of apes growing louder in our dreams.

Unfurl 
by Victoria Crawford & Jim King

A gust stirs the airruffling my poem’s feathersfledgling wings unfurl
Message in a Bottle
Words, ink bottle freed, calligraphy flurries slideacross paper seas
letters curl and slantwave by wave in sweeping linespens and nibs my oars
my words tightly corkedin measured strokes waft away to the ocean world 

Global Messaging
by Julie Isaacson

Swimming in the Yellow Sea, I found a bottle with a note: “Chinjeolhan”Canoeing on the Whanganui River, a bottle revealed to me a card:  “Kia atawhai”In the Sea of Galilee, a bottle floated with a letter: “Lehayot adiv”
Nearby on my travels came a bottled message in the Sea of Tiberias:   “Kun latifan”In the vast waters of the Atlantic Ocean bobbled a bottle with yet another         signal:  "Sois Gentil”The Mediterranean Sea brought within its waves a green glass, quoting:  “Sé amable”
My Irish friends and I fishing on the Celtic Sea snared a lager bottle, bearing         these words: “Bí Cineáta”The cold tides of the Arctic Ocean brought words to live by: “Bud’ dobryn”Next door in the Black Sea, a bottled note reminded me, “Buty dobryn”
The Pacific Ocean provided long words with a brief statement, “Snietsu ni shite kudasai”My last stop before heading home, the East China Sea: “Yôushàn yīdiân”
My sun-drenched journey complete, I approached the shore of my homeland,          capturing the final treasure rolled in an amber bottle: “Be Kind.”

Message Found in a Bottle
by Gerry Sloan

(To My Granddaughter Zoe on Her First Birthday)

Zoe, I wish I could tuck this notein a time capsule to be openedin 2100, when you will bethe same age as me, given propergenes and half a chance at longevity.I hope you can forgive your ancestorfor not taking better care of the planetwe both call home, though by then we mayhave colonized the outer reaches of space.
To know our lives overlapped momentarilymeans more to me than I'm able to express,though I observe you touching the wonderthat has always taught me to taste and see,to build my ship of death with the certaintythat someday you'll set sail and follow me.
---First published in The Ark Review, Vol. 4

Poem as Code
by Sharon Suzuki-Martinez

This volatile present …---… where we find ourselves …---… compels you to write …---… messages to be tucked …---… into bottles and thrown …---… like Molotov cocktails …---… or stealthkisses …---… into the sharky depths …---… of cyberspace. [note:  …---… means SOS in Morse Code] 

No Matter Were It Quilled
by Murray Alfredson

No matter were it quilled or brushed
on paper, vellum or papyrus,
wedge-pressed into wet clay-slabs,
or finger-stroked in ones and zeros,
this poem takes its future chances
fed to the flow of human history
to speak across gulfs of space and time
as did the Psalms or odes of Pindar
rendered into many tongues; or
shatter on discs of fragile foil,
flake to acid paper dust,
or disappear in data oceans.

Message
by Fiona M. Jones

Tide-transported
Forlorn like hope 
Mile-swept in wind and wave
Beached to tell its tale

Disaster and loss
The shipwreck of good intention
Castaway liability

The tide took up a million
Redropped in sand and wrack
Bottles and pieces
Jetsam from right and wrong

To a plasticized shore
Filling end to end with messages
All pleading disaster and loss

Help—for we have lost our way
Rescue us—for we have doomed ourselves
Save our souls—for we are wrongdoers
Polluting all we have

They whisper
Among the shift of sand and water
Rumoring castaways
And casters-away.

Illustration  by Gay Guard-Chamberlin

SOS
by Gay Guard-Chamberlin

what were we to think once we found all her bottlesstinking of what she’d drunk
they spilled from the bins the baththe bookshelves
sunk to the bottom of the ocean floorbeneath her bed
in the tide of her sleep she dreamed themtransformed 
green beach glass to match her glassy eyes
they rolled back and forthlike detritus washed up from the sea
beside her body a pen and paperand in every bottle
the same SOSwritten in invisible inkas she waved goodbye

Public Service Announcement
by Mike O'Leary

Used to be a steady sound of staticEndlessly emitting from my heartCouldn't find the right stationHonestly didn't know where to start
Itching to open a line of communicationLinking my mind with my bodyFumbled to fine tune the frequencyTo find a new wavelength to embody
Retooled, recalibrated, and rebootedSignal now coming in crystal clearKeeping my finger on the pulseSo disruptions don't interfere
Now that I'm up and runningLet me lend some bandwidth to youMake sure to attune your antennaFlipping the channel to something new
We all share the same airwavesConnected through time and spaceIf we choose to broadcast compassionSuffering may slowly started to be erased

Adrift at Sea 
by Sara Etgen-Baker

sea-worn bottle, bobs on a digital tide.inside, not parchment brittle with ocean’s brine,but luminous lines of light,coded in metaphors and rhyme.
message tossed into the sea.unknown sender,no harbor designated, no destinationon any map.
it drifts, an abandoned, forlorn vessel,across oceans of indifference,until…a seacoast appears,unsummoned,unexpected.
my eyes, the sand.my mind, the beach.I pick it up,this delicate thing,uncorking the silence.
The words flow out,a story whispered,a feeling shared,across lifetimes,across the vacuity.
Suddenly~I am the address.the recipient unknown,FOUND.the message delivered.the poem,HOME.

Shattered on Shipwrecks 
by Colleen McManus Hein

I built twenty-seven rock cairnson that beach, the one youtook me to, a hard shrineto each year we gathered days like blades of grass,now a field of stone. I chose them fortheir flawed pores,dented, cross-hatched,mottled and riven;a few perfect, smooth,curved to fit a hand. When you did not return,I wrote these words onthe blank sheet you kepton your desk and slippedthem in the empty flaskof your dried-up ink. It’s gone now, hurled from my fist into thechurning winter laketo shatter on shipwreckswhile this poem to youleaks, staining the water. 

All Change
by Patrick Allen Wright

I walk the shore—the edge of tomorrow,last of today—and consider the shiftof sands beneath my feet.I delight here—regardless of the waveswindblown, white-capped—I carry an answerto give back to the sea.I breathe the sky—filled with brine, plovers, andgulls eking out—envy their flight offshore,downwind of foresworn night.These, my siblings—cacophony of joy,share ecstasy—abandoned of egofor a sole platitude.What of the sea—littoral with the tidewashing anew—providence for us all,perhaps alchemical?I hurl bottled—my message no longersacred secret—“Death does not come for us.We return to essence.”

A Rejuvenating Message
by Kanwalpreet Baidwan

Standing by the ocean, as the waves touch my feet,I imagine them imploring me to give them my precious warethat I hold tightly in my hands.Do they know the message in the bottle?I glance at the little slip in the bottle,and with a sigh, surrender it to the mercy of the waves,which I hope will carry it afarto be read in a few years by a woman standing alone, defeated and dejected, dismally low in spirits,standing, staring at the sea,and her life in her mind’s eye.The bottle with my message comes to rest at her feet,making her bend to pick it up, open it, and read it.A woman through that bottle talks to another woman.It might be any generation, any country, for the same heart beats in every woman.The message tells her that a tough woman outsmarts the hurdlesthat litter her path. It will take all the strength to deal with the many obstacles. She will have to gingerly step aside a few, jump over some, zigzag her way through others,but while doing so, she should add a dance to her steps,and a zing to her rhythm, making her journeyunique, interesting, livable and laughable.Every woman has a story.She will learn from my little slip packed with great carenot to surrender, but to emerge victorious, like a warrior who wields the sword of life with aplomb, grace and a strength that none can match.

Secret Messages
by Candace Kubinec

Secret Messages
She emptied her heart.Wrote all her secrets on littleslips of paper and slipped them intoold glass bottles she foundburied in her garden.She carried them, in a cardboard box,to the sea where she set them free –a flotilla of her deepest thoughts, herfears, her longings. All the things shecould no longer hold. She waved goodbyeas they bobbed away with the tide andmade a wish that whoever finds themwill somehow be able to learn their lessons. ---
First published on the author’s WordPress blog, www.rhymeswithbug.com 

Some Sand Settles
by David Stanford Burr

—after Paul Celan
My words gasp and splutter like fish on sandand my garlands founder in the ocean’s lapI-love-you-in-a-bottle explodes in surfand speech, my voice can never reach you there …
lapping on a shore where with my three handfulsI buried you—Mother—there, there, there.

Translation 
by James Rodgers

When we sent Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 out into space over four decades ago to explore the sun’s impact and where its influence ends, we didn’t expect them to still be functioning and reporting data, and we didn’t expect it to be considered a message to anyone or anything that came across it, but that is what has happened. Something has found Voyager 1 and has been sending back some sort of communication, a message we as yet have been unable to translate, though we seem to possibly be close to cracking the code, as we believe with some certainty that the first word is, “Stop”. 

Telephone
by Terry L. Slaney

We used bottles instead of tin cans at firstbut it didn’t workIf you want the message to get throughchoose the right vessel, won’t you?
The words in the bottle will remain, butin the tin can they will fly out on the bounty mainof air and sound waves picked up againat the other end into the ear, and out, my friend.

Lover's Beach 
by Briana Wessel

Where                    children played, and grown-ups talked,                    I waited in the waves near shore.Did                    you see me, love?                    Did you see me seeing you?                    Did you see the bottle at your feet?You                   Must have, it's your favorite color.                   Pink and rosy and divine, the color I see                   surrounding you.                   But now I see you turn toGo.                   Aren’t you going to join me?                  I’ve waited for oh so long.                  I yearn to be beneath the water with you                 once again.My                 Scales have begun to dry,                 my tail lying restlessly atop the soft waves.                 Sirens aren’t known to fall for humans,                 But you’re too special.                  Too perfect.                 Aren’t you still my friend?                 Aren't you still myLove?

Gail Denham, Photographer

A Letter to Somebody Hurtful That Will Never Get It
by David Mathews

You know who you are.             I just wanted you to know                     that the cruelty you inflicted—   I wrote down each one and then made             paper airplanes of them.                     I threw them to cruise careless winds,             the way the shipwrecked or otherwise lost                     send messages in bottles.   To someone like me serendipitously reading this:             You should know I sleep well—                     I have soul-mellowing indigo dreams.             And every morning I brew freshness                     under the brightest daystar. 
---
Previously published in Eclectica Magazine, Vol. 23, No. 4, October/November 2019 

Fantasy Island 
by Jude Luttrell Bradley

Safely stranded on a sandy free-floating pancake,lone palm tree at its center, we shared its shade,afloat for three decades throughout the seven seas.I grew my hair long enough to weave you a macramé́ hammock, one end fastened to our tree, the other end fastened to me. 

Idyll isle --- you lolling in the morning breeze,swinging between my scalp and the trunk of the tree.My sun-streaked knotted mane doubled as the net we cast at sunsetto snare pink seafood we skewered on barracuda bones, then grilled over coconut bark and albatross down.

When you spotted Calypso’s bottled invitation bobbing in the foamy 
          shallows, you accepted her erotic Seavite! When she appeared on our beachfront, you tried to give her CPR. Paparazzi in hot pursuit of the celebrity nymph arrived on rafts, clicking Canons to capture her romantic rescue by 
          resuscitation.Then you two voted me off the island and took the tabloids by storm. 

Illustration by Jonathan Plotkin, Artist

Love Notes
by Mary Christine Delea

I blew smoke rings in the direction I thinkyou might be living. You never blew them back.
I used a burner phone to try and sell youon me, on us. You did not pick up.
I mailed you a bracelet that I beaded myself.Seed beads and bugle beads, signaling 
you-plus-me-equals-love in Morse Code.It came back marked “Return to Sender.”
I time traveled back decades to find a guyto do a singing telegram at your house,
tap dancing and singing what was once Our Song. He says you never opened the door.
So this is my last attempt, a message ina bottle—the bottle from that wine we drank
years ago in that tiny cottage outsideIdaho Falls, where a Japanese Maple kept
brushing against the window all night.I said it was soothing, like nature 
trying to pet us. You said it was annoying,as if the earth itself wanted to keep you
awake, tired, grumpy. This note is to remind you of what that bottle
reminded me—that I loved youbeyond reason, but I am done trying 
to soothe the demons that make youunable to see the beauty of a tiny tree.

Message in a Bottle to the Jakarta Beggar
by Pamelyn Casto

I am back home now,on the other side of the world.  Tiny thin woman of mystery,I still see you walking the streets of Jakarta dressed in your bright red sarongcarrying your blind red-swaddled babyas you beg for food and money. I fear knowing how low you’ve had to place yourselfto survive your poverty.  Are you hardened to the disapproving looks?Are you immune to the indignity? I could have given you something. I wanted to give you something. But I didn’t. I looked away from the full-blooded hunger in your face and the emptiness in your baby’s eyes.  Now I toss this message out into the seain hopes you receive it and feel my regret.  

--- 
Modification of the First Place winner of the David Atamian Memorial Award, 2024

Poems in Public Places
by Caroline Skanne & Bill Waters

Poems in Public Places is a Facebook and real-world group interested in creating and sharing poetry in public places. Together we aim to increase the richness of everyday living – one poem at a time.
The poems below accompanied by the above statement were carefully rolled, wrapped and placed in a corked bottle with the instructions, “Take & Enjoy!”
Bill Waters 
spider silk –just one strandand a breeze to lift itinto sunlight

Caroline Skanne

breath
by breath
the depth
of this blossom breeze
in my bones

The assembled bottle, photo by Bill Waters

Found
by Danielle Martin

Buoyed by light crystal wavesI watch in fear and sadnessas the cork slowly sails away. Thoughts falter, for if I shouldn’t,I already have.
But blue bottle in handand without catching my breath,violent whispers rush outclashing with the silent salt air.Brushing past damp living flesh.Nothing can be stopped!
Captured stories explodecolouring greying skies – gold.And I feel, see, and hear the pain, death,wealth, beauty and dreams of hope.The flight and might and sweet laughter, too.They swirl and mend, theirs and mine,thriving as one, inside.
And now knowing more than before,I stand stronger in depths of seas unknown,ancestral stories newly found,heart beating to tribal drums.

Hi There
by Gail Denham

I’m stuck on an island off the east coast. 
If you find this message in Florida, please pass it on. If it’s as far as Brazil, “mismo, por favour”(sorry I don’t speak Portugee).Send it back up to Panama.
If you read this in Mexico, “Adios” Idon’t want to live there. My goalis Los Angeles.
Read this in S. Calif. (and it’s not ruined)and it’s readable) my phone number ison the back. Please send an airline ticket.I’ll reimburse.
I do have cell service (also, there’s this nice restaurant and a sauna)
Thanks ever so…Marvin

13th Program Step
by Bob Chicoine

Even a lush wishes he’d be the one, albeitchosen by accident, to receive the word,the dope secret, the real news. Every bottle I emptied I looked for a message inside, a prize at the bottom of a boy’s box of Crackerjack.
Flagon after carafe after fifth,all I found there was sediment from wine,a worm in mezcal, dead yeast after beer.Lifting each to the light for any signof a rolled note, I took the glass’ distortionsof the world as evidence of fact.
Toting an empty bottle with me for companyone night, I breathed into the neck.It made a low hoot, as if a giraffehad sung in the voice of a owl.Whoooo it said, to the owl and the train’s honk, to the moon and back
and between them into any windowleft open by accident, where someone within listened, charmed, was consoled,reveled in mystery, and was happywith this news, confident they were not the only ones around to be told.

I Just Got a Note in a Bottle
by Jim Hart

I just got a note in a bottle It’s in German That’s the trouble with the Atlantic Ocean

Gail Denham, Photographer. 

Ocean
by Tina Gonzalez

I opened to let him in, to sand edgeswith each lapping wave;my foam resisting the Earthwhere I buried the last.
My glassine body stuck tothe wetness of the coming-rocking swell of his tideas the rush filled bottle-neckedvessel – Vessel, I onceshattered, when? Where?
But, Sea Glass, he says-See, glass…I am just water& you, the tide.

To Myself
by Lynn West

I embrace anger as joy fills my heartI soothe the inner child as confidence bathes meI stomp boldly over new paths as I hide under the covers
Words speak to the tempestas the storm brings me to new shoresI put a message in a bottle and hope I will find it.   

Lydia At Sea
by Rob Baker

 The first few days she woke at half-past sixanticipating finds – flopping rays, perfect conch, driftwood stickssuggesting Eastern meditations in their twisting, sea-blanched limbs.
Prodigal hair enscarved, descending star-cooled dunes, she ranched the elemental seam for answers, universal clues glyphed as shells or seaweed,coral rocks or one-winged gulls. She’d lift beseeching eyes.         But she found just bottles on the beachthat never bore a messagefrom a shore more foreign than the reaches of the night before –swigs of caramel-colored proof swept forwardby the minute hand,carried-over props, flotsam that enduredbeyond revelries and desperations ultimately foundto be unworthy,their sailors heaved from midnight’s deck and drownedin morning’s brinypitch of duties and recriminations.

haiku sequence
by Greg Beatty

I am the message.My body is the bottle.If you’d just read me
Glass Japanese floatskiss Washington’s rocky coastmurmuring of cherries
I heard The Policeafter forty years. No onegot my SOS.

My Friend is a Drunk
by Megan Cartwright

My friend is a drunk.He’s a late-night message.He’s a bottle half-full, even when it’s empty.My friend is not a TikTok drunk, a ‘wine-mom’ drunk,a weekend drunk. He’s a bona fide 9-5 drunk,clocking overtime – the graveyard shift.
He’s the ghost of bear hugs, cheeky grinfolded slack into sallow skin. He says interventions are for film,speaks in blackholes, swallowspast, present, future. Gets his buzz on,flies on meat, too long in the sun.

From the Message's Perspective
by Paul Buchheit

The ocean heaves in breaths of silv'ry grayas smoky curls of fog are gatheringabove me, wisping from the waterwayaround my glassy vessel, balancingon Neptune's trident, waiting for the shoreto reappear. How dreadfully I missthe balmy breezes! Just the night beforeI came to be, preparing for the blissof happy tidings for the eager soulreceiving me with airs of dignity,decorum, and respect. But now my roleas messenger is doomed! My destinyis like the driftwood floating aimlessly,forever harboring a mystery.

Green Magical Bottle
by Hanh Chau

Sing me your uplifting songwith my prayer of notes in the green magical bottleriding along at a melody pace in the tender caressing wave Carry in a slow-motion waya silent and murmuring soundtraveling across from the Atlantic Ocean spray cradling with the rhythm flows, take on a roller coastersending the quest of a lost oneto find the connection for solace, quiet spirit Bring a peaceful mind hearing the soothing swayleading to a restful placewith a message to conveyand delivery to thefinal finding destination

swimming 
by Laura Daniels

     after Lucille Clifton’s climbing
swimming upstream against the currentthe earth guiding mepropelling me forward for survivalfor a better lifeeach stroke building strength endurancethe effort to rebound  for sixty seasons demands a destination worthy of the journey
---Published in author’s debut poetry collection, Gentle Grasp (Kelsay Books, 2024)

Flow 
by Mo Daley

I threw a message in an old Coca-Cola bottleinto the metaphorical ocean.It contained things I had bottled up for years,since childhood, in fact.Secrets I had hoped would reach someone-anyone.I was desperate for a connection,maybe even a message back from a strangerwho understood what it felt like to be alone.I watched the bottle tumble in the swellsand wave goodbye,knowing I would get an answer.I inhaled deeply, allowing the calm to roll over me.My anxiety receded like the tideuntil I looked down and saw the bottle,floating around my metaphorical feet.

It Washed In and Out Along the Shore 
by R.M. Yager

old, blue stained and crackledthe cork was blackalgae grew around it
I picked it upthen took it up thepicnic table under the trees
I went back to the cottageto find an openerthe cork poppedI slipped the needle nose pliersinto the bottle and pulled out a note wrapped in a blue ribbon
“whoever finds this I want you to knowI needed to tell someone about about my Father who died todayhe was a great man”SS RIP 12-7-1941

The Letting Go of Light
 by Sreejata Roy

An untold conflagration of a loving heart: I am bottling the flames up,like fireflies stolen from the night and surrendering them to the river that meanders down my city.Let these disappear with the dissolving stars in the wateror get lost in the tides of the yawning oceanI would risk them to never be received rather than having to extinguish them againand live on with their charred remains. 

A Message Gone Astray?
by Kathryn Schmeiser

I stroll beaches, search for shardsof glass poking through beachwrack, sand grains.  Hoping to findThe Holy Grail – a Message in a Bottle.  One with a scrollof paper squeezed inside a scratched green wine bottle.Or water-stained wordsfloating in cobalt blue glass,the cork still plunged deepinside.  A mystery to me, still a child at heart, how water seeped through, blurred the message.
What words were so importantto scrawl in ink on special paper,to tie a thin blue ribbon around.Perhaps kissed before an adieu,an au revoir, an arrivederci.Then slung into a sea.
Perhaps never meantto begoodbye.

A Lost Bottle 
by Adrian McRobb

Floating in the middle of the sea, buoyant in stormsSplashed by Whale spouts and nudged by inquisitive sharksLiners pass at a distance, music plays as people crowd decksGetting colder now water is sluggish, ice forms on its sidesFloating lower in the water, neck and top only, visibleWind-blown through Newfoundland channels, spinningA receding tide pulls it from the land again, out to sea...Finally water leaks in, its secret missive slowly soaked throughLost buoyancy, let's it sink deep into dark waterUntil with a slight bump it arrives on the bottom, over hung by shadowLying in sand underneath a rusting cliff, of Titanic, Southampton

Revelations of the Body 
by Laura Atanacio Edington

The needle pierces the skin.The blood seepsinto the vial.All the answers liein the red liquid that has been residing in a frail body.Secrets.Messages.Confidences you might not want revealed.The uncertainty is the worst.Knowing the answerswill determine a futureone may not be ready to confront.

The Carrier
by Dan Fitzgerald

I am the carrier.The means to takewhatever you want to sayto the far away.
I am the bottle that floats,the balloon that rideswith clouds in the sky;the arrow shot to you know not where.
I am the messenger,not knowing the message,taking what I carryto someone else’s hand.It may be hope or despair,a blessing or a curse.It is not for me to care.
I drift to shore.I fall from the air.Succeeding or failing,I am the carrier,going as far,and as long, as I can.

Catch & Release 
by Tobin Fraley

No true silence exists in life.Only small pieces ofstill and quiet airfilling an ambient calm.During these too few moments,sounds of civilizationshift into the backgroundand clarity of mind is rediscovered.
I want to capturethis tranquilityin a glass jar,like sanguine firefliesand when lostin shadows and noise,release them into the chaosto chase away the night.
Although this bottled essenceis only imagined,as are tales of straw into gold,I embrace it without remorse.For these soft glowing jars,hold a sense of self that lingersas possibilities of the still and quietwait to be set free.

Vintage Wine in the Cabinet 
by William Marr

water and firelove and hatesoul and fleshafter countless fierce battlesand interminglesit now becomes settledclear and bright
the older its agethe more aromatic
floating on the sea of timeemitting amber lightthis magic bottlefrom Arabian Nightsis waiting patientlyno, impatientlyfor someone to fish it upand uncork

---
Appeared in Selected Chinese/English Poems of William Marr (The Earth Culture Press, China, 2021)

Poet in an Empty Bottle
by Michael Lee Johnson

I'm a poet who drinks only red wine.When inebriated with earthlydelusion and desire, I crawl insidethis empty bottle of 19 Crimes Red Wine,lone wolf, no rehab needed, just confined. Here, behind brown tinted glassand a hint of red stain, I can harm no one—body squeezed in so tight, blowing bubbles,hidden, squirming, can't leap out. My words echo chamber, reverberatingback into my tinnitus ears.I forage for words.Search for novel incentives.But the harvest is pencil-thinthe frontal cortex shrinks and turns gray.Come live with me in my dotage.There are few rewards.My old egg-beater brain is clunking out. I lay here, peace and quiet in prayer.I can hardly breathe in thin air. I'm a symbol of legacy, crumblingstored in formaldehyde. Memories hereare likely just puny, weak synapses. "I'm not afraid of death, I just don'twant to be here when it happens."*Looking out, others looking in at me.Curved glass is a new world intangible dimly defined.I no longer care about cyberspace, uncultivatedwild women, the holy grail of matrimony.I likely will never write my first sonnetwith angels; I only fantasize about them in dreams. Quiet in osteoarthritis pain is this poetwho only drinks 19 Crimes Red Wine.      *Quote by Woody Allen.

Flaschenpost 
by Elen Griffiths

        flaschenpost means “message in a bottle” in German
If you could climb a ladder with no endWould you find yourself here?In the upper stacks of the Periodicals RoomIn the Taylorian library, Oxford? Turning,the Librarienne with whispered hairnow shelves books back-to-back,the way a mother mightframe photographs.
How long before she tooHas a glassy spine and threadbare seams?
Ages have passed since she has seenAnyone like this girl, with sunny hair& speckled skin brighter than the tint of timewho half-disrupts antiquityto comb the shelves with her intrigued eyes
looking for German Life & Letters(now confined) – and who instead finds,washed up      on the cold coast, the Librarienne:
           a poem in herself; a living,               breathing flaschenpost.
- - -
“the ways in which a poem can travel across continents & years between poets and readers of different ages (…) how these readers (sometimes themselves also poets) can understand and speak back.”
Karen Leeeder, Flaschenpost, a special edition of German Life and Letters, 2007

Sea Glass 
by Judith Stern Friedman

I tried to put time in a bottle,to stop it with a cork, pull back on the throttle.To slow down and savor the wonders, the world,watch as my awe completely unfurls.
I tried to stuff in my memories, missteps,my lessons, my loves,the secrets I’ve kept.Experience clear through translucent glass,No time to waste, let tidal waves pass.
No matter how much I try to insert,this vessel is clearly far from inert,Rolling on white caps, whisked away by the squalls,Coming only to rest when distant shores call.

uncorked 
by Pauline Kochanski

genie cannotre-enter the containerin a future, cloggedby deep rooted concepts
an idealized past
release the womenand you will seea worldso bold
unstoppable
fantasy is wishful thinking& wishes are dreamsthat do not come truecondemned to wander 
unwilling to re-enter the bottle

The Trouble with Scrolls:
Will They Matter Forty Years From Now
by Michael Escoubas

Thisdeso-lationinsideI  Slikesandon an endless beach.Here, I intend to tossthis bottle into the sea.It is not a sea of salt, butone of self-doubt. I feellike a drifter on an opensea. The scroll I write onis not of paper but onebeyond the brilliance ofthe  sea. Yet, somethingstirs in me that this tragic-gestured  sea  will  serveme well, in  the end. For,I have a song I dare notS       I       N       G until the  sea’s restlesswaves  calm  down andsomeone reads the scrollwritten on  my  heart.

 Participating Poets, Artists & Editors to Message in a Bottle

Murray Alfredson is a former librarian, lecturer in librarianship and Buddhist Associate in the Multi-Faith Chaplaincy at Flinders University. He has published poems, poetry translations and essays on poetics in Ashvamegh (India), Awakenings Review (USA), Cadenza (UK), Dawn Treader (UK), San Pedro River Review, Shalla (USA), Touch Poetry (USA), and Ygrdrasil (Canada), among others. His second collection, The Gleaming Clouds was published by Interactive Press, Brisbane in 2013. He lives on the Fleurieu Peninsula by Gulf St. Vincent in South Australia.

Carol Alfus is a retired teacher, community volunteer, enthusiastic traveler and gardener. Her poetry is informed and inspired by current events, personal memories and the boundless beauty and ingenuity of the natural world. Her first full poetry collection, I Would Swim in Such a Sky, will be published by Kelsay Books in early 2026. She would like to receive a message in a bottle from the Future!

Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, Nebraska. He has had poems published in Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Modern Literature, and several other publications. He is the author of On the Corner of Walk and Don’t Walk, Conquer the Mountains, Family Portraits, The Life of an Ordinary Man, and In the Eyes Of.

Marie Asner is a poet and free-lance writer.  Some things that Marie would want to have with her on a deserted island. Three items: (1) a Bible, (2) a machete and (3) a desalinizer for drinkable water.

Rob Baker says that if he were stranded on a desert island, he'd like to have on hand a copy of George Eliot's Middlemarch, so he could read it for the fourth time. If, each morning, a bottle filled with a Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee and oat milk should wash ashore, his happiness would be complete. 

Dr. Kanwalpreet Baidwan teaches Political Science in a college in India. She has authored twenty books. Her poems have been published in various magazines like Mocking Owl Roost, Syncopation, Fevers of the Mind, University of Wisconsin, Art and Collectives, Cincinnati, Starvaig #16 by Scottish Centre of Geopoetics. Her poem on acid attack victims was read at Yorick Radios, Scotland among others. Kanwal says “I would love to receive a message in a bottle from a stranger far away who would share her life experiences with me which would be full of positivism and hope. If I were stranded on an island, I would like to have hordes of chocolates with me to munch to my fill.”

Greg Beatty lives in Bellingham, Washington. He writes everything from jokes about cows to essays on cooking disasters. Greg has more dog friends than human friends. In fact, if he found a bottle with a message in it, he would want it to be from his dog.

Mary Bone has been writing poetry since childhood. Her poems have appeared at Highland Park Poetry, Active Muse Journal, Backchannels Journal, Blaze Vox 2025 Soring Journal of Voice online, Poetry Catalog, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Aloka Magazine, Literary Revelations and other places. Upcoming poetry has been accepted by eMerge, Feed the Holy and Chewers Masticadores. Mary has written two books of poetry and admits that she is always hoping to find a message in a bottle when she goes to the ocean or a lake.

Jude Luttrell Bradley is a Pushcart-nominated writer whose work has aired on National Public Radio and is published in journals including Thimble, Moon Love, and Atlanta Review. Jude was the featured poet at the 2024 Boston Poetry Downtown Festival. She is the Reverend Al Green’s most devoted fan. Visit her message in a virtual bottle judelb.weebly.com.

Mary Beth Bretzlauf (Editor and Poet) would love to find a mysterious bottle wash up with a message!  She is currently President of Illinois State Poetry Society, a member of Poets & Patrons and Highland Park Poetry’s Live Events and Editorial Teams. She is author of The Path that Beckons: Poems About the Journey, her first collection of poems. 

Paul Buchheit is an author of books, poems, progressive essays, and scientific journal articles. His books include 365 Sonnets: Celebrating Each Day with a "Little Song," self-published in May, 2025;  Dante’s Divine Comedy: In 100 Sonnets, self-published in January, 2025;  Paradise Lost: A Poetic Journey, published in 2024 by Wipf and Stock Publishers;  and Sonnets of Love and Joy,  published in August, 2023 by Kelsay Books  (named Book of the Year by the Illinois State Poetry Society).

David Stanford Burr authored Ledger Domain (poems) and The Poet's Notebook: Inspiration, Techniques, and Advice on Craft. His poems have appeared in dozens of periodicals and in anthologies. David taught at New York University as an adjunct associate professor, leading poetry workshops, was a managing editor at Macmillan Publishers, and continues freelance editing--nearly 300 poetry titles, including 17 Best American Poetry series annuals. His current poetry project is a collection of his own Great War poems from the perspective of the British Expeditionary force in the trenches on the Western Front.  

Monica Cardestam (Artist and Poet) became interested and dabbled in poetry in college as an English major where she was inspired by poets such as Robert Frost and Langston Hughes.  After years of setting aside her creative passions working long hours in the business world, she is now creating art, dabbling in photography, and writing poetry where inspiration many times comes from the simple things in life. 

Monica shares this bittersweet message in a bottle story, which she found on the internet: “In 1999 while fishing off the Essex coast in England, Steve Gowan found a green ginger beer bottle with a screw-on topper.  Inside, Gowan found a message from 26-year-old World War I soldier Private Thomas Hughes to his wife, with a covering note for the finder of the bottle.  The bottle had been tossed into the English Channel as Hughes left to fight in France.  The covering note read: "Sir or madam, youth or maid, would you kindly forward the enclosed letter and earn the blessing of a poor British soldier on his way to the front this ninth day of September, 1914. Signed Private T. Hughes, Second Durham Light Infantry. Third Army Corp Expeditionary Force.”  The letter read: "Dear Wife, I am writing this note on this boat and dropping it into the sea just to see if it will reach you. If it does, sign this envelope on the right-hand bottom corner where it says receipt. Put the date and hour of receipt and your name where it says signature and look after it well. Ta ta sweet, for the present. You’re Hubby.”  Two days after writing the letter in 1914, Hughes was killed.  The family later moved to New Zealand, where Gowan was able to deliver the letter to Hughes's daughter, Emily Crowhurst, 85 years later.” (Source: https://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-04-09/ten-most-famous-message-in-a-bottle-discoveries/5376040)

William T. Carey (Editor) lives with his wife in the Chicago area. Luckily, their adult son lives nearby. Too long ago, Carey attended the University of Notre Dame and Washington University Law School, and he practiced law for some years before joining his family’s real estate investment business. In later years he returned to the world of language, his first love. His interests include piano and guitar, tennis, travel, reading, hiking, and tai chi. His poems have appeared in various journals. Kelsay Books published his poetry collection, Family Rattling, in 2024.

Megan Cartwright is an Australian author and teacher. Find her poetry in print and online publications including Broken Antler Magazine, Contemporary Verse 2, Cordite Poetry Review, and Mascara Literary Review. If she were to find a message in a bottle, she would want it to be from Allen Ginsberg.

Pamelyn Casto is the author of Flash Fiction: Alive in the Flicker, A Portable Workshop https://tinyurl.com/42snuxn7. She is senior associate editor at OPEN: Journal of Arts & Letters and her work has appeared in Field Guide to Writing Flash Fiction, Tips from Editors, Teachers, and Writers in the Field, Gargoyle, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Writers Digest, and many other publications. Twice she’s been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. 

Hanh Chau is from San Jose, California. She enjoys reading, listening to music, ballroom dancing, and poetry writing. She works for Kaiser Permanente as a patient care services representative for twenty years. She holds a bachelor’s degree and an MBA degree in a business study.

Bob Chicoine is a CPA and beer vendor for Chicago Cub and Bears games. Bob explains, “If 100 billion bottles washed ashore at his deserted isle, as they did in The Police song, the first one he’d open would be a tube from the pneumatic system that used to route documents through the chute networks in the walls of old office buildings across America.”

Jackie Chou is a poet of free verses and Japanese short form poetry, a graduate of the University of Southern California in Creative Writing, and a Jeopardy fan. If stranded on a deserted island, she'd like to have sheet music of songs she grew up with from the eighties and nineties by artists like Madonna, Cindy Lauper, Elton John, Phil Collins, and Green Day. That way she could practice singing, which she enjoys though it is not her strong suit.

Jan Chronister divides her year in half between northern Wisconsin and South Georgia. Gardens in both places keep her busy and inspired. The past, sometimes evoked by bottles, also visits her poems. Jan is widely published, including thirteen books.

Daniel Cleary explains, “The river I'm thinking about here, is the river of my childhood, the river Ara in Tipperary Town, Ireland, where I was born. Here we have, then, a message in a bottle from that small town in Ireland to Highland Park, Illinois, and from there to the world at large. If I were to receive a similar message, I would like to think of it as having the same exotic references, bearing balms and pleasant breezes from just such a distant country to me.” He adds “Among the essential items I would have to have, if I, myself, were marooned on a desert island, would be a pencil, some paper, and of course, a bottle.”

Pamela Crady (Artist, Muses’ Gallery) is a lifelong artist. She began as a fashion illustrator in Chicago, followed by decades of commissioned work and hundreds of published works in many mediums. She currently specializes in soft pastels. The pure pigments capture colors in very unique ways. Her style is a mix of traditional and impressionism and she hopes to create a painting that is beautiful to look at and always promotes a sense of peace and reflects the beauty of God's creation that surrounds each of us. Pamela is currently represented at Gallery 1871 in Chicago, on exhibit at Jameson Sotheby's, Chicago, and part of the permanent collection at Westminster Home in Evanston. She is very honored for the opportunity to participate with Highland Park Poetry.

Victoria Crawford is from California and Jim King is from Wales in the U.K.  Both now live in Thailand but between them, they have traveled/lived in well over 60 countries.  Jim is a free diver who would love to find a treasure map deep in the South China Sea.  Victoria favors strolling along the rivers and waterfalls of northern Siam, unfortunately her four dogs would chew up any messages they might find. 

Laura Daniels is a neurodivergent writer. Editor of The Fringe 999 Poetry Forum, recently published in Gyroscope Review and Journal of New Jersey Poets. Her book, Gentle Grasp (Kelsay Books), is available on Amazon, in public libraries, and at local bookstores. She resides in Mount Arlington, New Jersey. If she were stranded on a desert island, she hopes to have hundreds of seeds stowed away in her pocket.

Mo Daley is a retired middle-school reading specialist who lives in Oak Forest, Illinois. She enjoys reading, writing, traveling, and spending time with her very large family. If she were stranded on a deserted island, she'd want to have complete collections of Billy Collins and Isak Dinesen by her side.

Mary Christine Delea has a Ph.D. in English/Creative Writing and is the author of three chapbooks and one full-length collection of poems. She is originally from Long Island, New York and has lived all over the United States. She says, “As long as the deserted island I ended up on had lots of pineapples growing and a large library, I would be fine.”

For over 50 years Gail Denham's (Photographer and Poet) poetry, news articles, stories and photos have appeared nationally and internationally. Living in Oregon, Denham has many photo opportunities, plus. Gail says, “Oregon beaches are cleaned by volunteers yearly. Are any bottle messages discarded? That would be sad.”

Morgan Silas Donnelly's storytelling may best be described as 'enchanted whimsy'. He invites readers to embrace new beginnings, and profound connections, by celebrating in verse love's enduring power through curiosity, discovery, and awareness. If stranded on a deserted island, he would like to have with him: a six-pack of beer, a pitchfork, and a blanket, which also happens to be the name of his very first published article! He has a website over at https://morgansilasdonnelly.com.

Jennifer Dotson (Editor and Poet) is the author of Late Night Talk Show Fantasy & Other Poems (Kelsay Books, 2020) and Clever Gretel (Chicago Poetry Press, 2013). She began Highland Park Poetry in 2007. When asked what she would want with her on a desert island for a college admissions essay, she said a copy of the Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Now she would want to be with her husband David Dotson for love and companionship as well as his more practical survival skills plus his ability to talk with cats and other animals.

Miranda P. Dotson is a climate activist, long-distance cyclist, and social scientist. She has previously been published in Teen Vogue, Buzzfeed, The Nation, as well as peer-reviewed journals such as Sociology Compass and Body & Society. As bios are sorts of bottled messages, she uses hers to write “Free Palestine” in hopes that it reaches those who still look away from the ongoing genocide.

Laura Atanacio Edington is a retired educator who loves to read, write, and travel. She is living her best life in Arkansas with her husband, Jerry, and dog, Sophie. She has been published in the Oklahoma Writers' Federation Report, won various awards for her poetry and short fiction from OWFI, and published in F(r)iction- Vol. 1, NEO Portmanteau, Tuck Magazine, and Highland Park Poetry’s 2022 Summer anthology, Odes – Poets Praising People, Places, and Things. She would love for her grandchildren to receive a message in a bottle that reads, “DON’T BE AFRAID.”  

Michael Escoubas lives in Bloomington, Illinois, in the heart of Lincolnland. He serves as contributing poet, book reviewer and senior editor of Quill and Parchment, a 24-year-old literary and cultural arts online poetry journal. His poem "The Trouble with Scrolls" reflects on a core principle Michael lives by: He desires that any communication reflects a concern for his heart. Were he to receive an "actual" message in a bottle, he hopes it would appeal emotionally and intellectually to who he is.

A high school teacher’s unexpected whisper, “You’ve got writing talent,” ignited Sara’s writing desire. Sara Etgen-Baker ignored that whisper and dream of becoming a writer, pursuing a teaching career instead. Post retirement, Sara began writing and has written memoir vignettes, narrative essays, poems, and a novel (Secrets at Dillehay Crossing).  Her work has been published in numerous anthologies and magazines. Her combined memoir vignettes (Shoebox Stories) will be published in 2025 along with her poetry chapbook Kaleidoscopic Verses. Sara says, “If I were stranded on a desert island, I'd want a box of chocolates, a book of poetry, a pen, and some paper. If I were to write a message in a bottle, I would hope my husband would find it and rescue me.” 

Beatriz F. Fernandez is a Puerto Rican/Peruvian bilingual university librarian based in Florida.  She has an M.A. in English literature and has authored three chapbooks: Simultaneous States (Bainbridge Island Press, 2025), The Ocean Between Us (Backbone Press, 2017) and Shining from a Different Firmament (Finishing Line Press, 2015) which she presented at the Miami International Book Fair.  She’s the grand prize winner of the 2nd annual Writer’s Digest Poetry Award and has read her work on WLRN, South Florida’s NPR station.  Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart prize three times in recent years.  If she received a message in a bottle, she would like it to be a letter from her mother, reassuring her she is happy in another world.

Dan Fitzgerald is a retired printer and an award-winning poet. His work has appeared in many journals and anthologies. He has two Pushcart Award nomination and is the author of full-length collection of poems weatherman (Kelsay Books) and a small collection gatherings (Kelsay Books). He lives quietly in Pontiac, Illinois tending to home and garden.

At 74 years old, Tobin Fraley feels that he lives in his own bottle, sequestered by memories, immersed in questions, and uncertain about his future. And like that bottle, he has floated around during his lifetime, flirting with various professions including carousel historian, retailer, woodcarver, teacher, author, designer, and photographer, but has never been able to focus on a specific vocation long enough to grasp the full mastery of any one thing. Currently he takes piano lessons, is an active member of Perspective Fine Art Photography Gallery in Evanston, and writes a weekly blog found at thecagedmind.com. 

Mike Freveletti is a poet and writer living in Wheaton, Illinois.  His poetry and fiction have been published in various places both online and in print and at any given time he's working on a collection of poetry, co-writing a sketch comedy show and performing with his improv group, Shark Tango. If he was stranded on a deserted island, he would want to make sure he had a copy of H.G. Wells’ The Island of Dr. Moreau.

Judith Stern Friedman is a writer, teacher, coach, and advocate for keeping the written word alive. Following second-grade dreams of publishing her poems in Reader’s Digest, Judy found her voice in national magazine and book publications. Today, Judy’s writing is influenced by vast Lake Michigan waters within walking distance from her home. Fun fact: Judy recently collected washed-up waste in a beach cleanup at Fort Sheridan. Though she hoped to find a message in a bottle, she filled her bag with pieces of microplastic, contributing to the Great Lakes’ nearly 22 million pounds of plastic pollution annually. Judy adds, “If I found a message in a bottle, I’d wish for commentary from the fish: How is life from under all those waves?”

Carol L. Gloor has been writing poetry since she was sixteen. Her work has been published in many online and hard copy journals, most recently in Earth’s Daughters and The Vassar Review.   She lives happily with her husband and three cats near the banks of the Mississippi and would like to send a message in a bottle to anyone in China that would read, “We’re all just dumb, struggling humans, so please no war” (but first she would have to learn to write Chinese).

Tina Gonzalez is a LatinX poet, scholar, professor, activist, and mother. Her work embodies the divine feminine spirit, situated within motherhood, justice, and advocacy for women and their children. Tina’s poetry and other writings attest that it is through the body of lived experience that one carries their cultural identities and can transcend from inherited intersectional oppression. Her personal and professional pedagogy is centered around social justice and equality for all beings from all backgrounds. Tina tells us, “If I were ever to receive a message in a bottle, I would like it to be from one or all of my loved ones who have left their physical vessel(s) on Earth.” 

Elen Griffiths is a lawyer and erstwhile poem writer based in North London, United Kingdom.

Gay Guard-Chamberlin is a poet/artist/mad collector of odd and interesting bottles. She fantasizes that someday she will find one that houses a genuine genie, and she promises to share her wishes. In the meantime, as often as possible, Gay offers quirky writing workshops with her sister on the West Coast through the magic of Zoom. You can read more at https://newwindpublishing.com/our-titles/sibling-revelry/.

Jim Hanson is a retired university researcher and sociologist who lives in Collinsville, Illinois. His messages consist of four poetry collections, also some thirty single poems, and in fact he imbibes in the bottles of the Illinois State Poetry Society Southern Chapter and St. Louis Poetry Center.

Jim Hart is the author of five poetry collections: Loving Sue, Missing Sue, Ramblings of a One-Eyed Garbage Man, A Handful of Smoke and Just Another Friday Night in Brooklyn. His poems have been published worldwide in over seventy journals and reviews. Three of his five collections have been in the top fifty on Amazon.

Caden Hartsburg, also known as Maine, just graduated from Wesclin Senior High School. His poem, Maine, earned second place in Highland Park Poetry's 2025 Poetry Challenge for an Ode to a Geographic Place. Caden/Maine made the connection that The Titanic is a message in a bottle lost at the bottom of the ocean for others to find. He plans to pursue game development in college. 

Colleen McManus Hein (Editor and Poet) lives and writes in Riverwoods, Illinois. If she were stranded on a desert island, she would pray that her Kindle was truly waterproof.

Irene Hoffman (Editor) is an artist, poet, gardener and traveler all of which helps influence the ideas and perspectives that guide her works.  A resident of Highland Park, she is a member of the Library Board of Trustees, serves on the Go-Green Highland Park Steering Committee, and actively supports the Art Center of Highland Park. She has won several awards for her poetry from Highland Park Poetry and enjoys the thrill of selecting new poems that assist in the creation of new Highland Park Poetry editions like this one.

Julie Isaacson (Editor and Poet) lives in Highland Park, Illinois, where she loves teaching students of all ages to become strong writers. She loves all the creative and literary opportunities offered in the community. Her favorite travel is to the West Coast for the natural beauty, and love of family. On a stranded deserted island, Julie would relish a large white sheet, for protection by day, a layer of warmth by night, a tablecloth for possible edibles, and serve as a rescue flag to anyone who might be searching!

Michael Lee Johnson, a renowned poet from Downers Grove, Illinois, has gained international recognition with his work, which has been published in 46 countries or republics.  His poems have received seven Pushcart and seven Best of the Net nominations.

Fiona M. Jones writes short, dark-themed fiction and nature-themed essays and poetry. Her work is published everywhere except Antarctica. Here is most of it: https://fionamjones.wordpress.com/.

Elizabeth Stanley King is a poet who embraces the transformative power of language—using her words to evoke emotion, challenge perspectives, and capture life’s fleeting moments. Whether exploring themes of love, loss, resilience, or wonder, her poetry invites readers and listeners alike to pause, reflect, and feel.  She believes poetry should make you feel something and encourages all of us to drink from Emily Dickinson's bottle in, "I taste a liquor never brewed."

Jim King is from Wales in the U.K. and Victoria Crawford is from California.  Both now live in Thailand but between them, they have traveled/lived in well over 60 countries.  Jim is a free diver who would love to find a treasure map deep in the South China Sea.  Victoria favors strolling along the rivers and waterfalls of northern Siam, unfortunately her four dogs would chew up any messages they might find. 

Pauline Kochanski is a Chicago area multi-disciplinary artist, writer, independent curator, lover of finding new words and more.  Pauline is compelled to follow ideas that arise, be it family and ancestors, nature, objects that trigger memories.  She feels transported through her creativity and the messages bottles send her way towards revealing her inner self.

Candace Kubinec is a poet and a photographer from Greensburg, Pennsylvania. Whether she is playing with words or pixels, she tries to find the glimmer of beauty in the mundane and coax the soul from the everyday. Candace reveals that “If I found a message in a bottle, I’d like it to be from my Scottish grandmother, who I never got to meet, telling me about my dad when he was a little boy.”

Tom Langlands (Photographer and Poet) is a retired architect, photographer, poet and creative writer from Scotland. He is a regular contributor to the North American publication Celtic Life International. His work has appeared in numerous publications at home and abroad. If he was stranded on a desert island he would like nothing better than a means of playing music, a book of modern poetry and a bottle of Highland Park malt whisky. The appearance of a wish-granting genie once the bottle was empty would be an added benefit. Rescue should be optional and not essential!

Kerry Leaf finds writing a brief bio statement as challenging as deciding if she would place her own bottle with a message in Lake Michigan or in the Atlantic Ocean of her childhood.  She hopes our seas will be maintained so that bottles won’t be weighed down by garbage. For now, she’ll just thank all of her muses---her nonprofit work volunteers, her friends and family, her rescue pooch Louie, and her hope-for-the-future Archie.

Joan Leotta loves walking the beach and has often fantasized about finding an historic note in a bottle. So far she has found only shards of sea glass--not even a whole bottle, let alone one containing a note. Joan plays with words on page and stage. She’s been published as an essayist, poet, short story writer, and novelist. She’s a two-time nominee for Pushcart and twice for Best of the Net. Her poetry, essays, and stories have appeared in Ovunque Siamo, Highland Park publications, One Art, and other journals. Her folklore shows most often highlight her Italian heritage, food, family, and strong women. She has been a guest on Italian and British radio. Her new one-woman stage show is “Louisa May Alcott, Author, Nurse, Traveler, Seamstress, and Writer.”

Arlene Gay Levine is the author of 39 Ways to Open Your Heart: An Illuminated Meditation (Conari Press) and Movie Life (Finishing Line Press). Her prose and poetry have appeared in The New York Times, an Off-Broadway show, anthologies, journals, radio programs and online. http://www.arlenegaylevine.com. She says, “If I wrote a message in a bottle I would send it to my husband asking him to come find me; I know he would not stop until he did, even if it was in another galaxy!”

Laurinda Lind lives at the ventral-stream end of Lake Ontario, which is sort-of shaped like a brain’s temporal lobe with no lobe to the east. Her poems are in a few hundred journals, and she has won four international poetry competitions. Her first chapbook, Trials by Water, was published in 2024 (Orchard Street Press). Laurinda asks us to consider, “Isn’t a poem like a message in a bottle? Thrown into the subconscious sea? Landing legible but random?”

Lennart Lundh is a poet, photographer, historian, and short-fictionist. His work has appeared internationally since 1965.

Ann Malaspina writes children's books and poetry and lives just a 90-minute drive to the Jersey Shore. This spring she saw horseshoe crabs laying their eggs on the beaches near Cape May—and shorebirds devouring the eggs to fuel their migrations. She’s writing a picture book about the wrack line, where horseshoe crab shells, seaweed, bugs, worms, and sometimes even a bottle, are left behind after a high tide. Saving the wrack line helps save our fragile beaches. 

Danielle Martin, a former Journalist and Copywriter has published two books on Amazon, Kissing Shadows: Caribbean Love Poems and Sweet Talk: Caribbean Culture. Danielle's poetry appears in several international online and print anthologies. This poem was inspired by the theme, "Message in a Bottle" and ultimately transpired into a line of connection with her ancestors. The sea is this poet's happy place and she enjoys collecting shells, pieces of glass and stones along the sandy shoreline, as a link to stories untold. Find Danielle at https://www.facebook.com/martindauthor/

William Marr, a Chinese-American scientist, poet, and artist, and former president of the Illinois State Poetry Society, has published over 30 collections of poetry and translations. Enjoy his Traveling Through Time: Collected Poems for free from this downloadable link- https://alharris.com/william-marr/traveling.pdf

David Mathews’ work has been nominated for Best of the Net, a Pushcart, and a finalist in the Gwendolyn Brooks Open Mic Awards. Fun fact about messages in bottles: The Japanese medieval epic The Tale of the Heike records the story of an exiled poet who, in about 1177 AD, launched wooden planks on which he had inscribed poems describing his plight; learn more from this online source - https://youtu.be/YE1MwI69ooU?si=I9h3x0T3jvqw8U-P.

John McCutcheon tells us, “I am Scottish, from Ayrshire, and my first thought on seeing Highland Park Poetry’s prompt about a message in a bottle was Highland Park the Orkney whiskey, and so the haiku reflects this too. I think finding a message in a bottle would be a poet’s dream.” 

Matt McGee and his friends were once turned loose with markers and Sharpies in 1988 and told by the owners to decorate the framing of a house under construction. The sentiments expressed that night are still locked inside by the drywallers who showed up the following day. 

Adrian McRobb has been a writer for many years, with varying degrees of success, now residing in Darkest Northumberland UK, "a land of trees and shallow ground mists." He ran away to sea at an early age and has travelled the world in the Royal Navy as an Engineer, involving two world tours, one of the Southern Hemisphere on HMS Londonderry, and the other of the Northern hemisphere on HMS Ark Royal, both of which lasted 16 months. After 16 years of service in the Royal Navy, he found himself employment at The Newcastle Brewery, where he worked for 23 years helping to produce Newcastle Brown Ale amongst other beers. Fun fact: the oldest message in a bottle was 108 years old, and was found on a beach in Germany

Jen Meyer (Editor) can be found walking the western shores of Lake Michigan while hunting for bottles with messages and happily settling for interesting rocks and beach glass.

Mike O’Leary is from Chicago and now resides in West Hartford, Connecticut. Mike started writing poetry in 2022 and continues to write to stay connected to himself. If Mike were to send a message in a bottle, he would hope that future generations find it to provide a dash of hope. 

Carl “Papa” Palmer of Old Mill Road in Ridgeway, Virginia, now lives in University Place, Washington. He is retired military, retired FAA, and now just plain retired enjoying life as “Papa” to his grand descendants. Carl shares several thoughts: “Remember social media replies, likes, comments and messages are permanent, accessible and seen forever. / On that desert island is my journal with plenty of pencils. My message: To the finder of this note— If you are lost, take comfort in the tide. If you are searching, let the wind be your guide.”

Jonathan Plotkin (Artist, Muses’ Gallery), a longtime resident of Highland Park, is past Chairman of the Cultural Arts Commission and Board President of the Art Center Highland Park.  His editorial illustrations have appeared regularly on the OpEd pages of the Chicago Tribune and other national newspapers and magazines. Jonathan's message in a bottle illustrations included the Muses’ Gallery for this collection speak to the universal desire to communicate across distance and cultural borders.

Marjorie Rissman is an active member of four poetry communities: Highland Park Poetry, East on Central, Poets and Patrons, and Illinois State Poetry Society. When she has free moments, she loves jigsaw puzzles and attending her grandchildren’s games.

James Rodgers is a prolific poet living in Pacific, Washington for more than two decades. He created his own humorous style of haiku that he calls haikooky, and you can see his blog at jamesrodgershaikooky.blogspot.com. James has three self-published chapbooks, and has had poems published by Prism Magazine, Ha!, Poets of the Kent Canterbury Faire, Fly By Night Press, WPA Members Anthology, Wrist, Raven Chronicles, Washington English Journal, and over 30 more. James’ first full book of poetry, They Were Called Records, Kids was released by MoonPath Press in 2018, and he was the Poet Laureate for Auburn, Washington from 2021-2023. If he sent out a message in a bottle, he would love it to be found by Sting.

Sreejata Roy is a research scholar and English teacher based in Kolkata, India. She dabbles in the arts and photography but gives her soul to writing. She aspires to be a memorable author in the age of short attention spans and artificial intelligence.  She believes in activism for a just and egalitarian world, cultivating friendships and investing in healing and self-development.  Intellectually curious and perpetually anxious, she is an ongoing work in progress. I would always want to ensure I have drinking water with me if I am ever stranded on a desert island. And if I were to write a message in a bottle, I hope it turns out to be a 'message from the universe' for anyone who finds it. 

Kathryn Schmeiser has published two poetry and photography collections, and her poems have appeared in anthologies.  She imagines life as a mermaid poet, one who walks on land.  On her desert island, she would have cases of empty bottles, notepads and pencils.  Each day, she’d toss this message into the sea for people who are grieving: Hope is a waking dream.  – With love, Aristotle and The Mermaid Poet.

Don Shearn has been a resident of Highland Park since 1981. His poetry and short fiction have been published by East on Central. He won Highland Park Poetry’s 2014 Poetry Pentathlon North Shore Edition and appeared on Poetry Today, their 30-minute local access program. His novel, The Five Books of Krinsky is available on Amazon. He posts videos on donsbasement-blogspot and sings and plays guitar in various living rooms and basements around town. His Highland Park faves include hanging out at the library, walking to the lake and sitting on his deck watching the wind (gently) rustle through the trees.

Caroline Skanne is obsessed with very short poems. She is the founder of hedgerow: a journal of small poems (www.hedgerowhaiku.com) & a former editor of the journal of the British Haiku Society, Blithe Spirit. Her poetry has been widely published. Samples of her work can be found at www.carolineskanne.com.

Terry L. Slaney has been writing since childhood, her attempts influenced by what she saw and heard.  For example, “Prince, the Dog”, was written as a direct descendant of “Lassie”. (She loved the family boxer, Cleo).  She would just as soon whistle off the rim of a bottle top and would hope to find a message in a bottle carried by Poseidon from her son, Polycraty who lives with his family in Greece.

Gerry Sloan is a retired music professor living in Fayetteville, Arkansas. He received a master's degree in music performance from Northwestern University in the early 1970s. Gerry explains, “My son-in-law, Taimur Sullivan, is currently Professor of Saxophone at Northwestern University, and my other two granddaughters, Soraya and Luciya Sullivan (see Sullivan Sisters Bluegrass), attended Evanston Township High School. Their mother, Allison, first came to Evanston in a cardboard box during my first term in graduate school. She now owns a home two blocks from the hotel where we stayed. Talk about a time capsule!” To learn more about Gerry, visit www.gerrysloanpoetry.com.

Shirley Smothers (Artist, Muses’ Gallery) is an amateur artist, writer, and poet. She mostly writes short stories. Some of her short stories can be viewed at Shirleysmothers@storystar.com.  Last year she self-published her second book. This can be found at ShirleysmothersSolasta@pothi.com. Shirley adds, “If I were lost on a deserted island, I would want to find a message in a bottle that reads, ‘All your loved ones are doing great, but they miss you so much.’”

Jacqueline Stearns holds a B.A. degree from William Paterson College now University. She has been published in several Montclair Write Anthologies. She served as an editor for the New Jersey Peace Action Peace Poems and was employed as a feature Writer for Clifton Merchant Magazine. Jackie and her significant other Steve hope to find volunteer opportunities in Richmond that support the causes they believe in. Jackie says: “If I were stranded on a desert island, I would want my Steve with me and cooking supplies.”

Sharon Suzuki-Martinez wants to find a message in a bottle from her future self or anyone from the future because from today’s vantage point, tomorrow looks in deep peril. In more peaceful times, she won the Washington Prize for her latest book of poetry, The Loneliest Whale Blues (The Word Works), and the MVP Prize for her first book, The Way of All Flux (New Rivers Press). More at SharonSuzukiMartinez.com

Bill Waters (Photographer and Poet) is a published writer of short poetry and compressed prose who once fished a message bottle from the Delaware River near Burlington, New Jersey. It contained a note from an elementary school class in Bangor, Pennsylvania — a journey of about 60 miles! Bill and his wife Nancy reside in Pennington, New Jersey, where their lives are ruled by two cats.

Briana Wessel is a seventeen-year-old aspiring teacher, who plans to travel the world. If she could only bring one thing with her on a desert island, she would bring a good book to pass the time until her rescue.

Lynn West lives in Highland Park and says, "I gather my poetry and photographs from the soul. When life brings bricks, stones, sun, shade, I filter through a medium that reflects and pleases my inner muse. My poems and photographs have been published in East on Central and several Highland Park Poetry publications. My photography has won recognition in the City of Highland Park’s Capture the Heart of Highland Park as well as by the Lake County Forest Preserve. I also host poetry events monthly at The Art Center Highland Park.” She adds she would like to send a message in a bottle to her dear mother, Dorothy, who is in heaven, just to see if she sends one back.

Patrick Allen Wright was born in Beaumont, Texas, and he graduated from Lamar University in 1984 with forty-five student poet publications, ten awards including three top prizes, and Lamar’s first creative Master’s Thesis of Poems. In 2007 Patrick made a two-and-a-half-year spiritual sojourn to South Korea to teach English and to learn more about Buddhism, visiting over thirty temples several times each, most nestled into or atop mountains. Returning to Texas in late 2009, he lives in his Silsbee home.

R.M. Yager, a late-blooming author, continues to be grateful at how writing has so enriched her life.  If she found a message in a bottle, it would have been sent by her Great Grandfather to his family back in Trento, Italy after he left for America with his wife and eight children. A villager would have discovered it along the banks of the Adige River, who would have pulled out the rosary and read his note asking that everyone pray for them all, and that he hoped he had made the right decision.

Section 1 - Time

How We Communicate by Arlene Gay Levine

Theodosia Burr Writes a Note, Hoping Her Message Will Reach Her Father by Joan Leotta

Dear Sis by Elizabeth Stanley King

Slow Messaging Service by Duane Anderson

Alice Bettridge on Isle Royale by Jennifer Dotson

How to Build a Terrarium: 1972 by Don Shearn

Extension by Matt McGee

Fear of Flying

by Carol Alfus

A Letter Within a Letter by Marie Asner

Blue Bottle by Jan Chronister

Uncle Lyle by Carol L. Gloor

The Palm Reading

by Mary Beth Bretzlauf

The Carcass is the Message by Miranda P. Dotson

I've Written Poems All My Life by Jackie Chou

Behemoth By Caden Hartsburg

Her Note By Carl "Papa" Palmer

Pioneer Ten by Jim Hanson

You Can Have Paul Newman

by Mike Freveletti

Love Rings Out by Morgan Silas Donnelly

Gone Missing: Sea Glass by Ann Malaspina

After a Photograph By Lennart Lundh

Facedown by Laurinda Lind

Family Letter by Jacqueline Stearns

Now is the Time by Marjorie Rissman

Message Found in a Space Capsule: to the Earth We Left Behind by Beatriz F. Fernandez

Section 2 - Message

Unfurl by Victoria Crawford & Jim King

Global Messaging by Julie Isaacson

Message Found in a Bottle by Gerry Sloan

Poem as Code by Sharon Suzuki-Martinez

No Matter Were It Quilled by Murray Alfredson

Message by Fiona M. Jones

SOS by Gay Guard-Chamberlin

Public Service Announcement by Mike O'Leary

Adrift at Sea by Sara Etgen-Baker

Shattered on Shipwrecks by Colleen McManus Hein

All Change by Patrick Allen Wright

A Rejuvenating Message by Kanwalpreet Baidwan

Sea Letters by Mary Bone

Message in the Sand by Tom Langlands

Secret Messages by Candace Kubinec

Some Sand Settles by David Stanford Burr

Translation by James Rodgers

Telephone by Terry L. Slaney

Lover's Beach by Briana Wessel

A Letter to Somebody Hurtful That Will Never Get It by David Mathews

Fantasy Island by Jude Luttrell Bradley

Love Notes by Mary Christine Delea

Message in a Bottle to the Jakarta Beggar by Pamelyn Casto

Poems in Public Places by Caroline Skanne & Bill Waters

Found by Danielle Martin

Hi There by Gail Denham

13th Program Step by Bob Chicoine

I Just Got a Note in a Bottle by Jim Hart

Ocean by Tina Gonzalez

To Myself by Lynn West

Section 3 - Bottle

Lydia At Sea by Rob Baker

haiku sequence by Greg Beatty

My Friend is a Drunk by Megan Cartwright

From the Message's Perspective by Paul Buchheit

haiku by Monica Cardestam

River by Daniel Cleary

Green Magical Bottle by Hanh Chau

swimming by Laura Daniels

Flow by Mo Daley

It Washed In and Out Along the Shore by R.M. Yager

The Letting Go of Light by Sreejata Roy

A Message Gone Astray? by Kathryn Schmeiser

A Lost Bottle by Adrian McRobb

Revelations of the Body by Laura Atanacio Edington

haiku by John McCutchen

Bottled Up by Kerry Leaf

The Carrier by Dan Fitzgerald

Catch & Release by Tobin Fraley

Vintage Wine in the Cabinet by William Marr