Author / Colette

by Colette

Inkblots Poetry Spotlight

ripples_water_leaves

Ripples of the mind…
Image Courtesy of Creative Commons

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil

[I]
One small question tugs at the mind

And I fear that the answer revealed would be bad.

Am I a mad man at play being sane

Or a sane man feigning being mad?

[II]

Still waters sighing

As tears of gods that crash down

Ripples peace of mind.

[III]

Lightning strike thunders.

Staggering, gripping the fists,

Storm too slow to pass.

This small selection of poems were created by one author – our Haiku Hero, Blue-Eyed Devil – but this time we’re mixing up his writing a little by adding in a short poem with two haiku. Don’t worry, you can still sit back and have your brew while we give you a minute to read, ponder and decipher his mad scribblings, but just with a new snazzy title that puts his work in the spotlight. Plus, you wouldn’t really forgive us if we snuck in a short poem with two Haiku and labelled it as “Haiku Selection V”, would you? If you enjoyed this and haven’t checked out his other Haiku, make sure you take a gander at ‘Haiku Selection IV‘. 

by Colette

I & You

somewhere_in_time

Somewhere In Time. Their desire for each other leads to their demise. A haunting of memories never to be renewed.
Image: Somewhere In Time film still

Written by Magnificent Mayhem

[I]

Nostalgia is a poison

Sipped from every day,

These sickly sweet memories

Eating me alive;

Chewing holes in the reality

Of what is now.

[You]

I want to call you by your name

To claim you as my own,

If only for the little while

I can stretch out those letters

To keep you on my lips.

Magnificent Mayhem’s two short poems are coupled together to show the distinct differences between two voices. The first sharing anguish and distaste for the past and a longing to break free of such memories, while the second bears a voice dripping in desire, with a hope to keeping the memory alive to satiate those feelings. Originally Magnificent Mayhem considered naming the two pieces “Me and You”, but this created a united relationship between the two, rather than an intrinsic distance. If you enjoyed “I & You”, make sure you check out “Residue” – a wonderful poem juxtaposing the fragility of a doll to the shifting of power within society. 

by Colette

Aldrick The Mad

Written by Dice

stone_table_narnia

Ready for a sacrifice? The Stone Table in Narnia is calling…
Image Courtesy of Concept Art from the Chronicles of Narnia

Here follows the final moments of Aldrick The Mad’s life written by his scribe, who had been ordered by Aldrick himself to watch from a hidden location and record all that he saw. The scribe was not entrusted with the knowledge of what Aldrick was attempting in the forest, gold was the penniless scribe’s only reason for being present.

“Yes, yes a sacrifice, poetic in your demand. I understand, I understand. Elven by birth, elven she is, eleven too, ha! That’s why I chose her, a little humour between us.

“No, no my lord, not a time for joke, time for joking is not now. Soon we will laugh though, soon in our victory… your victory, you will be the victorious one. Yes victory at last against your sister, our mother, the betrayer of our Lord.

“Betrayed you she did, like the mother of the sacrifice, she never bore a male of your line, honoured though she was with the strongest men your temples could find, she failed them all, but her daughter, she’s survived six years, more than most, but find her I did. She is found and will make a perfect key for your cell, won’t she hmm?”

Aldrick drags the young nameless girl in front of him and lifts the frightened child onto a large, yet cracked stone dais; the centrepiece to the clearing Aldrick now stands in. The clearing is a strange place with an unnerving feel to the air, even the trees surrounding the stone dais seem to grow and lean away from the clearing. As such, the ground is devoid of any life, the soil is dry and black with large cracks, as if the ground had been burnt. The four mercenaries Aldrick has hired to protect him ignore the situation, a couple even twiddle a coin to remind them it’s all about the money.

Tears stream down the gagged girl’s cheeks, and Aldrick ties her down. There are stone hands protruding from the edges of the stone dais as if  grasping for the ropes which tie down the sacrifice.

“Bring the knife, no, no, he disappeared, useless servant, never really useful, fun though, fun to order someone, others don’t listen. These do, these here. You, Mercenary, bring me a knife.” Continue reading →

by Colette

Overton Poetry Prize Looking For Submissions, Your Chance To Be Published

Overton_Poetry_PrizeLoughborough University’s Bill Overton – an English professor who specialised in poetry – died in September 2012 after suffering from a long-term illness. In honour of his career, the university has set up the Overton Poetry Prize after raising funds through a special memorial fund. So why am I telling you all of this? Well, if you love writing poetry – and I know a lot of our readers/contributors do – then it’s your chance to be published. Amongst the judges is Sarah Jackson, winner of the Seamus Heaney Prize in 2013, who will undertake the final judging. Below you’ll find all the details for entry, plus if you’d like more information about the Overton Poetry Prize, please visit the link, here. Good luck!

  • Entry fee is £10 per submission
  • Submissions can be a sequence of poems on any subject (up to 300 lines)
  • Participants must be over 16-years-old
  • Competition is worldwide, but submissions must be in the English language
  • Closes on March 31st, 2014

Prizes

  • First prize is the publication of the winning sequence in chapbook form
  • Two runners-up prizes of £50 each

*All rights will remain with the author, but Loughborough University will retain the right to feature the winning poems on their website.

by Colette

Dear Mister Nice Guy

mr_men_characters

Even Mr Men understand personality types.
Image Courtesy of Roger Hargreaves/Egmont

Written by Lockmaker

Dear Mister Nice guy,
Mister Listener,
Mister Shoulder-to-cry-on,
Tell me shall I stamp your card here?

Dear Mister Nice guy,
Mister Smile-at-her guy,
Mister Wipe-her-tears guy,
Tell me how many stamps do you need?

Dear Mister Nice guy,
Mister Good guy,
Mister Sweet guy,
Tell me of the misdeeds
she commits with your stamps?

Dear Mister Nice guy,
Mister Better-for-her guy,
Mister Cursing-her-for-not-seeing-your-worth guy,
Please hand in your stamp card.

Dear Mister Nice guy,
Mister Better-than-the-other guys,
Mister Worthy-through-his-deeds guy,
I hope you see the truth,
That there is no system of rewards.

Dear Mister Nice guy,
Each deed does not amount to this prize of flesh,
This gilded dream of silver screens,
This right of deed,
And tarnished dreams.

Dear Mister Nice guy,
Mister Friend-zoned guy,
This cage does not exist of evil intent,
The creation of shadowed figures,
Of the striking of keys,
The entailment mistakenly believed.

Dear Mister Nice guy,
Shall I stamp your card here?

Dear Mister Nice Guy is Lockmaker’s début piece here on Inkblots. Her poem was inspired by a casual conversation with a friend, evidently speaking of the many varieties of male personalities in the world. If you enjoy cynicism, then this piece is certainly for you. Maybe we’ll receive a response from our male readers entitled ‘Dear Miss Flirtatious Tease’, or something similar? If you enjoyed Lockmaker’s poem, feel free to leave her a ‘like’ or comment below.  

by Colette

An Ode To Low Self-Esteem

lego_sad

Even LEGO characters feel sad from time to time.
Image Courtesy of K. Alexanderson

Written by Rae-Chan

Did I make the right choice?
Yes, I’m sure I did.
… 99% sure…
Maybe I’m wrong?
Of course I’m wrong.
I’m always wrong.
That’s what they always say.
I’m wrong.
I’m stupid.
I’m inexperienced.
I’m stupid.
I’m wrong.
I’m stupid.
That’s what they’re always telling me.
I’m stupid so I should just listen to them, right?
If I’m wrong, they must be right.
And I am wrong.
I’m always wrong.
Did I make the right choice?
Yes, this time I’m sure I did.
… 99% sure…

Written in response to our Half Hour Challenge from February within “Guessing and Second Guessing”, newcomer Rae-Chan has completely encapsulated the feeling of self-doubt in the pit of our stomachs. It’s something that particularly pertains to the academic field; have you ever face-palmed after an exam as soon as you realise you’ve written the wrong thing? If low self-esteem has pulled you into its unforgiving spin, just think about Matilda. 

by Colette

Monthly Editorial: Oscar Season and March’s Content

oscars_2014

Wonder what drama will take place tonight? Get us that popcorn!

Hey Inkblotters!

Welcome to the monthly editorial for March, where we’ve put aside our tea and biscuits this Sunday for an extravagant night of glitz and glamour with the Oscars Ceremony. As a film fanatic, I can’t help but watch with bated breath as to who will win the Academy Award for Best Picture, Best Actor and Best Actress, as well as all the others. But, as with every year, there’s some serious competition. As much as I’d like to see Leonardo DiCaprio awarded for his tremendously talented and comical performance in The Wolf of Wall Street, the Academy will most probably opt for the big-hitting transformational performances from Chiwetel Ejiofor (12 Years A Slave) or Matthew McConaughey (Dallas Buyers Club). Maybe the Academy will surprise us this year, though?

So in honour of the biggest bash in Hollywood, we’ve selected this month’s content under the theme: Transformations and Despair. Powerful transformations don’t just happen on-screen, they happen on paper too, and it’s not just physical transformations we’re looking at, it’s also the emotional transformation of the mind. To kick off our content on the 5th, we’ve got Rae-Chan’s “An Ode to Low Self-Esteem” from last month’s HHC – it’s a cracking poem, and one which many of us can relate to. Next up is new contributor Lockmaker and her Dear Mister Nice Guy satirical poem on the 8th and, mid-way through March, Magnificent Mayhem’s “I & You” brings a taste of the sinister and sweet in her short poem. And of course, there’s so much more!

This month’s Half Hour Challenge theme is Servant – a delightful and different theme chosen by my co-editor Lilith. If you’ve got an itching to send us through a HHC, remember to check out our submission page for all the details.

And last but not least, between January and February Inkblots hit the 500 reader mark! Thanks to all our followers, whether you’ve just joined us in the last couple of months, or have been here since the beginning, you guys are awesome! 🙂

– Silver, Inkblots Editor

by Colette

Tinker’s Tale

Written by Kvothe

road_tinker

“Over the hill towards your fire, comes a Tinker whose need is dire.”
Image Courtesy of oldbaileyonline.org

When you’re lonely and cold,
When the spring day grows old,
The sun meets the western hills,
Cloak drawn against the nights chills,
All that you desire,
Short beer and a fire,
Wide boughs of an ancient oak,
And nights stars your only cloak,

Over the hill towards your fire,
Comes a tinker whose need is dire,
Cold, hungry and road weary,
But his mood never dreary,
His brown long robes muddied black,
Sturdy donkey following,
On his back a heavy sack,
The night-jars love to hear him sing,

“If you need no mending and nothing needs attending,
A wise man will still see the right time for spending,
Enjoy the warm sunshine,
But though you might feel fine,
If you don’t stop now you’ll be filled with regret,
It’s better to simply pay,
And prepare for a rainy day,
Than think of that tinker when you’re dripping wet.”

Hello there tinker,
How’s the road ahead?
I can offer food and shelter,
A fire by which to rest your head,
The stew is warm, the ale is cold,

Good evening boy, I thank you thrice,
A tinker’s debt is always paid:
Once for any simple trade,
Twice for freely given aid,
Thrice for any insult made,
I have much to give so name your price,

My bags bulge with exotic treasures,
Books of secrets and golden feathers,
Dice, ball, a trebon stone,
Bottle of brand, Draccus bone,
I offer one of these,
For the kindness you have shown,
And of that ale, yes please.

Kvothe’s Tinker’s Tale was inspired by Patrick Rothfuss’s novels The Name of the Wind and Wise Man’s Fear – you only need to recognise his username to know he’s a fan of the books. Here, he’s adapted the verses into a new lyrical assortment, developing the author’s ideas in more depth, but keeping to the rhythm and style of the piece. Although Kvothe’s never been featured in Inkblots, he’s a veteran of our writing forum, and many members have even requested developing this piece with music. 

by Colette

Inheritance

Written by Miss Smiley

grandpa_child_reading

A love was born for stories, snuggled into the arms of a grandparent.
Image Courtesy of http://www.sud.org.es/

Tommy got the inkwell for his 8th birthday, right after Grandpa died. This is because Grandpa had given it to him in his will, but, nonetheless, a present received on your birthday is still a birthday present, regardless of the circumstances around said gift.

He treasured the inkwell. Sure, it was old, with a faded monogram on the front, painted in a gold, flaky paint that was slowly peeling, but that didn’t matter to Tommy. It was from Grandpa. He’d loved Grandpa, and it was one of the only things he’d received when he’d passed away; the other thing being the first copy of Tommy’s favourite book,The Albany Treasure, written by Grandpa himself.

Grandpa was always writing things. Mum said that was his job. Tommy didn’t believe this – how could writing something be a job? Jobs were things like fire-fighters or doctors or, his personal favourite, pilots. Or teachers… maybe… though he still didn’t like them.

But Grandpa wrote stories.

Tommy asked him once how he came up with the stories. He’d heard a reporter ask his Grandpa that question once and Tommy was curious. Where did the ideas come from?

Grandpa had chuckled and told him, “not sure, my boy. Not sure. I just dip the quill in the inkwell, Tommy and the ink and quill just… go walking.” He’d surveyed Tommy for a moment, as if weighing up a decision. “In fact, the inkwell’s a bit… well, it’s a clever inkwell. If I tell it what I’m writing for, it’ll write me a story. Simple as that.”

Tommy had looked up at Grandpa’s bright blue eyes, with the wide-rim glasses tucked into his old cap, and made a decision. The decision was this – nope. He’s lying.

But he smiled anyway, because he loved Grandpa and Grandpa deserved to have his stories believed. Continue reading →

by Colette

The Inkwell

Written by Sparky 

book_igloo_home

A home for book lovers and writers; that’s our Inkwell.
Image Courtesy of thisiscolossal.com

“It seems so long ago now, when we started.” The scratching of the quill was the only sound in the room. I dipped the nib back in my inkwell and carried on. “There was only a few of us back then. A few like-minded people who had known each other for a few years by that point. We had moved from one forum to another. At first we only talked online, brought together by our singular love for one author. Evolving over time as we got to know each other more. We began to explore our own creative depths with each other. We had our own world there, we controlled what happened within it. It was subject almost entirely to our own rules. I say almost, we never had full power there, but it just seemed that way. We created stories with each other, cemented friendships both through the site and out in the real world. Relationships sprung up and faded away, but the friends we made there stayed. Such was the magic of that place; our Old Kingdom.

“Afterwards, we started to pave our own path and make our own world completely. A forum dedicated not just to one author but to our work, our stories. We made more friends during that stage of our journey, more writers brought together by our joint love of the written word. I remember many moments where we all celebrated each other’s achievements. From finishing stories to creating new ones, each new world enjoyed by all.”

I sat back, reading over my words, taking a small break. The history of my writing career was almost laid bare in front of me. Everything I had written had been seen by the people I had met through these places. Those friends were amongst the closest friends I had, the ones I trusted most. I took a sip of the sweet tea cooling next to me and carried on. Continue reading →