Category / Poetry

by Colette

Farewell to the Inkwell

Written by Ashcloud

Adieu mon ami,
For now it must be
The end, our farewell, our adieu.

Adieu mon ami,
Forever we will be,
A team beyond any description.

Adieu mon ami,
Full of fond memories,
Of our friendship and time spent together.

Adieu mon ami,
In our hearts you shall see,
The impression you left through your wisdom.

Farewell to the Inkwell,
You shall be missed dear,
Though your legacy shall continue,
Through the ones you held near.

Our last published post of 2015, and one that marks it beautifully. Ashcloud’s tribute poem, “Farewell to the Inkwell” is a goodbye to our wonderful little community on the Inkwell Forum. It’s served us well – six years in fact – and I’m glad that Ashcloud amongst many of our other members could be a part of it. If you wish to view her other published work on Inkblots, make sure to read her poems “Waterworks” and “Is it Wrong?”. You can also view her new blog, here.

Thanks go out to all our lovely members. Some will still continue to publish their work via Inkblots, while others have moved on. Either way, I wish everyone the best. And thanks to a wonderful 2015 for Inkblots to all our followers, readers and contributors. You are all superb people.

Featured Image CC // Jonathan Blocker

by Colette

Short Poetry Spotlight – The Cold, Sleepy Chill of Winter Darkness

Written by Dizzy Dazzle

Awake in a Sleeping World

I’m awake in a sleeping world.
Buses yawning as they drift down icy roads,
Smoke rising lazily from the rooftops of quiet buildings,
Tucked away in the darkness,
The sky blinking groggily back at me.
I see the moon, snoring behind blankets of clouds, mumbling in its sleep;
Refusing to give itself away to the energetic sun.
A sigh of wind, almost silent
Before lights come on.
Awake in a sleeping world.

Winter

One morning early in winter
I did see
A man and his dog
Walking through the dark trees.
They lean in close
And speak;
Can you hear them?

Husha, husha, husha,
Sing the trees.
The wind blows so eerily
Winter is here they sing.

They walk up the hill,
Breath steaming in the icy air.
Beware, beware sing the trees
Winter is here.

No sun here,
But shady hollows and frozen streams
That once flowed
Easily, dreamily.

Footprints in the grimy snow,
A man and his dog
Walk through the dark trees,
One morning
Early in winter.

Bringer of winter darkness, Dizzy Dazzle’s poetry is simple yet gorgeous. As dive head first into winter and its cold snap, sleep comes easy and we take to hibernation during those months – just like animals. We go out less, bringing the parties indoors when the weather is terrible. But when we do venture out on those crisp and fresh early mornings, with our breath hanging in the air as we breathe, we cherish the moments of clarity. If you enjoyed our Short Poetry Spotlight, perhaps you should view our previous edition here. If you’re captivated by Dizzy’s work though, why not view her previously published work “Howlers”. 

Featured Image CC // Anja Jonsson

by Colette

Short Poetry Spotlight – The Trickery of Death

Written by Rae-Chan

Blood

Beware the war that’s sure to come,
Looming overhead like a vulture.
Or else you will find yourself caught in the middle,
Of course, should you ignore my warning
Death with surely await you.

Written by Wasteland Explorer

Trouble Today

I woke up this morning,
with feathers instead of skin.
I knew the day was going bad,
against this I could not win.
I tried to climb out of my bed,
to lift my tiny head
But I forgot about my cat,
too late for me, I’m dead.

Written by Master412

All Hallows’ Eve

It’s again that time of the year
where we all live in wicked fear.
A time for us to believe
in All Hallows’ Eve.

O, I wish I had the time,
to dress up like a villain,
a zombie, vampire, or witch.

But hell, I haven’t got the time,
I survive only to make this rhyme.

So enjoy All Hallows’ Eve,
As come trick or treat, we all believe.

Our short poetry spotlight highlights the trickery of death from three great writers. From the darkness of Rae-Chan’s short poetry to the light trickery of Wasteland Explorer’s, there’s a solid range to suit all for this Halloween. It comes at the perfect time too, as we prepare to carve our own pumpkins or Jack o’ Lanterns. Spooky! If you enjoyed our thematic poetry spotlight, why not view our other issues such as, “The Warmth at First Light” and “Strength in Mind, Body and Spirit”.

Featured Image CC // Kevin Dooley

 

 

by Colette

The Rag Doll

Written by Theadora

I’m a rag doll, you’re a knife,
Your blade slicing through my life.
You took my innocence away,
And burned it in the light of day.

You place your needles on my face,
And my coffin you line with lace.
So many nights I faced the pain,
Your lace brushing against my veins.

You raped my body as well as my soul,
And you broke a life once whole.
You beat me to a bloodied floor,
Then satisfied, you locked the door.

As I lay there broken and cold,
I watched this disaster unfold.
So place the blade against my skin,
And let this butchery begin.

One of our oldest members on the forum, Theadora’s work always hit the mark. Written as part of a difficult time, she penned this many years ago and published it to our forum. A haunting poem, The Rag Doll brings darkness to the surface in such a cut-throat fashion. It’s bleak, short and dressed down. And to this day, we still love reading it. If you enjoyed Theadora’s poetry, please consider leaving a comment or a like on the post. 

Featured Image CC // Steven Depolo

 

 

by Colette

Her Eyes

Written by Arwa

She is a woman.
A beautiful woman,
full of life.
She has a wild spirit
of love.

She dances like the waves,
too delicately
and gracefully.
She walks like the wind,
lightly.
She smiles innocently,
like a child.

Yet, her eyes…
they’re tired, full of sadness,
full of pain.
Makes one wonder:
Who is she?
Where does she come from?
But she only makes one wonder, not others,
for they’re all blind,
and understand nothing
about the truth of the eyes.

Her eyes…
so dark, wild, vehement,
and violent.
Her eyes,
they scream with anguish
and grief.
Yet her voice is so serene
and lucid.

She sings with the wind,
and smiles with sun.
She embraces nature,
and dances with the waves.

She lives.

The grace of femininity is spoken of in Arwa’s poetry – and it’s not to be sniffed at either. Her Eyes describes both the beauty and the pain of a woman at her natural peak in life. Without the wonder and sadness of life, there simply wouldn’t be life, and we must fight for that day in and day out. Simple pleasures are worth it. If you enjoyed Arwa’s poetry, you can view the simply splendid poem, “Here Where The Sea Stands”. 

Featured Image CC // Tommie Milacci

by Colette

Short Poetry Spotlight – The Warmth at First Light

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil

Haiku X

The fallen walls crush
All hope and dreams of freedom.
Tomorrow’s bleak dawn.

Haiku XXIV

With one final step,
The warm wind takes me, smiling,
To find peace at last.

Written by Dizzy Dazzle

Spiderwebs

A glimmer between the trees,
Fresh, catching the morning dew.
Each delicate thread a ray of light,
patterns of a spiders nimble hands.

August’s short poetry spotlight falls on three absolutely sumptuous poems, each of which are delicately balanced in the author’s choice of words and feature a beautiful flow. With sunshine our theme for this month, it’s a fantastic way to showcase some of the best poems from contributors Blue-Eyed Devil and Dizzy Dazzle. From the warmth and morning dew of first light to the very last, all three poems convey great meaning in their short form. If you enjoyed both of their work and would like to view more poetry, please see Blue-Eyed Devil’s “Wake Me When It’s Winter” and Dizzy Dazzle’s “The Humanitarian”. 

Featured Image CC // Glenna Barlow

by Colette

Shelter

Written by Silver

Take shelter from the rain, little heart,
find a place to hide
from both the good and the bad,
all these troubles that seem to collide.

Take shelter from the snow, little heart,
the icy, dark streets are no safe haven.
You’ll slip and slide in the powder,
no longer with power to reach your cavern.

Take shelter from the sunshine, little heart,
burning with sultry anger and desire.
Stamp out those wayward flames and no longer cower,
leave the shadows of your makeshift pyre.

Embrace the clouds and sky, little heart,
and take shelter in their heavenly comfort.
A touch so soft, so gentle,
it’s something you’ve forever sought.

Please, little heart, take heed.
These are wise words that you’ll always need.
We all want to hide from the rain, snow or sunshine,
but look to the sky, little heart,
and remember your last journey before you depart.

Commenting on my own work is always a little surreal, but the poem above is certainly important to me and one that I’m glad to share with all of our Inkblots readers and contributors. Shelter is dedicated to my Nana and was written on the evening of her passing ten years ago. She was a wonderful woman who cared deeply for my own mother and her family. In fact, she was so proud of her husband that she shied away from telling us he was suffering from Vascular Dementia. Ten years ago she died of heart failure and her little heart fluttered away. If you enjoyed Shelter, feel free to check out my other poetry such as, “Spirit” and “Fudge”.

Featured Image CC // Denise Rowlands

by Colette

An Ode to Yesterday – Part 2

Written by Scarlet Hardy

A two-part journey into the poet’s world. The first part was published as part of our July “Tipping the Scales” content, which can be read here. 

What I would give to be young without a single care,
To once more experience being a girl with long golden hair.
Able to live without worries and forever young,
If only I could turn back time to where my travels begun.
See those friendly old faces that I once kissed,
Visit historic friends that I have often missed.
Looking back at ancient history to see where my journey started,
Returning to the distant place from where I once departed.

Enjoy my heroic offering of the simple written word,
I truly hope and pray that my humble voice will be heard.
I still remember the days of my distant fanciful youth,
I will never feel too distant, remote, or aloof.
Memories once shared might just live on,
Friendships enjoyed are perhaps not all gone.
Close your eyes and try to remember an old close friend,
A prayer for your missing loved ones you could still send.

After reversing the sands of time I saw an old school yard,
I truly felt that the gods had dealt me a winning card.
At four years old I often wanted to dance and sing,
I should have sung about the joy that youth does bring.
Who knows how their destiny will finally fall,
Does anyone hear fate when it comes to call?
If you get the urge to follow my initial lead,
Share your inner wisdom whenever you feel the need.

History rushes by, though my sands of time are not wasted,
A taste of love and devotion I have often tasted.
Memories do live on, long after any important event,
Perhaps a few letters to your old mates could still be sent.
Do you remember how things were when you were young,
Were songs of praise duly sung?
Life moves at such a rapid pace it just drags us along,
Precious memories will indeed last your whole life long.

The street where I once lived no longer exists,
The old ways of living may or may not be missed.
One small street looked just like a million others,
Princess Street had no twin but perhaps a few brothers.
Our true destiny was written in the stars long before we were born,
Between ambitious dreams and innate ability, we all get a little bit torn.
I always wanted to write an intensely riveting book,
When it came to dreaming up new ideas I never got stuck.

Terrace houses used to stand neatly all in a row,
Unfortunately, none of them are left now you know.
Enjoy a moment lost in times long since gone past,
Re-experience moments that you once hoped would last.
Remember catastrophic mistakes that we have all made,
I wonder if I will make even the lowest possible grade?
Stop and consider those who are dead and gone,
Who is your truly beloved long lost number one?

Try reading this astounding tale of both surprise and wonder,
Run for cover if you hear any loud claps of thunder.
We can keep very little from our vast historic past,
Yet precious memories we keep just seem to last and last.
The sands of time shall never stop still,
Passages of time are impossible to stop even if you had the will.
Our lives take many twists and the odd unexpected turn,
I still seem to spend my whole life just trying to learn.

Where will all that specialist knowledge eventually go?
Will anyone remember any of my achievements, I do not know.
The highlights of my life and times are all just passing me by,
I cannot stop the clock no matter how hard I try.
Tonight history is about to be recorded as I duly sit and write,
Indeed I could well be working rather late tonight.
Few lucky people enjoy a stress-free life – this I know to be true,
Obviously, I am no longer a small baby all tiny and new.

I used to have a future date with destiny but not anymore,
Once I was tempted to go in search of a nice sandy shore.
I still worship awesome gods as my love for them keeps growing,
But will they ever love me back? I still have no way of knowing.
This bizarrely enduring tale may well live always and forever,
People will not forget about my peculiar troubles ever.
All I wish to do is to tell my strangely twisted tale,
Straight through my life and times you may ever so gently sail.

I am now a mature woman standing steadfast yet alone,
You may find me lingering somewhere in the twilight zone.
I would like to become a highly articulate and forthright woman,
However, immense energy and emotional drive I still need to summon.
Now I will return to Princess Street where I once so happily used to play,
Once again, I shall re-visit many a wonderful hot summers’ day.
One small ambitious little girl indeed I used to be,
When I was still ever so young, wild, and my childish spirits still ran free.

New contributor Scarlet Hardy’s wonderfully woven and nostalgic tale comes to its conclusion in the second part. Looking back on the days of childhood, when full streets of houses still existed and old friends from the past still kept in touch, An Ode to Yesterday spans a lifetime of memories. If you’ve read the first part and been captivated by Scarlet’s words, you’ll know this narrative tale was partly inspired by falling in love and those memories associated with it. Again, if you enjoyed this piece, please consider leaving a like or a comment in the section below. 

Featured Image CC // Duarte JH

by Colette

An Ode to Yesterday

Written by Scarlet Hardy

A two-part journey into the poet’s world. The second part will be published on July 25th.

I often think about yesterday,
When I miss young friends with whom I used to play.
The innocence of youth has long since gone,
Of opportunities to turn back time, I have had not one.
This poem is an ode to my youth that I have long since lost,
Exactly how much does the process of growing up cost?
This story is a truly long and twisted tale,
It is fresh and inviting, without being boring or stale.

I was born in a distant northern English city,
I was never rich and that is such a terrible pity.
I was the youngest of three little girls,
I had a few cute kiss curls.
I was born with the capacity for thought and wonder,
Through the first stages of growing up I did blunder.
I was quite a happy child of no great talent or ability,
I longed to have some true financial stability.

Due to my endless curiosity I asked questions all day long,
And when I felt happy I would burst into song.
Of the tiny cobbled street from where I once came,
One day that place would achieve its fair share of fame.
My memories stretch back to the tender age of just three,
I still remember being nursed upon my mother’s knee.
I knew nothing of dire poverty, I did not quite understand,
My untimely birth had not been planned.

I thanked awesome gods for my unexpected creation,
At that time I had no known position or power within any nation
Many mistakes I made; they fill me with such deep regret,
No way was I ever likely to become a teacher’s pet.
With limited finance and rather plain looks,
My life has proved to be a strange blend of change and flux.
Trapped inside my own world as a lonesome child,
While reading precious fairytales I felt quite beguiled.

Imagination was the only true gift that I ever possessed,
Where my thoughts would lead me I could not have guessed.
Personal desires and wants seem to come last,
Relief from financial desperation does not always arrive fast.
All the days of my life I have seriously struggled,
With truly horrendous bills I jiggled and juggled.

This book contains the details of my life and times,
And explain why I might be accused of committing treasonous crimes.
I am a humble servant of awesome gods,
However, they may prove to be highly contrary bods.
If only I knew where I first went wrong,
Maybe roads that I chose to travel might not seem so terribly long.
Read my tale and digest the meaningful words,
I have omitted all curses and four-letter verbs.
In my strangely wondrous books, I choose to fondly remember and reminisce,
This tale is about my youth that I still do miss.

Decades passed before I undertook the business of writing,
My life and times have proved to be ever so exciting.
Errors I made go on seemingly forever,
I will not stop trying to learn new things all together.
If it is money that makes this big old world go around,
I would be happy to own the odd bar of gold weighing a pound.
My newfound wealth I shall gladly share,
If I were rich, I would not have a single care.

This book speaks volumes about my great love of life,
I attempt to explain my ambition to overcome trouble and strife.
I grew up and I made more than just the odd mistake,
I was unlucky to meet the world’s biggest rake.
A spectator of my highly exciting life and times you could easily be,
Yet I am unable to give away precious books for free.
I hope that my poems inspire you in a variety of ways,
I would very much like to entertain people for the rest of my days.

It may be possible to encourage another to reach their full potential,
I would like others to expand their own imaginative deferential.
Should you reach for beautiful distant stars residing above,
It may be then possible to share respect and true love.
Nothing in life is more important than giving affection deep and true,
The powers above are watching me; they are also watching you.
I sincerely hope that you enjoy my enduring tale,
Straight through my never-ending fantasy you shall ever so gently sail.

Twisted tales come from deep within my peculiar imagination,
Writing often proves to be a highly pleasurable form of recreation.
I sometimes wonder where all of my treasured memories will go,
How this intrepid tale will end I still do not know.
These books are the result of an intensive labour of true love,
One day I hope to please awesome gods above.
I also would like to please the occasional passing stranger,
Reading rhyming novels is unlikely to put anyone in danger.

An Ode to Yesterday is the first of its kind here on Inkblots. A beautiful and lengthy narrative poem, we’ve split Scarlet’s work into two posts. Heavy in nostalgia, her work reaches afar with emotion and spirit. The tight rhythm and rhyme scheme used within shows Scarlet’s unwavering dedication to form. For new contributor Scarlet, her inspiration came from falling in love. So much so, her written work now spans across nine novels and a collection of short poems. An Ode to Yesterday is just a snippet of the labour of her love. If you enjoyed Scarlet’s poetry, feel free to leave a like or a comment below. 

Featured Image CC // Cross Duck

by Colette

Psychosis

Written by Lost in a Dream

I.
The buzz of everyday trifles
Swallowed by the sea.

The giddy heights had endowed me with perspective:
I read the black abyss with maddening clarity.

II.
Master of my demons at last.
Or did I realise I was so small too?

III.
I stayed long enough to catch a chill—
A sobering breeze breaking the intense still.

IV.
While the views were sublime,
The very essence of truth,
It is impossible to live here.

A dark and brooding hermit
In a drunk, informed solitude.

Too powerful. Too weak.

The beauty of simplicity resides in this poem from Lost in a Dream. It’s, perhaps, a stark contrast to what she’s written in the past for our publication, but her words are still as piercing and on point as ever before. A battle of the mind, Psychosis, brings forth human emotion, pain and the act of being at one’s end. Completely at a loss, the poet appears transfixed by their own mentality, their own psychosis. We love this piece, so if you enjoyed it as well feel free to leave a like or a comment below. Lost in a Dream has written many other works for Inkblots, including her gorgeous poem “Star Talk ii” and short fiction “Man’s Crisis”.

Featured Image CC // Justcallme_Bethy