Category / Poetry

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

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

Thoughts On Forever

Written by Topaz

forest_sunshine

Beautiful golden afternoons…
Image Courtesy of Irene Suchocki

if you ask me,
forever seems like an awfully long time.

forever consists of so many countless
slow lazy sunbeams stretching out
and bringing in new-born mornings
with tiny crocuses poking heads up wondering
if it is time to wake up and greet the world
so many countless
beautiful golden afternoons with dappled leaves
casting shadows on forest floors
and booming laughter bubbling out of shaking shivering bellies
until waterfalls of tears are streaming down red rosy cheeks
so many countless
inky midnight blacks when the shadows awaken
and the stars remembers what it means to fly
when the moon serves as a cradle for angels
and it is mandatory to spend the night dreaming
instead of living

so many countless little things
that add up to such big beautiful things

forever seems like just about the longest time there is, I think –
and yet somehow, even though all I know
is a hasty smudged green-inked name
scrawled on the soft skin of my hand
even though all I know
is an electrified first glance and a
soft sweet conversation
even though all I know
is that I can still feel your fiery eyes
burning into mine, still hear your
quiet voice echoing in my mind, still taste your
unvoiced fears and dreams and promises on my tongue –

even though I do not know anything at all
about you or me or us,

well,

somehow I think the sun’s rays and crocuses
might bloom a little lovelier;
the laughter and tears
might bubble a little happier;
the stars and moon
might fly a little higher;
and everything that makes up forever –
well, I think it might not be so long
if it were to be spent
with you.

New contributor Topaz has written us a sumptuous poem on the intricacy of nature and the innocence of love in her poem, ‘Thoughts on Forever’. Her stream of consciousness writing is reflected in the poem’s form and style, which she says was inspired by initial thoughts on the complex nature of the word ‘forever’. The free form allows her to explore the theme and provide us with a deeper connection to the piece – we think it works wonderfully.  

by marleylilith

Rain

Written by Dizzle Dazzle

An image all too familiar to the British…

Rain in the morning
I can hear it from my bed
Walking along the roof with nimble feet
Reminding me of sadness

Rain at midday
Where the sun should be
I’m watching T.V, and the curtains are up
Outside the puddles are forming on the dark road

Rain in the evening
Those grey clouds covering the sunset
Peaceful and quiet
Painting streaks of water on the window
The sun shines and it seems beautiful

Rain at night
When everybody’s sleeping
Except me
Watching the car headlight beams on my ceiling
As I drift off
The rain talks to me in my dreams

While still a young writer, Dizzy has already developed her own style and a beautiful way of putting things. If you want to read more of her lovely wordsmithing, why not take a look at her poem “The Humanitarian”, also published on Inkblots.

by Colette

Here Where The Sea Stands

Written by Arwa

sea_waves

The crash of sea waves at La Jolla Cove in California.
Image Courtesy of dreamlajolla.com

Here where the sea stands,
alone,
calmly.
I wish there was a wind,
a heated wind,
to crash the silence.

This wind,
a life savior,
will turn this sea to a raging monster
to defeat every living
with its infinite might.
It will change the course of being,
the seasons of love,
and the roles of passion.

This sea,
when it moves
It will demolish the islands,
and bring a new millennium,
a new society,
and a new age.

Yet,
the sea is still calm
and alone.

‘Here Where The Sea Stands’ is Arwa’s first poem published in Inkblots. As the English language is not Arwa’s mother-tongue, she was inspired to write poetry as a way of understanding our language, and also feels more comfortable expressing herself with it. We love the simplicity depicted throughout the poem, and hope to see many more poems from Arwa in the future.

by Colette

It’s the Magic Number

chemistry_meme

Classic chem lab chat.
Image Courtesy of sciencememes.tumblr.com

Written by Doishy

If not believing you will see,
We reached 100% efficiency.
Impossible by science but not by me,
Read on and take notes carefully.

In goes thing one; a smelly old gas,
It reacts with thing two
and they have a good laugh.
This makes three things,
of which but one we need,
What we do we the others here you shall see.

Thing three we need, four and five we don’t,
So we send them away to add to something that floats.
They get quite hot and with this heat we burn,
The reaction that causes crank one to turn.

Crank one turns the bowl that holds things three and seven,
Together they merge to form thing eleven.
‘But what about things six to ten?’ you may ask,
They party together in a rather large flask.

This flask forms some heat and some pressure,
Which helps boil some water and make tea for my pleasure.
The product formed from this flask full of stuff,
Is used to make something rather rough.

This rough stuff is placed in the bowl,
After seven has gone eleven taken its toll.
So stuff and eleven finally make,
The reason for this reactions sake.

So what have we made no one quite cares,
Some would say we are mad as march hares.
But the thing we achieved barring making some tea,
Is to reach the impossible 100% efficiency.

Doishy’s piece was inspired by the work he does as a student of science. Mixing chemicals with rhythm and rhyme, Doishy has created a playful, light-hearted poem about the laws of thermodynamics, and how it is completely impossible to reach 100% efficiency. There are lots of elements at play here for sure, period. Hey, don’t blame us for that charming pun! Want to read more of Doishy’s work? Check out Skies and Avolet. 

by marleylilith

Rewound

Written by Lost in a Dream

A beautiful new world, full of colour and vibrance…

Finally, I emerge from my cocoon
To find the flowers back in bloom.

Their petals burn deep orange and red,
From tears and ashes they were fed.

A new chapter has begun:
Even the cruellest winters
Must yield to rain and sun.

With eyes fixed on an endless sky,
I spread my wings.
Now, I am ready to fly.

Ever ready to see the beauty in life, Lost in a Dream is fast becoming famous over on the Inkwell for her elegant yet impassioned descriptions of the natural world. Here’s another of her gorgeous poems: Parnassus Park.

by Colette

Short Poetry Spotlight – Mattress and Graffiti

Written by Avantgardian

teddy_on_bed

How about a kip on the bed?
Image Courtesy of Inkblots

Mattress

battle arena for baby brothers
dance floor for sister’s dolls
keeper of coins yet to be counted
carrier of clothing spread and novels read

cover for cash and valuable deeds
habitat for spiders home to silverfish
a pillow harvest a stuffed bear preserve
snack bar washboard trampoline

lounging place for naked bodies
groping thrashing flailing sleeping
unseated table (topped in tasteless sheets)
that stirs a cerebral discussion

what stimulant of discordant dreams
what altar of opposite function.

Graffiti

Adversary of civilized men
petrified in dry cement
like an acorn thrown in reverie
these words the seed of artistry.

New contributor Avantgardian submitted a selection of  short poetry to Inkblots Magazine; our editorial team has chosen the two we thought explored such a simple object or theme in an intriguing light, offering new or a change of perception. Through his own style, Avantgardian has produced two top-notch poems, and we’re excited to see what else he creates. 

by Colette

Spirit

Written by Silver

Bereavement_candle

“She sits as candle flickers to and fro.”
Image Courtesy of pincurlmag.com

Blissful liquor fills child of woe.
Drenched in moonlight by window’s sill,
she sits as candle flickers to and fro.

Wispy breeze chills the room.
Goosebumps rise from pasty skin;
she’s not surprised when shivers bloom.

Warm presence draws near,
touches with cold hands.
Affectionate memory shimmers,
draws forth painful tears.

Soothing voice echoes in mind.
Dancing with fondness,
erupting in glee.
No longer confined,
completely free.

Tender care needs no words.
Arms outstretched, she feels so close.
But the pull of life is much preferred.

He kisses her forehead,
breathes heat into her lungs.
And silken hands lift her to bed,
her travel to death not quite here yet.

Spirit was written on behalf of Silver’s struggle with two recent losses in her close-knit family. The process of bereavement is personal to each individual, with each death taking months or years to accept. If you wish to see more of her poetry, be sure to check out Fudge and The Recurring Nightmare.