- INKLINGS
Inklings Winter: Poetry
Throughout the months of November, December, and January, poets continued to capture the essence of each moment/passing thought, and to process the passage of time through reflection and connection to our world. We present these snapshots in Inklings' first genre-specific collection. Enjoy!
Spider
Bosom enveloped by gothic corset
Cannon fodder; she left the moor dead
Creeping quickly `cross my cosmos
Ostentatious, she falls close
Stricken and stone, yet worsening wince
Regress, for now I am but flint
Sericeous, she swoons; swelling, my scruples
Sullen brow; effort futile
Jaded eyes so ethereal
Little did I know I was her next meal
Perished at the hands of another harlotry
It’s nothing more than cheap poetry
-D.J. Jarrells
Centipede
Horrid, morbid fascination; Lovecraftian terror
Many tendrils which protrude from its length flutter with no error
Moist, unsung; the farthest, closest depths
Calculating, mindless, selfish drone; upon mere shadows it frets
Flawless symmetry, perfect beauty; yet it rests upon the periphery
Diaspora across the great terra, motherland the Mediterranean Sea
Visage from the darkness; thought it just psychosis
Shrill yawp, internal turbulence; confronted by neurosis
Feather veiled in shadow, for in light be blighted
Solace in bleak servitude, tranquilized by void; envious are the enlightened
-D.J. Jarrells
Untitled
“on the old squeaky swinging bench
we sat
on the day fall was, summer felt
now it squeaks in the wind
with no one to fall when it gives in“
-M. Blackford
Infernal
“Desiccation and bitterness are my two friends
Although with pure hatred I am well acquainted
Together us four will tie up loose ends
On the wall, blood will surely be painted...”
Unspoken principle breached by naivety
Mind a licking flame from this candlelit tome
Meek puck, pretentious ingrate; void of piety
Father yuppie buck; mother another womb
“...There was once a fifth who I held close
She tolerated time I took to tangent
One day that parasite found a new host
I fear my dreams of grandeur weren’t so lambent...”
Manic compensation or pristine epiphany
Embers glitter the sky so glaucous
High-strung widow scorched our hero sedentary
But blade to flesh caused no ruckus
“...Irrigating my vindictiveness is existence mere
Monomaniacal; periphery in mire
Malice in my core burning colors so queer
I’ll bring flames for the two who stole my rib, for I am their pyre...”
Femicide; deicide; fitted neat with other failed ambitions
Suddenly, so dim; consistent is this pattern of spontaneity
Catharsis, however, brought our hero some jubilation
For, in the end, he earned a sense of sobriety
“...The needles and thorns are nothing like this blaze
I know now that by sanctuary I am shunned
Knowing what I am is what sears me these days
Every moment I feel the inferno of one-thousand suns”
-D.J. Jarrells
Pseudanthium
In oblivion dwells the faux
Conceited, cancerous; consoled by faux idols
Discretion impaired by faux mannerisms
Piked in place by hedonism, the laymen are hemmed to faux bliss
Embarking through the bunk there was one, one
Stoic; barbaric like a Hun, Hun
Entrepreneur: he was bound to make funds, funds
Nomad from the land of demand
Malignant mass mellow to layman mooks
Comprehension cannot conceive
Ghoul cruel; smooth look took the fools through brooks
Enormous essence; enigma egregious, it deceives
Zen zinger to zoo of zealots; in truth sizzles like zany Azazel
Mercenary; expendable hired blade, blade
Hardened; killing folk for a decade, `ade
Along the way he spotted looming shade, shade
This malevolent descent: the convent
Cordial to the presence of the Hun, the faux
With lustful eyes, sycophants extend to him faux hands
Unctuous: abyssal white portals; volumes of turmoil beneath faux irises
Marching adjacent idle idylls; venturing dominion enveloped in faux haze
Each stride faced with dilemma, `mma
Confronted by acrid aroma, `ma
Sovereignty a carcinoma, `ma
Quit for coins or quell this clergy
Shaman sent to sustain: sapping sap to solemnize
Revolutionary wrought renaissance; realizing rapture
Meticulous miasma milling for men to mesmerize
Stern titan trots to its terra: typical troubled troubadour
Broken buffoon come to brabble Beelzebub
A single slash with his sabre it sighs, `ighs
Electrified; shattered to blistering beams of light, `ight
The pseudanthium begins to take flight, `ight
Our soldier sworn a savior
-D.J. Jarrells
Song Of Myself: Goodbye
Once I was a little girl
the world was in my parents' hands
every day and night I could sleep
life was so easy and beautiful
As I got a bit older, I didn't know anything
the smells of pine trees and fresh-cut grass
with a box in my mom's hands
I never said goodbye to him or goodnight.
Raised up not knowing what happened
that I couldn't remember what happened.
I always got told that love is easy
love nowadays isn't easy, nothing like the movies
movies are fake compared to real love and life
Since I grew up fast with no help
I met a teacher who taught me
life isn't easy or hard
She was a big role model for me.
It's ok to be sad, it's ok to be happy.
I grew up without people as role models to me
My happiness is music, write to you
finding out life is on my own
living on this weird planet.
I miss you every day and every night.
I know you're not coming back, yet
Nowadays, I needed you, but I need myself
A few months later
I have good grades, good looks
I have you now,
Goodbye.
I'll see you later,
but now I have to go
so my last words are goodbye.
You will never leave my mind,
so have a good rest.
You're my goodbye.
-Anonymous