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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!



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



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



“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



"Final Boss" by J. Robinson

“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

"Dragon Prince," by J. Robinson

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



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,


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.


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