VLOG - Inklings in Pajamas!

This is our first attempt at making a video of a true-to-life Inklings meeting... mostly. Please excuse the rough editing, we are poetry editors, not video editors. Megan reads the poem we've posted this week, and Katy keeps it real.

The Queen or La Reina - Pablo Neruda

I have named you queen.
There are taller ones than you, taller.
There are purer ones than you, purer.
There are lovelier than you, lovelier.

But you are the queen.

When you go through the streets
no one recognizes you.
No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks
at the carpet of red gold
that you tread as you pass,
the nonexistent carpet.

And when you appear
all the rivers sound
in my body, bells
shake the sky,
and a hymn fills the world.

Only you and I,
only you and I, my love,
listen to it.

____

Yo te he nombrado reina.

Hay más altas que tú, más altas.

Hay más puras que tú, más puras.

Hay más bellas que tú, hay más bellas.

Pero tú eres la reina.

Cuando vas por las calles

nadie te reconoce.

Nadie ve tu corona de cristal, nadie mira

la alfombra de oro rojo

que pisas cuando pasas,

la alfombra que no existe.

Y cuando asomas

suenan todos los ríos

en mi cuerpo, sacuden

el cielo las campanas,

y un himno llena el mundo.

Sólo tú y yo,

sólo tú y yo, amor mío,

lo escuchamos.

The Rain Poured Down - Dan Gerber

My mother weeping
in the dark hallway, in the arms of a man,
not my father,
as I sat at the top of the stairs unnoticed—
my mother weeping and pleading for what I didn't know
then and can still only imagine—
for things to be somehow other than they were,
not knowing what I would change,
for, or to, or why,
only that my mother was weeping
in the arms of a man not me,
and the rain brought down the winter sky
and hid me in the walls that looked on,
indifferent to my mother's weeping,
or mine,
in the rain that brought down the dark afternoon.

Windy City- Stuart Dybeck

The garments worn in flying dreams
were fashioned there—
overcoats that swooped like kites,
scarves streaming like vapor trails,
gowns ballooning into spinnakers.

In a city like that one might sail
through life led by a runaway hat.
The young scattered in whatever directions
their wild hair pointed, and gusting
into one another, fell in love.

At night, wind rippled saxophones
that hung like windchimes in pawnshop
windows, hooting through each horn
so that the streets seemed haunted
not by nighthawks, but by doves.

Pinwheels whirled from steeples
in place of crosses. At the pinnacles
of public buildings, snagged underclothes—
the only flag—flapped majestically.

And when it came time to disappear

one simply chose a thoroughfare

devoid of memories, raised a collar,

and turned his back on the wind.

I closed my eyes and stepped

into a swirl of scuttling leaves.

Lullaby for the Broken - Katy R.

So leave your bottles on the counter

say goodnight

say it to the bed, to the chair

to the man across the street

sitting on his front step

smoking a dim cigarette that

sparks like fireflies into the dusk

And your daughter

that unborn one with hair the color of corn

say goodnight to her as well

and your mother who died too soon

and your father

whose tears never dried

who shrivels in his polyester husk

Until he’s so empty his skin

folds like an envelope around his bones, and you

put him in the crook of your arm,

carry him to the places he needs to go

because there was a time he carried you

because there comes a time we will all carry and be carried

even the fathers, strong as they once were

Even the daughters with hair the color of silt

who never thought they’d be here

but they are, and we are

so say goodnight

goodnight, goodnight

the moon is fragile but bright

the lights flicker but it’s all right

all right now,

all right.

Celebrating Six Months of Inklings!

Dear Inklers,


This is a special week for Inklings because we hit the 6 months mark! Thanks to you all for continuing to follow, submit, comment, discuss, and generally be so much fun to work with.


One of our facebook followers, Julie Johnson, said the other day of Inklings:

"All I know is that I LOVE Inklings Journal and I love that people can put words together and cause me to think, feel, and imagine!"

Hopefully you share Julie's sentiment on some level. We both love spending time every week (and we really do!) with writing that makes us think, feel, imagine, and we love that you all continue to share this project with us.


Here's to another six months!


Your co-editors,
Katy and Megan


P.S. Be sure to check out Kathryn's latest fantastic poem below. 

If Only I Could Love Mathematics as You Do - Kathryn H.

from those starry heights you

call back to me

if only i had your lungs

i could see your view

so expansive, so pristine 

untainted by ignorance

or oxygen