Inklings Journal
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Planting the Meadow - Mary Makofske
where hours hedge me, clip the errant sprigs
of thought, and day after day, a boxwood
topiary hunt chases a green fox
never caught. No voice calls me to order
as I enter a dream of meadow, kneel
to earth and, moving east to west, second
the motion only of the sun. I plant
frail seedlings in the unplowed field, trusting
the wildness hidden in their hearts. Spring light
sprawls across false indigo and hyssop,
daisies, flax. Clouds form, dissolve, withhold
or promise rain. In time, outside of time,
the unkempt afternoons fill up with flowers.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The Suitor- Jane Kenyon
The Socks- Jane Kenyon
Monday, July 12, 2010
Fool Me Good -- Billy Collins
I am under the covers
waiting for the heat to come up
with a gurgle and hiss
and the banging of the water hammer
that will frighten the cold out of the room.
And I am listening to a blues singer
named Precious Bryant
singing a song called "Fool Me Good."
If you don't love me baby, she sings,
would you please try to fool me good?
I am also stroking the dog's head
and writing down these words,
which means that I am calmly flying
in the face of the Buddhist advice
to do only one thing at a time.
Just pour the tea,
just look into the eye of the flower,
just sing the song --
one thing at a time
and you will achieve serenity
which is what I would love to do
as the fan-blades of the morning begin to turn.
If you don't love me, baby,
she sings
as a day-moon fades in the window
and the hands circle the clock,
would you please try to fool me good?
Yes, Precious, I reply.
I will fool you as good as I can,
but first I have to learn to listen to you
with my whole heart,
and not until you have finished
will I put on my slippers,
squeeze out some toothpaste,
and make a big foamy face in the mirror,
freshly dedicated to doing one thing at a time --
one note at a time for you, darling,
one tooth at a time for me.
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Livin' is Easy - Letter from the Editors
Summer is here and if you're anything like us you're spending those warm summer nights on the patio with a book and an Anchor Steam. We just want to wish you a relaxing summer filled with good writing, and if you happen to stumble upon anything breathtaking, be sure to send it our way!
Your sunkissed editors,
Megan & Katy
Home from College - Patricia McMillen
another word. Then that long sigh, long
slow ride down Willow Road, landfill one side,
wet baseball field the other. I won't cry
in front of her. The road bucks up, car floats
over the bridge; then a flash of neon
shocks my stoned eyes: sunset on the strange-
ly calm half-timbered storefronts of childhood.
Stopped for the crosswalk, Mom still doesn't
look at me. "Drugs," she says at last. Suicide,
foul play-- she can't, won't, guess. All she knows
is what the cops told her: his body of the floor,
an unmade bed, my letter on his desk. I had
not wanted to marry him anyway. Next day
I take the car, drive past his house, but I can't
knock. I spend July writing on steno pads,
trying to get it right: that flash of light and how,
last time we talked, he'd seemed relieved rather
than hurt. Mom begs, but I can't snap out of it:
I write and write, as if I could revise.
Monday, June 28, 2010
You Reading This, Be Ready-- William Stafford
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?
When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life -
What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?
Submitted by Haley S.