Ink Well
Ink Well is a collaborative online showcase for emerging talent in art, creative writing, and photography organized around a central theme. We review year-round and publish six volumes a year, interspersed with other artsy fartsy content. Creative types, unite.
Now accepting submissions for VOLUME 14: POWER & CORRUPTION at submissions@inkwellmag.com.
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- About
- Submissions
- Vol. 1: Origins
- Vol. 2: Bon Voyage
- Vol. 3: Schooled
- Vol. 4: Masks
- Vol. 5: Obsession/Compulsion
- Vol. 6: Pursuits
- Vol 7: Change
- Vol. 8: Rivalry
- Vol. 9: Milestones
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41 posts tagged poetry
—Terrance Hayes, Poetry, March 2008
Poem In Your Pocket Day has arrived! What poem do you have for your pocket? Find one here.
“There are times when a feeling of expectancy comes to me, as if something is there, beneath the surface of my understanding, waiting for me to grasp it. It is the same tantalising sensation when you almost remember a name, but don’t quite reach it. I can feel it when I think of human beings, of the hints of evolution suggested by the removal of wisdom teeth, the narrowing of the jaw no longer needed to chew such roughage as it was accustomed to; the gradual disappearance of hair from the human body; the adjustment of the human eye to the fine print, the swift, coloured motion of the twentieth century. The feeling comes, vague and nebulous, when I consider the prolonged adolescence of our species … Perhaps someday the revelation will burst in upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And I’ll laugh. And then I’ll know what life is.”
Sylvia Plath
(via thegettingout)
On Poetry
“Poetry is a life-cherishing force. And it requires a vision— a faith, to use an old-fashioned term. Yes, indeed. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes to let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry. Yes, indeed.”
Mary Oliver, from A Poetry Handbook
2001 US Poet Laureate and longtime PEN Member Billy Collins interviewed by The Cortland Review’s Ginger Murchison at this year’s Palm Beach Poetry Festival.
Happy Poetry Month!
Wrapping Up Volume 12: HOME
On this cold and snowy spring morning, we wanted to take a (very belated) moment to thank everyone who submitted for Vol. 12, and to the contributors who were selected to share their work. The interpretations of the theme “home” varied widely, and we enjoyed reviewing each and every piece.
Check out the full post below for a recap of the volume (and our thoughts on these amazing submissions).
Read more
“
What would it be like
to live in a library
of melted books.
With sentences streaming over the floor
and all the punctuation
settled to the bottom as a residue.
It would be confusing.
Unforgivable.
A great adventure.
Anne Carson
(via teacoffeebooks)
120 Seconds With….Liz L. Lyon
Liz is the author of “Caressing the Butterfly”.
- Day job: Executive assistant.
- 3 favorite authors: Tolkien, Anne McCaffrey, C.S. Lewis, Rilke, Pablo Neruda…
- 3 artists you most admire: Mary Cassatt, Franz Kline, Edgar Degas.
- How have you changed as an artist since you began creating/writing? I think that the point of being an artist is to see everything as mutable and manipulatable, and to guide one thing’s transformation into something else entirely. That new something should elicit a response from the reader/viewer, ranging anywhere from pleasure to disgust. I’m still learning how to do that; it’s a continual process.
- Describe your dream studio/workspace. A space with lots of light and a view.
- Where do you feel the most “at home”? In a place where I can take off my shoes and snuggle into the couch, with a blanket and some chamomile tea, where I don’t have to speak to anyone unless I want to.
- Something you never leave the house without: Unimpressively, I never leave without my keys and phone.
- How do you unwind and get in the mood to create/write? It’s a combination of staring at the notebook, doodling, remembering, and skimming the internet for some added juice. When I get an image, feeling, or idea that I like, I respond to it in some way.
- Tell us about a favorite holiday/wintertime tradition. Decorating for Christmas - Handel’s “Messiah” blaring throughout the house, countless trips down to the basement and back up again with arms full of kitschy Christmas gear, the excitement of Christmas and the imminent gathering of family.
- Name the last song that got stuck in your head. “Let’s Go” by Matt and Kim.
Vol. 12 HOME: Liz L. Lyon - “Caressing the Butterfly”
Death has caressed the dragonfly
and I have caught him in my embrace.
His wings flutter, silent, in the wind,
crumpled and lacerated.
He won’t taunt me, and I won’t chase
him again to those marsh-shores nearby.
The cause of his death is baby-clear:
I killed my dragonfly.
I never knew that he was mine
until the moment I held him
in my deathful, loving embrace.
My heart flutters silently,
crumpled and lacerated.
Read more
120 Seconds with… Richard J. Fleming
Richard is the author of “Dis Place”.
- Day job: Factotum.
- 3 favorite authors: Arthur Rimbaud, Thomas Hardy, Ogden Nash
- 3 artists you most admire: Kasimir Malevich, Giacomo Balla, Franz Marc.
- How have you changed as an artist since you began creating/writing? I used to be a Classical Poet, now I am catering to Fringe Groups.
- Describe your dream studio/workspace. Undersea Habitat.
- Where do you feel the most “at home”? Stonehenge.
- Something you never leave the house without: Brushing my teeth.
- How do you unwind and get in the mood to create/write? Beer for Breakfast.
- Tell us about a favorite holiday/wintertime tradition. Book burning.
- Name the last song that got stuck in your head. Cars 4 Kids.
Vol. 12 Home: Richard J. Fleming - “Dis Place”
Witnesses to electrocutions began to tremble
in the windows of foreclosed property.
The ghost of recessions past reared its ugly head.
Susurrations of sleep induced anomalies arose,
the kiss of electric wires snaking into quiet rooms,
the licorice whip of the knife’s keen edge
as it cut into the soft flesh of fallen fruit.
The big boys climbed out of their shiny, black cars,
and came across the sprinkled lawn, their gums
dripping, their hands like rubber hoses, as
they brought implications of important papers.
Greased lightning poured across the streets,
and tag teams of Huffy riders rolled along
the wide, paved corners of dream soaked driveways
where brave, young blades tightened the lug nuts
on tempting caravans that would soon chug
off into a slow syrup of sunset, that forever
held its color like precious shades of wood rose
beneath an evening of dancing dresses.
