FREE Horns & Halos Poetry Collection

Poetry is fluid and interchanging based on emotion and perception. It allows both the poet and the reader to discover and interpret the words, for themselves.

Life is a lot like poetry, always changing, unique, flexible, forever challenging the mind, and flooding the senses.

Horns & Halo’s was written to convey this sense of self through both emotion and experience. Horns & Halo’s connects the written word, with the real world. No bullshit, no sugar-coating, just up front and raw…

BOLD AND STRONG…LIKE A WOMAN

 

Horns & Halos is available worldwide in paperback and Kindle, from Amazon and a free e-book is available from https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/746721 use coupon code to get your free copy PT96V

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I’m Back

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It’s been awhile my friends. But I’m back!

I haven’t forsaken my writing, in fact I’ve been working harder than ever before and that’s why I’ve been absent here on Word Press.

In the time I’ve been away. I’ve had another beautiful baby girl, Audrey who is already 9 months old. I’ve published my first poetry collection, Horns & Halos. I’m almost finished my fantasy manuscript and working on a children’s picture book. My publishing journey feels more tangible than ever before.

I’d love to hear from you and see how you all are going with your writing and I will be making sure I check out your blogs!

So happy to be back. The writing community is so important in the writing process!

Jen xxx

Wild Hearts

OUR WILD HEARTS

CROSSED AND STITCHED

RUNNING DOWN THE STREAM

ARCOSS THE JAGGED EDGES

AND THROUGH THE FERN TREES.

J.CALVERT 2016

Flowing like clean lines

of water

clear and abundant

in natures spring,

Languid against the flow of the river

In sleepy depths

of sorrow,

teeming with tomorrows promise.

She knows not where she is going,

her vision impaired

blinded by the glare,

of the highlights and the shadows

cast far and wide

across her tired eyes

The path

wild and overgrown

cherubs and ferns turn

inwards

and welt under the sun,

The wildness of her heart

crushed

unveiled

altered

outwards

feeling the cool grip of the river run.

 

 

 

 

 J.CALVERT 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry by Amanda Eifert

” The Writings On The Wall Reveal You”

 

——
Am I real?
When you look at me,
Do you see me for me?
Do you care what you see?
I’ve only questions,
While you play your cards close.
I’m not going to cheat,
Peer at your hand because —
I’m afraid what I’ll see.
Such truths, I don’t want to gaze upon —
Unfaithfulness,
Only physicality, sexuality;
No emotion or affection,
No conversation in person,
No Voice stroking voice.
—–
Hands speak with our words,
Eyes glint and reveal,
Secrets you’d rather hide,
With sunglasses.
Staring at your hand,
Trying to beat my cards.
Poker face silent, emotionless;
All bets are off.
Time to show me your cards,
What the river dealt you —
Matters not; but for now,
Play how you like.
Fold if you’re scared,
Of falling into deep,
Of feeling emotion.
Your heart picking-up,
Thumping a beat.
——
But, perhaps, I’m a woman for fodder,
For a lonely night at home.
Perhaps, I’m not pretty enough,
Not thin enough for you.
Maybe, you know I’ll ask questions?
Questions you have trouble answering.
Maybe, you know —
I’ll turn the wanderer in your soul home,
And welcome you in my arms.
Maybe you’re not ready,
Perhaps, your only an ass.
A nice way of saying,
Other words I want to shout.
Perhaps, I’m only a date —
And one night.
Is this how you treat women?
I’m too strong for your tricks.
——-
You may forget my face,
My name, my body.
You may let me do the walk of shame,
Thinking I’m fooled by you,
The man I liked all along;
You may believe —
Finally, you wore me down.
And now I’m flattened,
Nothing left to sculpt,
Nothing left to shatter.
Smithereens, glass embedded.
You may have led me astray,
Made me consider:
I no longer think,
Some guys are good,
And some guys do care.
——
But when I chose you,
Maybe I didn’t realize,
I was choosing all wrong.
Maybe, I should’ve gazed above me —
Seen the ‘writings on the wall.’
Seen the woman in her glory,
Waiting for her own life,
On wings to rise and fly;
From your lies and tricks;
You didn’t shatter me,
I saw all the writings,
Every word on that damn wall,
I know all your horrific secrets;
And I read them all.

 

“The Darkest Faeries”

——
The wings of a faerie, a delicate lace.
Transparent and glowing with,
Each faeries myriad colour choice.
You can see their wings flash,
When the sun begins to set;
When echoes of the rainbow,
Give one the illusion of colours bold.
But it’s the faeries who are —
As beautiful as they’re deadly,
Luring children to their faerie lands.
Turning your infants to faeries,
To live many ages;
To play wicked games, faeries play.
—-
They’ve no offspring so they steal,
A babe fed; left in their crib.
Mothers are distraught,
Be not surprised; it’s what faeries do.
You’ve heard the tales and watched,
As your mother, and her mother before her.
Still you cry and sob;
Picking-up your biggest kitchen knife.
Faeries are terrible beings,
We read false truth about,
They don’t actually want to help.
They’re evil when alive too long.
——-
Faeries so tiny,
Keep their race alive.
Promptly, wave their hands;
The wisps of their garments,
Sleeves like streamers trailing long.
Chanting magic ancestors taught,
They curse your darlings with bright wings.
And turn you and you husband away,
Searching for,
Your their stolen little ones.
Though your broken-hearted mother,
You keep up your fight.
You want your children to grow,
Not become an evil faerie;
Live a Millennium to burn.
——-
Faeries lead astray those,
Who try to capture them.
You who yearn for your babes,
To get your children home.
As faeries, your darlings grow in the blink of an eye;
Become adult faeries in days,
Not knowing they were humans young,
Merely, days ago.
——
Mother’s sorely missing kids,
Are wandering the forest for —
Where ancient faeries hide.
Faeries lie to stolen babes,
Say they were unwanted,
So the faeries gave them home.
And rainbow wings to one day,
Catch the eye of yet more babes.
Lost before a parent sees,
A child stolen gone.
——
Faeries change your young,
Dawning them with gossamer wings,
Knowledge of mischief and celebration.
A faeries life is of none-stop festivity,
With little meaning;
And no knowledge do faeries posses,
But the knowledge to take;
Those you hold so dear–
It’s why you burn their wings,
In the candle lit at night;
So, they will never curse your home,
And bring you a mother’s tears,
——
Why you learned to take your knife,
And kill the old faeries weird,
To end their malicious games.
Take back your children,
Undo the magic faeries formed.
You’ll burn and stab their wings all night,
Until your children,
And your neighbour’s young,
Are finally, safe at home.
So the faeries fade away.
Die out with no offspring,
Because of you;
Your child lives.
And never will you cry again,
From a fairy interfering.
You, most feisty mother,
For your perseverance, you have won.

Shadorma: “Women War Not Alone”

—–
Such times as,
The ones she lives through.
She conforms,
Yet wants more.
Sees hurt, it perpetuates;
Never healing whole.
—-
Self-harm and —
Hate common, if she–
Keeps hurting;
Harms others–
Hate with false judgement, it wins.
Woman, think thoughtfully.
—–
End the pain,
Close the doors so she,
Locks terror,
Out in cold.
An unforgiving night, reminds —
Her, fight gently.
—–

Keep working;
I know her battle,
It’s as old,
As the earth.
Men and women must fight for,
Prosperity.
—–
If only,
For a moment’s time,
Pax, and rest.
She is wise,
For seeing tomorrow’s pain;
Unburdens those lame.
——-
Light in the,
Darkness, shines, provides —
Glimmer of,
Hope, assured —
Fighting, with her words and sword;
Hoping for happiness.
——
Good prevails.
Light’s glow permanent.
Good’s older.
She drinks wine;
Thinking of mornings, sunrise —
Reminds her she’s loved.
—–
Leaves on tree,
Dusting her path yet,
Leaves mark the —
Passing of,
Seasons; each one she shines light,
Earth keeps turning while —
—–
She worries,
Weeping in bad times,
She doesn’t
Forget what,
Was fought for at heavy cost,
She lives; others fought —
——
For her now.
Because in their time,
They had few —
Rights at all.
Doing wife’s duty despite,
Desire for freedom — rights.
——
She looks for,
Light in the tunnel,
At the end–
Of the war.
She fights not alone; she holds —
Strength in her faith bold.
——
For her God,
Never gives up, for —
Women so —
Precious; God–
Created Man and her equals.
Partners; she’s not less.
——-
Complement,
She smiles because she —
Knows inner —
Completeness.
Remembers God’s son best knows,
Inequality.

Biography:

Amanda is a writer, blogger, and student in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. She has a BA in English Literature, a certificate in Residential Design, and is pursuing an online MFA at UBC in May 2017. She loves being creative and imaginative in her writing. She enjoys drawing and acrylic painting, dogs, hanging with her friends and family, Netflix, scrapbooking, and yoga. Amanda blogs at: www.mandibelle16.wordpress.com.

Share A Poem On Ink and Quill

Share a link here of your favourite poem/s, which you have written or a poem written by a fellow poet. Or both! A poem/s which may have moved you, or are close to your heart. A poem, you thought about, long after you finished reading it. I will repost all links. As you … Continue reading

Under Shawl 

Chiffon
The depth of my soul,
Buried beneath the cathedral stone,
My breath shallow,
The weight of my pain wrapped under shawl,
My lips bleeding in lacey throw,
Unable to speak,
My dues,
I owe,
Cast undertow.

 

Owl by K.Morris

Owl by K.Morris

I have lain awake listening for the owl’s cry.
A note that chills
Thrills
Then does die.

One day
This bird of prey
Will carry my soul away,
Or so the supersticious say.

Mice hide
While I, in my pride
Decide
The owl’s erie cry
Signifies that I will die.

The bird has no interest in me
So why can I not be free
Of his cry
That to my window nigh
does rise, then, as suddenly, die?

Biography

Kevin Morris was born in Liverpool on 6 January 1969.
After having obtained a BA (hons) in history and politics and a MA in Political theory, from University College Swansea, he moved to London where he now lives and works.
Kevin blogs at newauthoronline.com. For details of his published works please see the “About” page on newauthoronline.com.

ink submission

I AM

6755737b24cd7eaf71094ae8d4d1860fHow can I sit in idle?
And allow you to ridicule my being,
Who I am
and
who you think I am
are completely contrasting,
My colours shine through
the light I allow
and you can’t blind them
with your negativity.
You don’t know me,
You don’t even know you,
So take your judgemental eyes
And cask it back upon yourself
I am not a victim
I am not a pushover
I am not yours to influence
I will not allow you to
determine who I am.
I follow my own path.

JCALVERT 2016

Don’t interrupt my inner peace with your toxic mind.

Little Darling Rosalie 

 

Little darling Rosalie,
Sweet like a May flower in spring,
Silky lips and seamless kiss,
Tulips and summer mist,
Lemon and lime,
Dance in time,
To the sway of her hips,
Chiffon clings,
To every inch of skin,
Cheeks the shade of peachy cream,
Eyes the colour of autumn leaves,
Lips open and glossy pink,
My little darling Rosalie.

Copyright J Calvert

Elk and Earth

  Upon the earth, the Elk’s hoof treads, Imprinted, Drawn upon the soil, Before the rise of the sun, A silence within the woods, Across the pines and rocky terrain, Sticks and logs forlorn, The earth and the elk, In … Continue reading