Why Not Me?

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I started writing a story, when my now four year old daughter was a baby. It was slow going. I was studying my Bachelor too and didn’t have much time to write, so it kind of got pushed aside. Then when I started back on it. My laptop blew up and I lost 3 chapters of the story and couldn’t retrieve them. So once again it got pushed aside and than I fell pregnant with my second child and it wasn’t the easiest pregnancy, so again it got put off.

Until this year, when it suddenly hit me. I’ve got to get this done. I’m not exactly sure what triggered this sudden urge, so strong that I couldn’t leave it any longer.

Maybe it was the writers meeting I attended and the inspirational speakers and fellow writers. Perhaps it was an awakening? I’ve struggled with anxiety and PTSD and through this, I’ve learnt so much about myself and I’m beginning to realise that I am capable of so much more then I give myself credit for.

So I ask the question, to myself and to you…WHY NOT ME?

So my first achievement was publishing my poetry collection; Horns & Halo’s and the next big thing is publishing my fantasy novel, Raven Child. Which I’m very close to finishing my first draft. (In my next post I’ll explain the storyline.) rise

I have two young daughters with no family support, so this has been a challenge in itself. But when you have passion and love for something, you make it happen.

So, no matter how small, work towards your goals each and everyday. Even just 20 minutes spare each day or just jotting down idea’s. You’ll be amazed at the results!

Love Jen xxx

 

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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

 

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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

It’s my anniversary!! 

Today marks three years on WordPress!! I started a blog called All About Elle, about motherhood, three years ago; when I had my first daughter Estelle. 

This lead me, to starting Ink and Quill. At the time, I knew I loved to write fiction, but what I soon found was a love of poetry. I have grown so much since the beginning of my blogging journey. I feel like my writing confidence has increased and my passion evoked by my lovely inspiring followers. 

Honestly all your lovely, supportive comments have helped shape my writing and my confidence and I am modivated to keep writing!

I have had a little break from writing over the last year…what have I been doing? 

Estelle and Audrey 💖


But, I’m back! And my muses are inspiring me everyday. 

So here’s to a productive and positive 2017!! 

Jen x 

Virtuously Blind

 

It’s the shade of blue that covers the sky
In December, when the sun is high
The light that crosses over your face
Shadows hold to no avail

Could it be you’re a mere fragment of my imagination?
Cask from the depths of my soul
Conjured from the wanting of my heart and
shaped by the very essence of my mind

Aware am I
That all this could be a dream
The fall of golden blonde across your shoulders
And silky skin
Pallid in the early hours
When dawn performs
Emerging as a holy flower

A blessing and a curse
Sin and virtue pooled
Tasted by a fool
Lips of red wine,
Spill
My bleeding heart
Created you from the vine
Virtuously blind.

J.CALVERT 2016

Photos courtesy of google images.

I know its been awhile and I’ve missed my writing space and writing friendships made. The last few months have proved challenging. I’m due to have my second baby girl in two weeks and my ability to write has disappeared? My mind is blank with the upcoming event taking centre stage! Please forgive my absence.

MERRY CHRISTMAS and  a HAPPY NEW YEARS everyone!

I hope you have a wonderful holiday with family and friends.

Here’s new and exciting adventures in 2017!

Jen xxx

 

 

The Mighty Quill

‘The Mighty Quill’ by Jay Blue Poems. Such beauty and exquisiteness in his writing.

jaybluepoems

Grand! The mighty feather tears a flurried wind cross the page,
tip of quill enticed to drink, and drunken pours it out in rage!

Rips the fabric white in arcs that smolder in the drying!
Dips its nose again to sneer, and smears emotions in the trying.

Pen in thoughtless hand so stained and blotted by the pain within,
against its will is forced to kill the very page with sin.

Seduced in errant commas, gastric spelling of acrid words,
then bends to touch the love therein with gentle kiss of humming birds.

Then splash! Again is wrought in flurried panic fanfare.
Scratches out a misplaced phrase and stands amidst the blotch to stare…

And there the heart is landed, softly in a sudden thought,
that to the page the pen, in grace, pours a drop of love there wrought.

Tis nothing short of miracle, tis nothing less than mad,

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To Wear Our Scars?

 

There is a scar
that covers about three inches of skin
on soft tissue,
just above your breast,
it runs a jagged line
it reminds me of a flower vine
creeping up your neck,
faded in time
a silver tattoo left,

Does it feel different on the tongue?
I run my lips across the serrated point
Quickening with every lick,
Each mark holds a depth untold
I feel a beating pulse within –
more than just a hollow organ;
a heart of its own
flowing in feelings.

This scar that is visible
carried upon your chest
weighing too heavy
for you to undress
like a photograph –
a moment never forgotten.
A permanent welt.
A visible form.

If the scar wasn’t there to remind you?
Could you forget it?

Thoughts

It’s been on my mind –the idea of a scar. We all have scars. Some are visible, some hidden and those buried so deeply, that we are ourselves are shocked to find they are there.

Does wearing our scars in different ways affect our-self?
Do we carry them for everyone to see?
Or hide them so deeply, that we forgot them, for a time.

Because even if we bury our burdens, they have a way of resurfacing.
Is it better to wear our scars?

WRITTEN BY J.CALVERT 2016

ALL PHOTOGRAPHS BELONG TO TALENTED PHOTOGRAPHER ANNA O.PHOTOGRAPHY 2015

The Cat and The Moon

I had to share this poem with you! I really love it. ENJOY!

Poet's Corner

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Solitude in standing,
bathed in harvest’s milky moon,
hallowed by the moment caught,
suspended midst the stars, in tune.

View original post 98 more words

Evening Primrose

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Portrait of sadness by Agnieszka Lorek

Before the light of day
slips behind the moon
the maple tree glows red,
In tendrils of spidery webs
my fingers caress the earth,
Overcome by
the delicate aroma of evening primrose,
blossoms exposed on dusk.
The warmth of the sun fading –
the cool air weighs
heavily around my shoulders,
the lace shawl a slip across my vulnerability.
The beetles scuttle across the grass below,
Searching for a place to call their own.
I, a shapeless shadow,
disguised by the comfort of night
white stargazer lilies
upon the burial site,
a stagnant boulder
my eyes aching in
fits of weeping,
red rimmed and creasing,
hysteria took my heed.
Taken to the ground
my tears and
all my days gone,
Dawdling,
an ancient story
buried below,
Untold,
Goodbye my love.
Unfold my limbs across
our final resting place
Under the sun and
Clouded night.

I’ll lie with you all my days.

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.