The Fog at Dusk


The fog at dusk is crowded now
And the whispery voices of dead poets
Susurrate ‘round my head and through me
Like uninvited guests determined
To see me home or elsewhere,
Their resolution known to them alone;
I am but a pawn in this odd game
Of which I find myself the seeming prix de jour

“Remember,” rasps a husky voice, “All My Pretty Ones?”
Anne Sexton, to be sure; just to think of her, makes me smile
From beyond the grave; she sees it, and snaps,
“It wasn’t meant to amuse, my dear,” - then falls silent.
I am about to protest; I know that, but resist talking to
A spectre, for all that, when I feel chilly hands clamp
About my shoulders; I even look to see if they are there

Which, of course, they aren’t – or at least not visibly, but still
Their clamminess is such that I am tempted to pry off each cold finger
When a hollow chuckling in the mist is followed by Teasdale’s unmistakable lines,
“I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful,
when rain bends down the bough...”
Sighing deeply, I do relax, if even for a moment, so fond I am of this fine poem –
The title of which, eludes me for a second, no wait - “I Shall Not Care” -
Did that just come to me – or did I hear it muttered? I know not, but again, I tense.

Once more, voices swirl round, and I, still not surefooted on the path, stumble
Then, as if pitying me, a voice says, rich in tones all too knowing,
“Ennui... designing futures where nothing will occur...” - ‘tis Sylvia Plath
Who is slipping her hand in mine, in such comradely a fashion,
I am taken aback; rumour had it she could be aloof and difficult
It is dawning on me finally, as she quotes, out of hand,
the tiniest piece of her work,
Just where I am and why, and all the hapless rest,
my own boredom not the least of it

And Plath, impassive, as always, since that damned Bell Jar success
And all that followed, or didn’t, is nodding, touching
My wrists affectionately, approving I suppose of the unhealed
Slashes she’s observing; slashes that run deep and vertically,
A guarantee that I too, a failed successful poetess, have succeeded in death
And earned the right to be amongst this holy number, earned my place
With those gathered, in the fog at dusk; here, with all the dead poets, whispering.
S.E.Ingraham

First Poem...

So I thought I'd start things off for us with a new poem I'm working on that I'm actually submitting for a film project, as strange as that sounds. A friend of my is starting a film project about love, and so this poem explores my love of writing. I'm not sure if it's coming off as a little overly intense. I see what you think and then tell you what I was going for if I get any comments.


The Ink is in My Blood

The ink is in my veins,
thrumming through me.
A sweet, stabbing need
to bring fingers to paper,
build worlds with words.

The ink cloaks my brain.
A dark passion fog.
Twisting thoughts to new forms.
Mutating synapses to new alignments.
Corroded similes crumble
under new metaphors

In the frenzy of bringing
the thoughts to being,
my fingers are wet
with the ink,
with the blood
of my being.
My blood,
The ink.

When I give birth to it,
the ink runs down my thighs.
The poem has broken
out through the point on paper.

A delicate newborn,
it lies in twisting lines,
still wet and shining
with fresh ink,
My blood.

When the poem is pulled free,
and laid out on the white sheet,
We are no longer one,
its song no longer
streaming through me,
pulsing with the convulsions
of my heart.

To draw it back to me,
I lick its words up off the paper,
tongue the soft syllables
and exhale the whisper of its meaning.
The ink,
The blood,
Lie thick on my tongue.

Welcome!

Hello everyone! Welcome to our new blog! I'm really hoping that this catches on and that we'll create a space to share our new work in a supportive and inspiring environment. Maybe we could even add other writers outside of the course we took to expand our community a bit. The title and pretty much everything about this initial version of the blog is just a rough draft, so leave some comments and let me know what ideas you have for it!