Inspired Ink

Hello Readers and Followers,

Due to the changing seasons of life, 

The Griffin’s Inkpot blog has now been renamed Inspired Ink.

Along with the pandemic came situations that made it impossible to keep publishing on the blog. However, by God’s grace, all is well, I can publish again, and calls for submissions will be made in a few months. 

My sincerest apologies for the long silence and any inconvenience the change in name and link will cause. 

Do send me a message if you have any questions or requests concerning previously published pieces. 

Best regards,

By Plutonianhostage

Something peculiar is happening,

I feel as though I’m changing

A curiosity spikes, touching death, when it’s night,

My entirety, rearranging.

I’ve crawled into the abyss,

To scream; “you have no reign over me!”

I promise to do it again, and again,

Until I am finally free.

I’ve been in the undertow,

But now the tips of my fingers, reach for the light

These devils have their charms and dances,

I know there’s no light in their eyes.

I am this body of flesh,

I guard this skin with intent

Call me a stoic, call me what you will,

I will no longer pretend!

That I am not fiercely soft,

That I am not gentle from flames

That I don’t harbor love, the kind we all dream of,

I knew love before I knew your names.

There is no damage the outside can do,

My pieces, though scattered, are mine

I am what I am, leave, or understand,

That I will never serve to lies.

By Bill Outlaw ©

You had me at hello

how was I to know

your warm smile told me it was so

Now, I can never let you go.

You had me from day one

From sunrise to setting sun

Everything since has come undone

Now, you are the only one.

You had me from the start

You walked up and stole my heart

The wheels have come off the cart

Now I count the minutes that we’re apart

You had me with just one glance

You took my heart and made it dance

All I want now is the chance

To fill your life with love and romance

Yes, you had me at hello

how was I to know

your special look told me it was so

Now, I can never let you go.

By Letters-from-Alex

Dear friend,

I know it’s been a while. I can’t stress the amount of guilt I feel for not writing to you in so long. You must have been worried.

To calm your nerves, I’d like to tell you that I’m okay– better than okay actually, considering what’s been going on lately? I can’t complain. Honestly, it could be a lot worse.

Last week, my house caught on fire at four in the morning. I woke up to the whole house covered in smoke. I didn’t realize what was going on. I was half asleep when my mom walked in. I could smell the smoke, but for some odd reason, I thought it was my mom burning breakfast again. It wasn’t…

I thought it was 6am. My mom burst into my room and yelled, “Wake up! Something’s wrong!” She sniffed my room. “Is it coming from here? Why does it smell a lot worse here?” She took a big whiff from the air purifier I leave on every night. “Is it this? Oh my God, I can’t tell anymore.”

I finally got up and rubbed my eyes open. “No, Mom. It can’t be that. It’s meant to do the complete opposite.”

“We need to get out of here. Something’s wrong. And I don’t see a fire anywhere.”

We walked out of the house and took the dogs with us. My dad came up to me and told me he didn’t know what was going on either. He was worried that it would be a lot worse than he expected.

So, we called the fire department and they showed up within minutes. A group of (very hot and muscular) men went into the house to find the cause of the fire.

A few minutes later, after extensive searching, they found that there was a shortage inside the A/C unit in the attic. Thankfully, the fire didn’t spread and was contained within the unit. This explained why the whole house was in smoke, but no fire was visible.

In addition, our thermostat shorted out as well and burned a bit of our wall. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything major, but it could’ve been worse and that scares me the most.

Aside from all the smoke inhalation and causing some asthma during my run, I’m okay. At least I’m alive.

Today wasn’t any better…

Since they’re replacing the A/C unit in our house, my parents and I have been  staying in a hotel a few minutes away. It’s been a little inconvenient with driving back and forth to get clothes, drop off the dogs, pick up the dogs, getting something to eat, etc., but I  guess you can  say it’s an experience.

There’s really something odd about being in a hotel for a few days in your hometown.

Today, I was supposed to go into work at 8am, but I decided to sleep in and go in at 9am instead. So, I woke up a bit later, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and drove off to work.

I was running a little ahead of schedule, so I decided to stop at the Vitamin Shack to get myself a chocolate protein shake. I ordered, waited a few minutes, talked to the employee about trying a new protein, and left. About a minute later, I get into a car accident.

I was stopped at a red light minding my own business– you know, listening to Halsey and singing idiotically and drinking my protein shake. The light turned green, but the two vehicles in front of me took too long to react to it. Just before I let go of the brakes, my car moved forward and I heard this awful noise coming from underneath.

I couldn’t wrap my head around what was going on. I thought something was wrong with my brakes. Maybe they gave out and aren’t working. Why did I move forward, yet I was at a stop? That’s when I looked in my rear view mirror and noticed this tall Dodge Ram behind me that just seemed a little too close.

I turned into the convenient store and thought, if this guy follows me in, then, he must have hit me. I turn in. He followed.

I parked by the air compressor for the tires and he parks behind me. I tried asking him if he was all right, but he didn’t understand me because he only spoke Spanish. I don’t know much Spanish, but I do know he said he’d give me a hundred dollars to get the puncture and dent fixed on my trunk.

I knew that wasn’t a good idea, so I called my mom so she could talk to the older man. After that, I did the same with my dad and he advised me to call the cops and I did that too.

The cops showed up almost immediately and took both our information. I had never been in an accident before, so I was a little confused about everything. Thankfully, the officer was very kind and helpful and told me things should be settled in a few days as far as the police report goes.

I was waiting at that gas station for about forty-five minutes when the officer finally told me that I could go on with my day.

And that’s what I did… went on with my day as if nothing really happened. I didn’t let it bring me down, but I feel as if deep down inside I’m hurting. I don’t know why this is all happening to me right now. The only thing that’s keeping me sane is that I’m keeping myself distracted. This is such a low though, I know things will get better soon and I’ll be back living my high and things will be going my way.

I just hate that when things like this tend to happen, things that are out of my control, I just want someone to hold, but not just anyone– I want him.

For some odd reason, when things are out of control and life just doesn’t seem to be going in my favor, he’s the one that makes everything better. But he’s not around anymore and I’m so afraid to talk to him. No, that’s a lie. I’m not afraid to talk to him. I’m afraid of being ignored. Or maybe I’m afraid of finding out that my message won’t deliver. I can’t tell which is worse.

I wish I had somebody to help me forget about the world and remind me that everything is going to be okay. I know it will, but having that validation just makes me feel all that better. Because telling yourself isn’t the same as someone saying it for you.

I can’t seem to get him off my mind now because before all this happened, I saw him driving around town twice in a span of twelve hours. Then, the next day I saw him riding his bike at the park with his family.

He didn’t see me driving, but he saw me at the park. Oh, I know he saw me because when we locked eyes, he kept looking away and tried to ride in the opposite direction. I wonder what he thought. I wonder if it hurt him too to see me there at my park. The park that I go to to run and feel as free as an uncaged bird with no shackles attached. It was the one and only place where I felt I’d never see him at. It was the only place that I felt at peace and now he ruined that for me just like he ruined everything else.

But if I really truly felt that way about him, why do I still love him?

Love always,

Alex

By 3aminternalmonologue

There’s a door in the forest.

I guess that, by itself, isn’t so strange. There are lots of doors in lots of forests. But those doors tend to lead to something. Or from something. Like everything else in life, a door being either odd or commonplace depends largely on the context. So let me give you some context.

There are no other man-made structures in this forest – or at least, none in current use. Rumor has it there are ruins buried somewhere in the brush, fragments of ancient walls and floors, mostly piles of stones now. That’s part of the reason why myself, an Adventurer, chose this area to explore.

This door isn’t like that.

Firstly, this door doesn’t appear to be attached to anything. It’s standing, quite handsome and solitary, in the middle of a clearing. The first clearing I’ve come across in over an hour of hiking. For over an hour, my path has been clogged with thick, hanging Love Vine. clumps of Sea Grapes, and scrubby trees. In an instant, all foliage ceased. There is nothing living in an 8 foot radius of the door.

It’s as if they’re afraid to come any closer.

Secondly, there doesn’t seem to be any rubble surrounding the door. So it’s in the realm of possibility that the door currently isn’t, and never has been, involved in any structure outside of itself. In fact, for a clearing in the middle of a scruffy woods, it’s all very tidy.

Another aspect that makes this door unusual is its age. I wouldn’t say it was 100% modern, but I also wouldn’t call it ancient. It looks like a door that could be in any house in any neighborhood. Like the door to your grandparents’ house. The oldest part of the door is the keyhole. That looks irrationally older than the rest of the structure, like it could partner up well with a skeleton key. All in all, the keyhole is the most unusual aspect of the door.

That, and that it’s standing by itself in the middle of a forest.

I think staring at the keyhole is what made me remember the keys in my pocket. I never carry around many, but I do have a car key and a padlock key. I don’t know what I expected to happen. I suppose I just thought, ‘Well, there’s a door, and it needs a key, and you’ve got a key, so why not?’

Showing reasonable caution can save an Adventurer’s life. But so can learning the art of not thinking too deeply about things. I stepped forward and put the padlock key into the lock. My eyes widened when I found that the key turned easily, and the lock clicked into place.

Odd.

By Cosupreme

dangerously beautiful, they called him…

he dressed her in his finest light, bringing out the blue in her eyes.

although the fire remained, she couldn’t help but see it was merely a disguise.

he loved her dearly, if love was set for a certain time,

because when his hours ended, his light would resign.

she would be foolish to think her story ended here,

for when his light vanished, her own would appear.

a dress of the cosmos with a milky way smear,

behold the stellar scribbles of a celestial engineer.

Cosupreme resides in California and lets his experiences influence his writing. He adds, “ I write as a way to detach myself from this evil world”.

By Tom Squitieri

Espresso and red lipstick You like to say You are basic sometime Oh but that is when You are most irresistible I look with envy To that espresso cup The dabble of red lipstick It proudly displays You sip so happily your eyelids close In such savor Your chest warms as the deliciousness Spreads Your hair seems to burst in waves and freedom Red lipstick says so much So wonderful Best on my cheek Or on my starched white shirt If I change the last vowel in my last name to The letter “O” Maybe that red lip stick will Find its way to me And, oh, will I express my happiness But it is when you are most irresistible I look with envy at that espresso cup The lipstick it proudly owns And how it as delivered

Tom Squitieri is a three-time winner each of the Overseas Press Club and White House Correspondents’ Association awards for his work as a war correspondent. He reported from all seven continents, always writing as a voice for the voiceless; and has taken his love of storytelling to poetry. He writes most of his poetry while parallel parking or walking his dogs, Topsie and Batman. Read more from Tom at www.redsnowltd.com  and @tomsquitieri​.

By Sean Lause

In the back of my grandmother’s antique store I overhear my grandfather chanting: : “I don’t want to die. I’m afraid to die,” and my grandmother soothes him, “I know, I know.”

And she opens, opens doors, drapes, blinds and windows, old glass lights in carillon colors, and still he cries his fear of dying. But I am five and the watches are asleep.

Clocks line the walls, each hushed at a separate hour. This store is a theater of light, crystal air, tobacco scents, and hard-bound books, clasping secret knowledge.

And now her hands guide me to the garden, and I am all lit crystal and sun, as the world rehearses another day. The light stings like shattered glass, and broken strings are blowing in the trees.

Sean Lause is a professor of English at Rhodes State College in Lima, Ohio.  His poems have appeared in The Minnesota Review, The Alaska Quarterly, Another Chicago Magazine and The Beloit Poetry Journal.

By Steven Mullahoo

pocket universes in your coatjacket heart

they seem so self sustaining, infinite in the moment

cold fusion sun, no black holes,

everything forever.

if there was ever a time that could keep you

alive, infinite in the slow frozen moment,

it would be in those times:

Where you never want to leave

Where you could live love forever.

It’s always about that isn’t it?

The times you’d travel back to,

The ones you could live forever in

The ones they’d live forever in

pocket universes in your coatjacket heart.

By Sara Boylan

As it begins to rain I swear I feel your embrace Smell your cologne Feel your presence

But you’re not there I start to wonder If you ever were Tears slip from my eyes, on to my cheeks

My chest feels like it’s cracking within Breaking in half from the pain Red hot scars across my veins It reminds me I’m no longer immortal

I strain to pick myself up Off the cement that has scabbed my knees The sidewalk where you left me I don’t know if I still breathe

Gasping and grasping For whatever is left I will recover from the loss of you I promise I’ll learn to live again

But this time without you.

 By crescentsleep

l

I am a snail

leaf’s of paper 

Hermit queen

cherry glow

Valentina heart 

tongue  amulet

Soul wrapped in leather and ancient world's 

By zoralewiz

it’s the end of the world mother earth is dying she cries and cries in agony in regret she regrets ever giving birth to her children brutal children killing each other killing their mother killing themselves by killing her she cries cries cries

By Fallofgrace

honestly,

who the hell do i think i am?

no really.

who the hell am i?

no word feels right

but the half-baked, generic labels are better

than drifting through the dark.

i know the technical terms that describe me.

that is not the problem.

the problem

is that life is so big.

so so big

and i don’t know where i fit.

and the universe inside me

is so big,

i don’t know

how to even begin to find myself

within it.

nothing seems to encompass

the all-encompassing universe

inside me.

i feel claustrophobic

in the void.

By  Brandley Simms

Rich brown And golden yellow Like honey and grizzly bear fur Or sunlight dancing on oak tree’s bark Or fall leaves painted on an earthy forest floor Or warm flames breathing out of cackling logs And brown boots shifting through endless fields of wheat The pair is the perfect representation of humanity The yellow is the blinding light, the eternal curiosity, and limitless universe of things to discover. The brown is the earth And we are of the earth We are part of this ecosystem, this system of nutrients and thriving biotic experiment The word Adam comes from the Hebrew “adamah” which means “land” or “soil.” Religious or Atheist, most faiths believe the earth is our identity. The palette is like a relationship between our universe and ourselves. The only two sure truths, and thus, the two most absolute powers. The universe, because it’s composed of infinite possibilities, and the self, because it’s composed of infinite realities. So the right brown and yellow can feel homey and true. Steadfast and wistful. It can make you feel the security of independence yet the majesty of the sublime and everlasting.   Ethereal drips of magic that fell from the sky. From the shimmering stars onto our world Like drops of bright watercolor onto a sheet of ancient parchment from which we rose And began to write our own story Though the ink will blend, the story will continue, because ours lives beyond words and marks and tongues, it’s the perspective of the eternal splendor Between our breaths.

By  Annie Smith

The Muse, in all her beauty and cruelty, above me in flowing gowns on a rough sea and whispers, “Now is the time to create, craft!” but I have work and life, without time for a draft I must say to her, “Muse, I beg! Later, then let me see.” But no matter what I say, she will not let me be.

But when I am alone with time to make, I find that the muse will not speak to me awake. I cry to her, “Muse, I beg! Give me what you did and in the future, no matter when, I will do as you bid!” But the Muse does not like to be ignored and she won’t allow her ideas to be stored.

By  Adam R. Mintz

If your arms were a nest,

then I’d be the albatross

gliding over the bluest deserts

upon salted winds,

coming home

most gleefully do I

abandon arms;

fields dyed red

and psyches

bruised, scarred,

and dead

finally,

I’m home,

stealing through the rooms

searching for your face,

hoping to surprise—

only to find

your absence

“She just left!”

shouts a voice.

“Come join the bereaved!”