Together We Are
Huddled in the clutch of love so long our bones stand out bare, uncovered by the soft sweet flesh that was ignited in the furnace of our consummation. Like paper in fire we flare up we curl into each other locked in intimate exclusion of anyone beyond our fierce embrace-- where we burn forever only for ourselves fused hip to hip, bone to bone incandescent, one body reinvented, reborn forged in the crucible of blind desire. Mary McCarthy This poem was written as part of the sex and art ekphrastic Valentine's Day challenge. Mary McCarthy has always been a writer, but spent most of her working life as a Registered Nurse. She has had work published in many on line and print journals, and has an e chapbook “Things I was Told Not to think About” available as a free download from Praxis Magazine online.
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The Merchant's Pearl
girl, he'll tell you anything and everything to get what he wants, didn't your mother tell you anything of the deceits of men? it's going too far to say it like this, but how else are you supposed to learn?: the pearl he wants is between your legs and he doesn't care about your pleasure, your name, your dreams, the things going on inside that darling head of yours, no... and so what if he's your father, the truth is that his is the kind of love that suffocates, and if you don't know already, you will soon enough, you'll look back on this moment as the awakening you should've had... for now he thinks you are the virgin, that no one's ever crept up to your room, that none have curled up next to you under the bushes in the wastelands where no one could hear you. let him think what he wants, he's going to anyway, and besides, you'd only be another whore if you told him, whereas were you his son, there'd be afternoon tea served from the dallah on that carpet with him leaning close and still closer as he smiled to ask what she was like, this woman who in the light of day, doesn’t even exist without a father’s judgement Garth Ferrante This poem was written in response to the sex and art ekphrastic challenge. Garth Ferrante is a complete unknown who teaches, writes, and makes games out of challenging his own creativity. He writes because he loves to, because he finds meaning and purpose in it, because if he didn’t, life would be lifeless. Adieu
it's not going to happen all at once-- in fact, this moment of suffering will turn into several eternities: it's just how these things go, the time will creep by and you'll do nothing but hate god and yourself for not having saved her: all these things are normal, even your pain, especially your pain... but they won't tell you about reliving that moment in your heart till time "runneth out" and they won't tell you you'll wish you too were dead even though as your beard greys and the eyes dim, you won't be able to tell much difference between life and death, so that your misery will come to feel normal, like something that is good and wholesome because it reminds you of her... until you remember what she was really like and you'll despise yourself for replacing her with this disgusting substitute that could never be her, that she never would have approved of you curling up with, for where is your life now? you can point to this image and say there, right there! but that was then, and you are more than her loss, aren't you? they'll want something transcendent here, something lifting them up to where their own wisdom could never take them, and so you point to her death, to your lamenting, and say forever that this is who you are, even as you know she is shaking her head at you from beyond... where is the part that says you will do the same, that you will leave her as she left you? if she hated dying, you can hate to continue living, but still, you must go… yet in spite of knowing this, you stay Garth Ferrante This poem was written in response to the sex and art ekphrastic challenge. Garth Ferrante is a complete unknown who teaches, writes, and makes games out of challenging his own creativity. He writes because he loves to, because he finds meaning and purpose in it, because if he didn’t, life would be lifeless. It's the String
"they are the soul freed from its physical incarnation" –Dominique Fortin, on her birds It's the string, there's always a string. It's a thin flimsy string, a loose homemade leash. It hasn't been tested, but it connects. How does the bird maintain flight inside the blank room while the girl holds the string? Did she climb the precarious ladder to allow as much flight as possible in the white room? How long can she stand in her two little shoes on the small unsure platform? How long since the cage was a cage? Shirley Glubka This poem was written in response to the surprise ekphrastic poetry challenge on birds. Shirley Glubka is a retired psychotherapist, the author of three poetry collections, a mixed genre collection, and two novels. The Bright Logic of Wilma Schuh (novel, Blade of Grass Press, 2017) is her latest. Shirley lives in Prospect, Maine with her spouse, Virginia Holmes. Website: http://shirleyglubka.weebly.com/ Online poetry at The Ekphrastic Review here and at 2River View here and at The Ghazal Page here and here. Sing of Bareness a New Song
Were it necessary to recognize only carved agony, the inevitable effort of suffering, the starved human frame doubled to a clinging skeletal pair, genocide, famine, all things apocalyptic in these death-bound lovers, I would not have come to know that one in one united bare in bare doth shine; nor been struck wordless by the force of the glow from the stripped complexity of the final ecstatic coupling. Shirley Glubka (Author's Note: "The title is from 'The Song of Bareness,' author unknown, formerly ascribed to Johannes Tauler; the line in italics is from Meister Eckhart.) This was written in response to the surprise ekphrastic challenge on sex and art. Shirley Glubka is a retired psychotherapist, the author of three poetry collections, a mixed genre collection, and two novels. The Bright Logic of Wilma Schuh (novel, Blade of Grass Press, 2017) is her latest. Shirley lives in Prospect, Maine with her spouse, Virginia Holmes. Website: http://shirleyglubka.weebly.com/ Online poetry at The Ekphrastic Review here and at 2River View here and at The Ghazal Page here and here. Wings
Two small birds on the canvas aerodynamic even in repose colored feathers resplendent end of a long inheritance reaching back to saurian life before flight before flowers before we could have been imagined coming so late and so full of new ideas you were our first music your songs rising in counterpoint above the drumbeat of our blood giving us dreams full of wings lifting in the bright air of morning or swift and soundless as the great owl in moonlight our hearts forever yearning for the grace of flight Mary McCarthy This poem was written in response to the surprise ekphrastic poetry challenge on birds. Mary McCarthy has always been a writer even though she spent most of her working years as a Registered Nurse. Recently moved to Florida, she has been enjoying the abundant local wildlife, including a great variety of birds, everything from snowy egrets and pelicans to osprey and vultures. She has had work published in many online and print journals, and has an e chapbook “Things I Was Told Not to Think About” available as a free download from Praxis Magazine. Hummingbird Facts
My mother, who knows nothing about birds, points to the nest. The eggs have hatched and all we can see from afar are three, thin, little needles bobbing up and down towards the sky. If we stop talking for a second, we can hear the high-pitched cries of the hungry chicks. "I wonder where the mom goes off to." My mother says. I know exactly where, because I've been out here perched on a ladder watching birds for hours. I signal to the top of the Pine Tree. For the first time, we see the mom with another hummingbird in flight. “Look,” my mother says. “There’s the dad.” “Probably not.” I tell her. Hummingbirds are the least romantic of birds. Soon after mating, they each go off to another partner. They don’t even stay together to raise their young. The female builds the nest alone. She also cares for them all on her own. My mom doesn’t ask why I know all these hummingbird facts. Rebeca Ladrón de Guevara This poem was written in response to the surprise ekphrastic challenge on birds. Rebeca Ladrón de Guevara received an MFA in Creative Writing from Chapman University. Her fiction has previously appeared in Chicago Literati, Genre, Sonora Review and Badlands Literary Journal. Her poetry has appeared in Autumn Sky Poetry and Ekphrastic Review. She lives in Los Angeles, California where she watches birds all day, every day. The Testimony Given to the Court Remains Ambiguous
Like a milkmaid, Leda curves into the avid swan, her sheer rain of drapery spilling into cloud. She looks grim about her business. What the swan is whispering, blandishments or threats, escapes us. Perhaps Zeus worries about comparisons to swains, fearing he’ll come off poorly with his primitive cloaca. He presses his other points upon her. Above, horses, dogs, a girl model shock, the world holding more possibilities than they were told of. Devon Balwit This poem was written in response to the surprise ekphrastic poetry challenge on birds. Devon Balwit teaches in Portland, OR. She has six chapbooks and two collections out or forthcoming, among them: We are Procession, Seismograph (Nixes Mate Books), Risk Being/Complicated (A collaboration with Canadian artist Lorette C. Luzajic); and Motes at Play in the Halls of Light (Kelsay Books). Her individual poems can be found here in The Ekphrastic Review as well as in The Cincinnati Review, The Carolina Quarterly, Fifth Wednesday, the Aeolian Harp Folio, Red Earth Review, The Fourth River, The Free State Review, Red Paint Hill, Peacock Journal, and more. How To Paint Potential Flight
Scribble with your pencil, let your pink paint run. Ponder the perfect butterfly with its delicate dark outline which will separate it, clarify it, let it be large. Larger than the pair of warblers. Larger than any city to which a plane might fly. Scatter your alphabet on your edges, a single row, a double row, a triplet, and make a pink promise with a few words. Place your large number, the perfect 10, toward the lower right of the work. It weights the whole. Now decide. Where will you fly? And how? As what creature? With what mind? Do not erase the scribbles, they are cryptic hieroglyphs. Shirley Glubka This poem was written in response to the surprise ekphrastic poetry challenge on birds. Shirley Glubka is a retired psychotherapist, the author of three poetry collections, a mixed genre collection, and two novels. The Bright Logic of Wilma Schuh (novel, Blade of Grass Press, 2017) is her latest. Shirley lives in Prospect, Maine with her spouse, Virginia Holmes. Website: http://shirleyglubka.weebly.com/ Online poetry at The Ekphrastic Review here and at 2River View here and at The Ghazal Page here and here. The Hunger and the Hunt
Sometimes a blazing torch shows us in another light: the ones who swing the clubs and the ones who pick up the pieces. There are nights of fire and blood, and there are nights of stories and brag around the flames. There is hunger, and there is greed. Night and day. It is shocking to see wolves take down a deer, ripped at the haunches and still alive. And who doesn’t pity the mouse cornered and facing the mouth of the snake? And there are days when everyone gathers at the table, and the aroma of seasoned, cooked birds fills the room with all the satisfaction to come. Matthew Murrey This poem was written as part of the ekphrastic surprise challenge on birds. Matthew Murrey: "My poems have appeared in various journals such as Tar River Poetry, Poetry East, and Rattle. I received an NEA Fellowship in Poetry a number of years ago, and my first book manuscript is seeking a publisher. I am a high school librarian in Urbana, Illinois where I live with my partner. We have two sons who live in the Pacific Northwest. My website is https://matthewmurrey.weebly. com/" |
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