 Rocky River, by Cookie Wells (USA) 2024. Click on image for artist site. When I Get Back Personal Log: Day 57* I think right now we are above the Allegheny River. When standing at the shore, the water never looks the pristine blue it does from the station’s windows. The brown of the land jagged, sharp, and smooth at the same time. But I was never any good at geography, so it could be the Ohio or even Mississippi River. I wouldn’t know, too busy to stop and study any particular river. But, boy, do I have the time now. When I get back to earth, I will figure out which it is and visit, put my feet in the water and enjoy the earth rolling under my feet. Dani would like that. Before I left, she wanted to be Indiana Jones, go white-water rafting and zip-lining. It’s only been a measly 57 days since launch, and the atmosphere surrounding earth is embedded with my thoughts of her. In Aliens, Ripley wakes up after 57 years to discover her daughter has lived and died while she floated and slept through the darkest parts of space, so perspective. I wonder if the molecules of water floating down that river will be there to greet me when I eventually splash down from space into the ocean. A homecoming for us both after a long, tired journey. We’ll get there, little molecules, I know it. Samantha Gorman *Inspired in part by the situation of the stranded NASA Expedition 71 astronauts that returned to earth on March 18, 2025. Samantha Gorman, a lifelong lover of books, lives in Western Pennsylvania. After taking several creative writing classes, she found her voice and had begun the adventure of becoming a writer. She writes poetry, short fiction, and is working on her first novel. ** To Cookie Wells Regarding Rocky River Defiant rock steadfast will stand to bend the blue by blunt demand not recognizing sculpting force of rapids running rampant course reshaping such resistance shown to be mere setting blue as stone commands by gleam in moment filled that, sensing gem, your brush has stilled as texture of the movement seen majestically you reconvene in rivulets of vivid inks from which the water swiftly shrinks to leave their thin acrylic stain adrift as motion they sustain. Portly Bard Portly Bard: Prefers to craft with sole intent... of verse becoming complement... ...and by such homage being lent... ideally also compliment. Ekphrastic joy comes not from praise for words but from returning gaze far more aware of fortune art becomes to eyes that fathom heart. ** Aqua An aerial topography from space, some station, satellite? Here focus not on landed mass but river crashing, rocky route - as rocky roads, sweetmeats I eat - gives mix of boulders, H20. These hints in range, aquamarine, clear water (earth shows no such thing), contrasting tints of dun, blue hues, in show of courses, sources, wells. Will current streams give way to ice as bergs break free from well packed cliffs or steam from pyroclastic flows, spurt slow fast blast from lava scree? Delta, dunes, sure lines emerge as depths described in bubble wrap, with shingle, stones and pebble marks outlining limits, liquid draw. What scene by eyes will soon be seen, translated into painterly? Stephen Kingsnorth Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces curated and published by online poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including The Ekphrastic Review. He has, like so many, been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com. ** Dammed River What happens when fear and dread dam the deepest river the stream that flows below the id? This bank though strong and forgiving demands fresh water to splash the soul’s sand and wash it clean. If this water lingers too long, can it ever flow again? Will it stay blue and vibrant ‘til a savior comes? Or will it turn black with sludge and harden the bank to stone? Margo Stutts Toombs A self-proclaimed internal humorist, Margo Stutts Toombs creates and dwells in wacky worlds. She loves to perform her work at Fringe festivals, art galleries or anywhere food and beverages are served. Her poetry and flash pieces dance in journals, anthologies, and chapbooks. Margo also loves to produce videos. Sometimes, these videos screen at film festivals. One of her favorite pastimes is co-hosting the monthly poetry/flash readings at the Archway Gallery in Houston, Texas. Check out her shenanigans at https://www.margostuttstoombs.com/ or on social media - https://www.facebook.com/margo.toombs/ ** Down the Riverside Down the riverside, land and nature awaiting, the calming of life. Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher has been writing since 2010 and has had many micro-flash fiction stories published. In 2018, her book Shorts for the Short Story Enthusiasts was published, The Importance of Being Short, in 2019, and In A Flash, in 2022. She currently resides on Long Island, New York with her husband Richard and dogs Lucy and Breanna. ** What My Eyes See What my eyes see Is the pathway of light The nervous system Making new connections Cells and neurones activating A whole universe interactive What my eyes see Is the atom and the neutron The interplay of everything The binary code of life Rewriting itself selflessly. Without end or beginning What my eyes see Is visionary and yet normal To me. A cosmic light show With a neon afterglow That energizes my heart And touches my soul. What my eyes see Is spooky action at a distance? The entanglement of everything Awakening in a primordial dream Life under a microscope Never before seen. What my eyes see Is no distraction to me. It is the fabric of my canvas. The oils and the watercolours Of my choice, merging poured out For all to immerse in and be immersed. Mark Andrew Heathcote Mark Andrew Heathcote is an adult learning difficulties support worker. His poems have been published in journals, magazines, and anthologies online and in print. He is from Manchester and resides in the UK. Mark is the author of In Perpetuity, and Back on Earth, two books of poems published by Creative Talents Unleashed. ** Zoom In The sun is high The wind cool And I am hungry I leap from the conifer Lifted higher And blown south Turning and tilting Eyeing the terrain below I float-search The grinding of years Has sharpened rocks below Ground a golden beach Around a lake Of vibrant blue Shimmering with life I descend Dean Luttrell Dean Luttrell, a Houston poet, pianist and artist has been writing poetry since high school. His work has been published in Archway Readers 20th and 25th Anniversary Anthologies and was awarded Third Prize in the Houston Poetry Fest’s Ekphrastic Poetry Competition in 2016. ** How To See Earl says that every painting has a splash of orange near its centre, a visual anchor to guide the eye, keep it from wandering willy-nilly from one edge of the canvas to the other in aimless arcs, thus missing the point the brush was meant to make. We are in a gallery, it is Sunday; Earl is wearing his leather hat, holds his leather bag over his shoulder-- he says he likes to be ready to go somewhere, hates to feel stuck, the way a painting can seem to flow but go nowhere. Earl says this guilelessly, as if he means it not as a line in seduction but as information: news I can use in this museum today and that museum tomorrow, something to remember, to repeat to myself and in doing so to bring back Earl and this moment, like a time stamp that (long after I’ve discarded his gifts and washed away the sour mash of his kisses) remains fresh and present. I wonder if I can find something equivalent, some mark or scent that will tell me where to plant my eye, where to start unraveling the random threads of Earl’s being, find the point at which I should have known better. Susan Levi Wallach Susan Levi Wallach has been published in such journals as Solstice, Rivanna Review, Bacopa Literary Review, Bayou Magazine, The Moth, Southern California Review, and The Thomas Wolfe Review (as a winner of the Thomas Wolfe Fiction Prize). Her opera Elijah's Violin was performed in San Francisco in 2018. She has an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts. Website lingolit.wordpress.com/ ** Butterfly Wings This period of transition. A pupa, a chrysalis. A suspended time capsule, outward silence masking an inward tumultuous river of change. Mystery soon to be revealed. Butterfly wings on the verge of unfolding, preparing for flight. Of course, I'm not talking about butterflies. Mark Jodon Mark Jodon is the author of two full-length books of poetry, Miles of Silence (Kelsay Books 2024) and Day of the Speckled Trout (Transcendent Zero Press 2015). He is an Iconoclast Artist (www.iconoclast artists.org) and also serves on the board of directors for Houston Performing Arts. He lives in Houston, Texas. ** Thirteen Ways of Playing Tapas after Wallace Stevens and based on the music of Alice Coltrane Among four jazz musicians, The only moving things Were the strings of her harp. II She was of one aim, Like a fire In which there burns one flame. III The audience delighted in the cosmic chords. It was a central piece of the pageant. IV A husband and a wife Are one. A husband and a wife and a song Are one. V I do not know which meant more The music at Birdland Or the meeting of souls The quartets thrumming Or just after. VI Water flowed along the river With savage rocks. The reflection of the bird Swooped across, to and fro. The spirit Shone in the silhouette An imperceptible mood. VII O widows of Dix Hills, Why do you dream of endless joy? Do you not see how blank grief Splashes around the feet Of the women about you? VIII I know technical talents And rehearsed, academic compositions; But I know, too, That a dynamism is involved In what I hear. IX When the heart cried out of loneliness, It signaled the birth Of one of many changes. X At the sound of syncopation Flying in the summer breeze Even the students of theory Would put down their books. XI She walked through Woodland Hills In orange robes. Once, a bolt struck her, In that she mistook The dissonance of nature For Stravinsky. XII The river is moving. The swan must be flying. XIII It was tomorrow all afternoon. It was raining And it was going to rain. The woman sat at the golden harp. Lara Dolphin A native of Pennsylvania, Lara Dolphin is an attorney, nurse, wife and mother of four. Her chapbooks include In Search Of The Wondrous Whole (Alien Buddha Press), Chronicle Of Lost Moments (Dancing Girl Press), and At Last a Valley (Blue Jade Press). ** Muddy Water Is it useful to see yourself in fragments? Or is it impossible to reconcile all the different pieces and points of view? The face in the water surprises; the reflection in the faces of others astonishes. Who are you really? And In your dreams? The you that shapeshifts so easily into aqueous behavior—is that a mask or the psyche turning inside out? But then you perceive the world in fragments too--coherent to a point, and then adorned with shapes and objects that don’t seem to belong--something always in flux, threads woven into shimmering light. The real world—is it actually “natural”? What does that even mean? Complex, overlapping, its edges ragged, its boundaries indistinct—is that universal, innate? The lines are uneven, angles skewed—is that organic? Why do I clothe myself in things I am not? What shelters me? What is the source of the rivers that flood my veins, my brain, the cosmic lucidity that currents its path around the stoned barriers of gravity? Or is that my idea of outer space, based on the photos of faraway galaxies, of emptiness and light, that feed my hunger for mystery? How true are they, how close to a representation of what is? What is? the eye can lie, just like the mirror, just like who we think we are-- is abstract just another word for riddle, for incomplete? Kerfe Roig Kerfe Roig resides in NYC where she finds that both she and her surroundings transform daily. ** Rocky River gushes from canyon swollen by melting snow rolls its boulder bed down the mountainside. Endless thirsty prairie awaits not far away. Joseph R. Larsen Joseph R. Larsen’s poetry has been featured in publications as varied as Dope Fiend Daily, Chaos Dive Reunion by Mutabilis Press, Equinox by hotpoet, Synkroniciti, Blonde on Blonde, North Country, The Panhandler, Spiky Palm, and the Texas Lawyer. When he is not restlessly writing, Larsen practices law including defending First Amendment rights. He was honoured in 2010 by the Freedom of Information Foundation of Texas with its James Madison Award. ** River Therapy Webs of swooning capillaries any of the fine branching streams penetrating mountain flanks. Water wraps, swiftly surrounding as melting snow shivers its banks and the river’s hunger mounts its gush of refusing confinement flush as if her water broke. Say this morning is the beginning of the world. Who’s to know it’s not? Margaret Koger Margaret Koger was raised on an acreage near the Snake River and later moved to Boise, where she taught English and composition in the Boise Schools and at Boise State University. She is a Lascaux Prize finalist and her works have appeared in numerous journals as well as in What These Hands Remember (Kelsay, 2022) and If Seasons Were Kingdoms (Fernwood Press 2024). Instagram @maggiekoger ** The Butterfly Effect The jewelled beauty lands, sits: apatura iris resting on the oak Camera at hand I snap, maximum zoom, macro mode Later, on my laptop screen bottomless depths emerge Fractals unfold, unfurl, spread like rich inks bleeding into paper Browns become river banks dark purple's the water's edge White wing-eyes are morphing so that blooms of frost appear Resolved, it's winter snowmelt retreating, thin capillary streams feeding the river A tiny wing becomes a landscape organic patterns that keep repeating One flap from the purple emperor butterfly Rocky River's rambunctious story is revealed Emily Tee Emily Tee is a writer from the UK Midlands. She particularly enjoys ekphrastic writing and has had pieces published in The Ekphrastic Review challenges previously, and elsewhere online and in print, most recently The Lothlorien Poetry Journal. ** Sapphire Seduction My eyes play tricks on me-- is that azure river surrounded by sand? A mermaid’s teardrop shaped pendant? A spinning dolphin makes palm fronds dance like fans celebrating no hands. In crystalline crosswinds I’m distracted by loam so rich each toe digs in. Is that coral? And NW, do I conjure an oyster shell? I flounder to make sense of what my senses can’t conceive in slick seaweed grass. How to break free of razor-edged ultramarine glass? To be that sharp. Oh, no, the bends! Belly flop onto jagged reefs? A blunder! Bet I can float. Margo Davis Margo Davis maintains there’s nothing so rich as the interplay of visual art and poetry. In fact, she tries to get out of its way. Margo’s poems have appeared in many Ekphrastic Review issues, Equinox Journal, Passager and in 2026, Uncoupling (Lamar University Literary Press). ** benign a rare mollusk mass blooms cobalt in the saltwater rocky river of my breast, like a shiny metallic mylar balloon—a tiny octopod plucked from the copper blood bunch floating in ochre sands of fatty tissue as veins map pearly traces of milk from an ancient abundant sea Heather Brown Barrett Heather Brown Barrett is an award-winning poet in southeastern Virginia. She mothers her young son and contemplates life, the universe, and everything with her writer husband. She is a member and regular student of The Muse Writers Center, a member of The Poetry Society of Virginia, and a former board member of Hampton Roads Writers. Her work has appeared in Literary Mama, The Ekphrastic Review, Yellow Arrow Journal, Black Bough Poetry, OyeDrum Magazine, and elsewhere. She’s the author of Water in Every Room (Kelsay Books, 2025), her debut book of poetry. Website: https://heatherbrownbarrett.com/. ** Dreamscape A few nights ago, despite the howling wind that blew down the privacy fence shared with our new neighbors, I had the longest, quietest, nothingest dream of my life. Complete peace. The image was an abstract like those phosphenes that float about under your eyelids in vibrant colours. Only it hovered in view, accompanied by some abstract New Age music I couldn’t hum along with. The vision only wavered a bit without changing colors, clearly a harbinger of spring. There was a mound of dirty snow piled up in a parking lot, or maybe clouds hovering over the water and shoreline, the blue inlet brighter than the Mediterranean. Even stranger was the vibrant orange of sunflowers. Was this some Rorschach test? My first thought: “I’ve never witnessed anything like this.” But a few days later I found it, a painting called Rocky River online, published just days after my dream. Next I discovered the artist’s website. I sure hope she doesn’t charge me for my sleep. Alarie Tennille Alarie Tennille was a pioneer coed at the University of Virginia, where she earned her degree in English, Phi Beta Kappa key, and black belt in Feminism. She has now lived more than half her life in Kansas City, MO.Alarie received the first Editor’s Choice Fantastic Ekphrastic Award from The Ekphrastic Review, and in 2022, her latest book, Three A.M. at the Museum, was named Director’s Pick for the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art gift shop. ** Love is a Rocky River After looking up at the frothy clouds, we see a blue flower hypnotize us near the bayou. Pewter-colored icicles adorn as the winter cast. I remember ripples etched on an ornament we ignored after the hook vanished for the stone pine. For you, I want to find diamonds and scorpions and supergiant stars, but my insides are drunk on liquid marijuana. Time is the undercurrent. The currency of souls while we wash old soil by the banks. The matter of weighing down sanity. Let’s meow to touch moon skin. See, bluebirds petrify in a nest. Please, unlock my chilled hand tucked in your corduroy pocket. John Milkereit John Milkereit lives in Houston, Texas working as a mechanical engineer. He has completed a M.F.A. in Creative Writing at the Rainier Writing Workshop. His work has appeared in various literary journals such as The Comstock Review, Panoply, and previous issues of The Ekphrastic Review. His fifth collection of poems is forthcoming from Kelsay Books. ** Blue River I swim upstream oh my love in the river of your body like a salmon I surge through rocky rapids I leap for joy against time I swim to a mountain pool shape of a heart where dragonflies hover iridescent blue If you choose oh my love I shall enter we shall divide in our joining and again divide and again we shall cling we shall grow as one endlessly we shall float downstream through rocky rapids that shape us as the river grows wide We shall kick oh my love against confinement we shall tumble down a waterfall to the waiting hands to the breast of ocean to the adventure of a lifetime Joe Cottonwood Joe Cottonwood dwells in fog beneath redwood trees in the hamlet of La Honda, California.
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