 Planet Set, by Joseph Cornell (USA) 1950 To Joseph Cornell Regarding Planet Set, Dedicated To Giuditta Pasta Perfection, you would have us know, is hemispheric sky aglow with heaven's art the eye can frame unveiled in darkness, name by name, amid the orbs that move beheld in paths, unending, thus compelled to be predestined solar set that would its precious gems beget of clarity in nature's glass and man's that would for nature's pass as crystalline in form and tone, the beauty lent we cannot own except as voice exquisite found in which, divine, we hear its sound. Portly Bard Portly Bard: Old man. Ekphrastic fan. Prefers to craft with sole intent of verse becoming complement... ...and by such homage being lent... ideally also compliment. ** Atlas Titans aren't immortal. When Atlas dies he'll strike the Earth's gong to sound a song of death: skies will tear from pole to melting pole. Futures shrink - spheres within a sphere - to a single blind bead. You'll hear his mallet swing and his final exhalation, his final exclamation: Titans aren't immortal. Paul McDonald Paul McDonald taught at the University of Wolverhampton for twenty five years, where he ran the Creative Writing Programme. He took early retirement in 2019 to write full time. He is the author of over twenty books, which cover fiction, poetry, and scholarship. His creative work has won and been shortlisted for numerous prizes including The Bedford Prize, The Bridport Prize, The John Clare Poetry Prize, the Ottakars/Faber and Faber Poetry Competition, the Sentinel Poetry Prize, the Sentinal Short Story Prize, and Retreat West Flash Fiction Prize, nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and Best of the Net. Paul McDonald Amazon Author Page ** A Small Box of Everything I stand alone Ninety degrees north Earth rotates beneath my feet Every latitude begins with me Each time zone No time All time One pirouette describes twenty-four hours and a trip around the world The polestar identifies me anchors above my head Half the heavens spin around it and around me All time No time I raise a glass full of nothing and one half full of nothing and one half empty Our blue planet in another and our virgin moon Finally crystallised rock Formed by a force unimaginable to me insignificant to the stars All of this the rest of creation distant moons Titania and Oberon unleashed from their realm held in a rough box behind a sheet of melted sand Rob Joynson Rob Joynson has written poetry for 50 years with no intention of publication. For the last few years as a member of poetry groups in Louth, Lincolnshire, and the instigator of several performance poetry events he has decided to expose his poetry to the critical gaze of the wider world. He published his first collection Of Life and Love and Interludes in 2020 and has been published by the The Ekphrastic Review. ** An Uncharted Star* Do you remember a celestial map on a shelf of a laboratory in our high school among the heap of scrap neglected but kept its former glory? Beside of it an assemblage of balls expressed the planets orbiting around the sun, but now on earth each of them falls and they get dumped and packed in a box browned. Though these stars are almost forgotten now I still recall your dream you told to me when we searched an uncharted star somehow in the night sky and I still want to see your comeback as a ballet star on stage and look up your lasting shine from backstage. Toshiji Kawagoe * This Cornell artwork is dedicated to Giuditta Pasta, a nineteenth-century Italian opera singer. Toshiji Kawagoe, Ph.D. is a professor at Future University Hakodate. He lives in Hokkaido, Japan. His poems in classical Chinese have been published in the anthologies of Chinese poetry and his science fiction short stories in S-F Magazine and Anotherealm. His academic works in economics are also published in many books and academic journals. ** Boxed Love You first came into my life in a store on Fourth Avenue where I found a lithograph of you as you had been in life. Captivated, I saw your face rise before me like the dawn and I had to possess you, claim you as mine. You won my affection from beyond the grave and your ghost was safe to pursue, no fear of rejection. I have impossible crushes, death ensuring they are unrequited. I long for what cannot be, to see you, to hear you sing. To listen to your unique voice, the ability you had to sing contralto as easily as you sang soprano and I envy Stendhal who saw you perform. He heard what I will never hear, he breathed the air you breathed out, he seems like a love rival and he is with you in the afterlife. All I can offer you this side of the grave is one of my boxes of discarded artifacts. I dedicate it to you, Giuditta Pasta. Tête Etoilée. Stephen Poole Stephen Poole served for 31 years in the Metropolitan Police in London, England. As a freelance journalist, he has written for a variety of British county and national magazines. Passionate about poetry since boyhood, his poems have appeared in The Ekphrastic Review, Poetry on the Lake, LPP Magazine, and two anthologies. ** On Planet Set by Joseph Cornell I don't have much to give, a few worn treasures on a weathered tray plucked from the ash heap of a broken life. Two shells the sea has polished into pearl, a row of glasses ready to hold tears or fine champagne, and two maps of heaven, the swirl of the milky way drawn like a scarf across night’s body, filled with stars that trace the outlines of gods and monsters measuring their way through centuries of sky, I offer you these as gift and invitation, emblem and souvenir of the plain magic that asks nothing more than wonder, the held breath of our most profound attention. Mary McCarthy Mary McCarthy is a retired Registered Nurse who finds ekphrasis particularly satisfying, as it links her two major passions, art and language. She has had work appear in many print and online journals and anthologies, including The Plague Papers, edited by Robbi Nester and The Ekphrastic World, edited by Lorette C. Luzajic, and the latest editions of Verse Virtual and Earth’s Daughters. ** Join Up The Dots Though being one inconsequential dot in our universe of monumental proportion, we have developed technologies of astonishing achievement, and creativity. We have an insatiable palette, for exploration and discovery from our nose of curiosity protruding from psyche and skull yet should we inflict on other planets our predilection for heinous greed with ears tone deaf to alien suffering and eyes wide open only when convenient? For we are the self-proclaimed alpha anilmalia with unbridled capability, to induce pain on the weak yet we are the moral mentors to vulnerable offspring en pursuit of the noble fibre to join up the dots. Despite global warnings from leading indicators, we perch on the precipice of self-destruction - planet and conurbations and nodes from nature of plant, bird and animal endangered species - from egotistical aims far beyond our horizon of decency, of humanity, of honesty, of truth. While we may claim charity for the weak and those insecure in their own fragile skin, we bomb, we maim, we inflict carnage at the very slightest provocation. Shame, yet shame is but perceived weakness. Do we want to export wanton human traits to the fringes of our unbridled universe to life in an existence beyond our capability for peace, kindness and tenets of tolerance? Alun Robert Alun Robert is a prolific creator of lyrical free verse. He has achieved success in poetry competitions across the British Isles and North America. His work has been published by many literary magazines, anthologies and webzines in the UK, Ireland, Belgium, Italy, India, South Africa, Kenya, USA and Canada. Since 2018, he has been part of The Ekphrastic Review community particularly enjoying the fortnightly challenges. He is a member of the Federation of Writers Scotland for whom he was a Featured Writer in 2019. ** Flight Like the light escaping from under the door, I hurried into the Milky Way, a train of starry monks, Wiser than the moon, shining on their own. In search of permanence akin to flying ants Dotting the dark searching for the flames To shed their wings and procreate, Into a world of little known, I stepped. The temple dome beamed gold. The bells chimed and the chanting grew as the pastor spoke. Earthen lamps flickered lighting up a little girl's face, Head down, hands folded, she stood in silent prayers. Looking to find all that had disappeared Beyond the receding horizon, to which she could run As the pink began to grey. Somewhere among the trees or the muddy lanes, Peace must be. Unclear as to bring or let stay, Building existence between now and then. Abha Das Sarma An engineer and management consultant by profession, Abha Das Sarma enjoys writing the most. Besides having a blog of over 200 poems (http://dassarmafamily.blogspot.com), her poems have appeared in Muddy River Poetry Review, Spillwords, Verse-Virtual, Visual Verse, Sparks of Calliope, Trouvaille Review, here and elsewhere. Having spent her growing up years in small towns of northern India, she currently lives in Bengaluru. ** Safe at Last Ah! My celestial hemispheres in a box Three handspans across How much more convenient, Less unimaginably far Than ice caps, islands and stars Carefully plotted on this map, The frightening infinity of it all If not pinned down by me They would fly off their axis My perspective is god like The earth all small to me here. To make it more homely I add a few tchotchkes: A marble, conductor’s baton, shells, goblets That sort of thing Before the hugeness, the great unknowing Escapes! With god like hand I Wrestle them into the box Decant, filter, sieve them of Size, of unknown hugeness You’ll not find the roaring of the sea For these shells Or the swell and cacophony of the orchestra For this baton The revelry for these wine glasses… But this manageable tidy size Fitting on my mantelpiece Boxed in and boxed out To be passed by Without a murmur As if the world were not The ogre I take it to be But tame, caged, docile Safe. Lucie Payne Lucie is a retired librarian who is writing as much as she can. ** Night Sky Voices - a Duplex I protect my cuttings, defend files, memorable charts, for even the most sheltered boxes sound like night skies you found the sound of sheltered boxes quite a night sky when the pavers under your feet signed and stirred mysteriously then the pavers under your feet started to wave, and mystery stirred, saved the charts that work as carbon-copies of her voice how may charts save the carbon-copy work of her voice, and when did I become the bachelor of calm and clouds? When the muse of clouds turned me into a bachelor of calm, I sang to the sky in even waves, my world right in your hands my even sky you sang to, waving the world right with your hands that could never caress me, that forever set my mind surreal that I forever should mind, still I caress the thoughts that set surreals in files, as I cut time, protect memories, and map out superstars. Kate Copeland Kate Copeland started absorbing stories ever since a little lass. Her love for words led her to teaching and translating some silvery languages; her love for art, water & writing led her to poetry...with publications sealed already! You can find her poems @ The Ekphrastic Review, Hedgehog Press, The Poetry Barn x Poetry Distillery, The Spirit Fire Review, First Lit.Review-East, GrandLittleThings & The Metaworker. Kate was born in Rotterdam some 51 ages ago and adores housesitting in the UK, USA and in Spain. ** is that all there is I am traveling the world is also traveling and together we blue latitude and longitude the oceans mapped with interchangeable stars and isn’t that always the way I’ll drink to that magician checking the schedule cape that glitters hat pulled low who is he really and where do the planets go the planets turning the universe expanding and why does it always say end and dead but meantime everything is moving beyond is watching blurring falling behind but where is when and why is it always between the getting on the getting off the port of call unanswered just keep moving crossing riding piling up gone but mostly not stopping it must be the wind or maybe a wave both sides around repeating maybe and maybe not the focus shifting now the other side is turning all transparent only ghosts where am I going wasn’t this supposed to be a journey with a destination yet it’s taking all my time I didn’t even say hello hello I don’t know why and then goodbye will I return again once maybe am I when is it how now about tomorrow here and every step is sideways holding fast the way to never in this blue blue orb I don’t know who is what and how is where is it or not Kerfe Roig Kerfe Roig has always enjoyed visiting the worlds created by Joseph Cornell. ** World in Motion My daughter, hysterical, wakes me in the middle of the night to drive her to the hospital. In the private ER waiting room, the father cries as he tells how he had tried to hold her up and call 911 at the same time. Failed. He curses the boyfriend who’d broken up with her by text from the Army, threatens to kill him. The divorced parents talk of their daughter’s manic-depression, maybe she’d be luckier not to live. My yellow hoodie shrouds my face somewhat, protects the back of my neck from hospital cold as stress clenches every muscle. The second hand on the round Pegasus clock ticks audibly 360 degrees, a mechanical pulse measuring interminable moments of anguish as the night creeps by. A van pulls up to the ER drop off. A man hops from the driver’s side, not bothering to shut the door. He runs through the ER doors and returns to the passenger side with a wheelchair. He rushes his laboring wife past me, as a nurse instructs them to take the elevator on the left to the maternity wing. In the security office next to the entrance sits a box labeled “human organs.” Printed on the side are icons for various body parts—one of them eyes. We wait hours for a specialist. My daughter slumps on the berm of the parking lot with her friend. Near the hospital entrance a pair of rabbits frolics on the small lawn. The specialist comes and goes. My daughter and her girlfriend are allowed to say good-bye to their friend. The sculpture in the hospital visitors’ entrance a large granite boulder—perfectly round gray, is designed to roll continuously when the water flows beneath it. As the morning shift arrives, a custodian turns on the water, sets the world in motion. Jeanne Blum Lesinski An author of nonfiction and poetry, Jeanne Blum Lesinski writes for journals, lifestyle and gardening magazines, anthologies, and online sites. When not at her computer, she can often be found on a bicycle path, in a garden, or deep in a book. Recent work has appeared in Non-Binary Review, the Alphanumeric podcast, and F3LL. She is a finalist in The Ekphrastic Review Women Artists contest. ** Night Sky for Giuditta Her voice, high soprano reaches for the night sky, universal sound permeates atmosphere, crystalline notes held; Giuditta’s hand rises into spotlight as moon ascends. His tribute, love from afar, shadowbox altar worthy of her praise; were she with him, hands clasped to her breast. Voice rising in pitch, her shattered crystals shower him with joy, amidst broken glass, face streaming with tears, eyes raised with her to night sky. Julie A. Dickson Julie A. Dickson has seen La Traviata and other operas, but more can appreciate art from which to write poetry. Visual prompts, she finds intriguing and challenging. Nature, animals and water always spark poetry as well; her two rescued feral cats standing by for the first reading. Misfit, Open Door, Sledgehammer and The Ekphrastic Review are among the many journals where Dickson's work can be found, as well as full length works on Amazon. ** Cornell’s Planet Set Tanka singing their Earth song an artist’s scavenged objects on dowling rods two balls create new alignments planets orbiting the sun cyan blue marble the hemisphere’s colours this day he recalls the resonance between the heavens and the individual he locks a shadow box celestial navigation charts stars clinging to it like silver webs on the wind full moon lunar tides Ilona Martonfi Ilona Martonfi is a poet, editor, literary curator, and activist; she is the author of four poetry books, Blue Poppy (Coracle Press, 2009), Black Grass (Broken Rules Press, 2012), The Snow Kimono (Inanna Publications, 2015) and Salt Bride (Inanna Publications, 2019). Forthcoming, The Tempest (Inanna Publications, 2022). Her work has published in seven chapbooks, journals across North America and abroad. Recently, her poem "My Brother's Ashes" was nominated by The Ekphrastic Review for the Best Microfiction Awards Anthology, 2021. She is the curator of Visual Arts Centre and Argo Bookshop Reading Series. She is also the recipient of the Quebec Writers’ Federation 2010 Community Award. ** The Moment the Womb Unravels We all want to run our own Broadway show leave these trappings of time and place the moment the womb unravels its innards. Each body, each person is a wilting-flower vase. We’re all departmentalized into this world. Boxed contents, the volume of which is equal and yet disproportionate, whatever vibrations shape their path; the framework of these people. They are all the same, glass half full, half-empty, They are like a divided ocean pivoting one way and then another moment another way we’re all internationally, globally, commingling, mingling ah, all of creation, creation is singing listen to the hummingbird, the common nightingale listen to the New Guinea singing dog howl listen to the gibbon and the common quail. This world has its very own reggae-roots-musician, a music baton in an otherworldly "conductor's hand" this world is a singing beluga whale the musical notations, connotations of which, we’ll never understand. Mark Andrew Heathcote Mark Andrew Heathcote is adult learning difficulties support worker, his poetry has been published in many journals, magazines and anthologies, he resides in the UK, from Manchester, Mark is the author of In Perpetuity and Back on Earth two books of poems published by a CTU publishing group, Creative Talents Unleashed. ** Three Haikus Planet Rotating planet. Moving beings all around, circling the sun. Earth Gravity and life, moon circling the planet, earth’s floating forces. Full Circle Coming full circle, air, gravity, and life forms, earth interlocking. 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 and The Importance of Being Short, in 2019. She currently resides on Long Island, New York with her husband Richard and dogs Lucy and Breanna. ** Voice of an Angel Once I thought love would be enough to fly us away spinning past planets and stars reaching up to them breaking through the atmosphere to grasp that moment and put it in a glass, our own shining orb that would stay forever gleaming and shimmering and singing at my touch with the pure notes of the voice of an angel breaking through the atmosphere, your voice a voice so pure it will never shatter the glass. It’s lustre has faded now but it will stay forever a still shining sphere in my memories and dreams. Lynn White Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Vagabond Press, Gyroscope Review and So It Goes Journal. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com///www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/ ** Night Shift at the Observatory A liqueur glass tilted on a balanced shelf upholding celestial heavens cradles the eye of the world as it wavers between north and south six crystal glasses host the opera singer’s top notes trapped in raw quartz. Venus swirls then swigs a shot of medicinal herbs shocks the stagehand into raising the curtain. Perfect number, perfect crystal, infinity held in two wooden balls rolling on a pair of doweling rods. Suzy Aspell Suzy lives and works in Luton, Bedfordshire, UK. Her work has appeared in Sledgehammer Lit, Spelt Magazine, The Ekphrastic Review and Wombwell Rainbow. Suzy wrote and directed two plays for the Civic Centre in Tainan, Taiwan, on British pantomime theme and is currently working towards a poetry pamphlet. ** The Aqua Game Board Our Celestial Hemisphere game board hangs on the wall. It’s a diorama box with two aqua maps of constellations above a shelf with six tulip glasses. We roll the dice of coordinates to see where we land on Northern and Southern sky views, and drop a clear or aqua glass ball into a cup. If we land in the Milky Way, we move a clear sphere into the next cup. If we land on a celestial body, we move a blue sphere. On rainy days, there are two white croquet balls on a railing above the hemispheres; we take them down to push around on the carpet. We direct each snowy ball through chair and table legs with a wooden wand, and carefully replace everything back on the wall when finished. But now this game says, water. Its aqua spheres look like a flooded earth where water seeps from melting snowcaps and tropical storms stream rivers of muck into subway tunnels. I want to jettison this Humpty Dumpty board game which keeps me playing while earth goes overboard. I’ve cracked glass game pieces and drained the magic from the wand. There’s no water to douse wildfires, as all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men are nowhere to be found. Melinda Thomsen Melinda Thomsen’s book full length Armature was just released from Hermit Feathers Press, and Finishing Line Press published her chapbooks Naming Rights and Field Rations. Her poems have appeared in Rattle, New York Quarterly, Poetry East, Tar River Poetry, The Comstock Review, and others. Find her at @ThomsenMelinda  Congratulations to Jennifer Leigh Selig, winner of our ekphrastic flash summer vacation contest. Click on image above to read her story!  Don't miss out on the sauciest contest in ekphrastic history...Adults Only teases you with sixty sex-themed works from art history. Our guest judge is the one and only Alexis Rhone Fancher. Click on image for instructions and to order your inspiration book.
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