 Untitled (Bebe Marie), by Joseph Cornell (USA) early 1940s Bebe in the Bramble A slip of the foot and you are lost in sticks. A maze of kindling. You steady the brim of your hat. Your hat a cornucopia of leaves that have lost all colour. Drained of summer’s rouge and ready for the campfire. The pumpkins have begun to shrivel in on themselves. Before the deer have gutted them. Papaw always left them out behind the tobacco drying shed. Smashed them with the dull end of his ax. Made it easy for the deer to devour the innards of the pumpkin. Told me they always left some of the seeds behind. He’d roast them and salt them good. Have them with his morning joe while Meemaw flattened out the biscuit dough. And I see your hands submerged in a muff. Warm. Sweating now, I think. And you continue to look straight on, as if you have not been waylaid by a clot of sticks. As if one step will unbalance you. I want to rescue you. Strip this kindling away. Like peeling the bark of a birch. One paper mâché layer at a time. Slowly. Never knowing what you’d find beneath the pincurls of birch bark. The apples in your basket are shriveled, too. Like the pumpkins. Your apples would make a dry, dry compote. Something to grind with your incisors. Like a day-old raisin scone at Miss Jezebel’s Bakery at the Four Corners. I am wishing the branches were sticks of cinnamon. A saucepan of water is simmering on the way-back burner. Starting to boil with bubbles. Slowly. I place the cinnamon sticks into the water. Careful not to scald my fingertips. I sprinkle in some cloves. Pour you a cup of spiced tea. Blow on it to cool it for your tongue. Here, give me your hand. I am afraid your feet will trip on the stubborn roots of the old pin oak. Give me your hand. I will guide you out of the woods. Can you smell the spiced tea, heavy with cinnamon and cloves, waiting for your tongue? Marianne Peel Marianne Peel loves poetry that literally makes her stop breathing. She worked for thirty-two years as an English teacher, learning life lessons from her students as well as from Albee's Zoo Story, Williams' Streetcar Named Desire, and Shaffer's Equus. She loves to play Native American Flute and ukulele in the woods. She’s taught teachers in China for three summers, studied in Nepal and Turkey on Fulbright Scholarships, and has danced in the rain forests of Bali, Indonesia. Her debut book of poetry is No Distance Between Us through Shadelandhouse Modern Press. She has a second full-length collection, Singing is Praying Twice, published in 2024, from the same publisher.
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A Ramble on the Painting Who’s Afraid of Vanessa Bell? by Pennie Brantley (1985), by Mike Goodwin5/30/2025  Who's Afraid of Vanessa Bell? by Pennie Brantley (USA) 1985 A Ramble on the Painting Who’s Afraid of Vanessa Bell? by Pennie Brantley (1985) The empty chair in the empty room is like my mind lately. Emptiness upon emptiness. It’s not enough to not be in the empty room – I must not be sitting in the empty chair. Maybe the robe signifies my having been there and gone. Maybe it wasn’t even me. Maybe it was what I wanted it to be. A mind devoid of any substance or pain, empty of emotion or confusion. A world ready to be filled with laughter and understanding. So much promise but not until the room is cleaned out. Maybe the robe signifies my shell trying to hang on. Trying to maintain my presence in the room – in the world – in my mind. I want to furnish the room with bright objects, interesting artifacts, happy people, my younger self. But when I look into my catalog all I find is broken furniture, rusty fixtures, torn drapes. A life well lived but now in need of serious repair. I don’t know if I’ll make it back to that chair but I know it will wait for me. Always sitting in the empty room that is my mind, my life. We all have our chairs and our rooms. We try to use them as they were meant to be used. We don’t always succeed and we always get older but the chair is always there in the room, not wanting to be empty. Mike Goodwin Mike Goodwin is a retired high school mathematics teacher who recently became interested in writing poetry as a result of attending workshops on ekphrastic writing at the local art museum.  Venus Rising from the Sea-a Deception, formerly known as After the Bath, by Raphaelle Peale (USA) 1822 Venus - After the Bath Why hide, Venus? Behind that curtain or tablecloth. Edged in gold giving off a sheen glistening, like an oiled body shimmers. You balance on one slender foot around which sweet flowers push coaxed into existence by your breath. You tease, twisting up your long golden locks voluptuously over a plump golden arm. Is your beauty too strong for our unshielded eyes? Or is that whiteness a disguise for an aging, unbalanced goddess with shadows and folds now as grey and deep as that concealing sheet? Cynthia Storrs Cynthia Storrs teaches, writes, and paints in Nashville, TN. Educated in the US and UK, she has served on the board of Poetry West (CO), Pikes Peak Poet Laureate Committee, the Pikes Peak Arts Council, and now on the Board of the Poetry Society of Tennessee. Her poetry has been published in three anthologies, Critique, Tennessee, and on-line. She has also published scholarly articles on bilingualism, biculturalism, and acculturation. Cynthia loves art history, theatre, landscape painting, and chocolate. David Hockney, Yorkshire Paintings God knows, you’ve travelled landscapes. Or riverscapes, hillscapes, flowerscapes. Across canvas, paper. By oil or wash. Each the invitation to gaze, to prospect. Claude coast. Constable pond. Van Gogh field. Cézanne mountain. Now it’s dale, moor, riding. English north. Plein Air Yorkshire. You’ve been to California for the splash You’ve seen the Ipad plants and vases. Now it’s the boy from Bradford. Home again from Sixties to Postmodern. Just look at the Sledmere multi-colour. Curvilinear brushstroke, pigment brilliance. Contemplate the Kilham watercolour. Parked street at rest in discreet white, pink. Level your eye at Huggate summer. Fringe grass, sloped hill breasts. These, the others, speak memory. Paths, wheatfield, bower, hill. These, the others, speak colour. Meadow, treetop, sunlight, snow. These, the others, speak brush, palette. Hyper pastel, Hockney’s inside landscape. A. Robert Lee A. Robert Lee’s creative writings include Japan Textures: Sight and Word, with Mark Gresham (2007), Tokyo Commute (2011), Ars Geographica: Maps and Compasses (2012), Portrait and Landscape: Further Geographies (2013),Imaginarium: Sightings, Galleries, Sightlines (2013), Americas (2015), Off Course: Roundabouts & Deviations (2016), Password: A Book of Locks and Keys (2016), Written Eye: Visuals/Verse (2017), Alunizaje/Lunar Landings, with Blas Miras, Writer Directory: A Book of Encounters (2019), Daylong, Nightlong: 24 Hour Poetry (2020), Suspicious Circumstances (2020), Time Travels (2022), Outside In: Hinges and Swivels (2022), Almost Patagonia (2023), and Everywhere You Look (2024). Snapshots of Girlhood via Justine Kurland’s Girl Pictures Welcome Home Two girls walk up the pebblestone steps bordered by a well-groomed, pristine green grass lawn. The front door of the two-story, red brick house is framed by two fake shrubs in antiquated pot-vases. There is a door-knocker on the stained-brown door. You cannot see what the girls are wearing because their clothes are pasted to their stick bodies with mud. Their hair is also caked in mud, and there are droplets of dried mud behind them. Feminine Hygiene Two girls washing their hair in a river. Purple and white sports bras, black and blue sports shorts. One has her head turned upside-down and dipped into the river. The other is working the suds into a mohawk. Parking Lot Dance Parties Two girls-- one with short hair whipped out like helicopter blades, covering her turned head, arms stretched to the sky, feet together and off the ground; the other with hair cut close to her head, legs apart, knees bent, hips jutted out to one side, mouth wide, singing a song. They are in the parking lot of a series of storefronts. Get Out The Way Two girls leaning out from either side of a tan-gold Jeep Patriot, screaming at an Elk lying in the middle of the dirt road. Congratulations Girls dancing in a circle at a graduation party, all wearing black. Land of Plenty Three girls are laughing hysterically as one passes a bag of freeze-dried chili to another. Behind them is a silver tarp held to the ground by three rocks, tied to a nearby pole. Beneath the tarp are three sleeping bags. They’re in a desert canyon that reveals no sky. Buried Alive A girl is wrestling out from a hole she’s buried in. Her knees and wrists and head are above the ground- rope visibly wrapped around her wrists. Two girls stand nearby, watching her indifferently in combat boots, one Parquet Courts t-shirt, one black wife-beater, holding two dirt-caked shovels. Heights One girl climbs up a ledge to the top of the canyon. Another girl photographs her climb from above. A third girl on another ledge nearby. None wear shoes. Shields A girl walks in the woods with a turtle shell and a bag strapped to her backpack, the translucent bag filled with other bones. She wears pink-brown corduroy pants and a peach t-shirt tied in a knot above her belly button. Faces Two girls without shirts lean over to make their bellies bulge, each holding her rolls between both hands to make belly-mouths. They’ve drawn eye shapes around their nipples. Kiddie Crossings Five girls walk through a park surrounded by brightly colored signs and tables and children running around in brightly colored clothes. One pulls a cigarette out of a pack of American Spirit light blues, another two are pulling drags, one is laughing with smoke spilling out of her teeth, and the final looks at the laughing girl with a smirk, her light blue hanging with her arms by her waist. Branded A girl tattoos the name “JESSI” onto another girl’s ass. The girl tattooing has an ass that reads “COLLEEN.” The three girls watching nearby also have hands covered in indigo ink. The tattoo gun is made of a needle and thread taped to a topless electric toothbrush. Wild Things Two girls hang upside-down from respective tree limbs with tiger masks painted on their faces. PSA One girl on the sill of a porch, naked in the public apartment complex. She holds a bottle of Jameson. Another girl wears a white t-shirt and a soft pink pair of briefs, and the other wears a navy blue sports bra and black jeans. The two girls are kissing, and the naked girl on the sill is giving an animated speech. Of Montreal Girls dancing in a circle outside a small concert venue. All the other people outside are talking or smoking. Post Eruption Two girls sprinting down a steep trail of a volcano in the middle of a violent storm. Girls Don’t Drink Whiskey Two girls with their heads tipped back, shooting shots of a nearby bottle of Jameson. The third dumps the Jameson down her throat from the bottle, staring down a pan-faced young boy. Sisterhood of of the Traveling Pants Two girls wear a massive, poppy-red, floor-length dress at the same time. Their middle ankles are tied together, middle arms invisible. Accomplished Feats Two girls lay in each other’s arms, one leaning back into the lap of the other, in a full bathtub. The third is climbing up the bathroom doorway, pressing on the inside of the doorframe with her bare feet and hands. The other two girls watch her climb. Side of the Highway A girl is squatted down and peeing as another is kneeling down to take a photograph of her pee-puddle, and the third is doubled over in laughter by a crack in the earth, teeny blades of grass pushing through. All that is visible around them is sky and sand. Feminine Hygiene 2 Four girls shoved into a bathroom where the bathtub contains a grey-brown film around the bottom third, one cockroach near the drain, and a face-down baby doll. One girl in the midst of violently brushing out her hair with a thin comb. Another leaning over the counter to put brown lipstick on in only her underwear and a pair of three-inch platform boots. Another sits on the toilet, reaching down to wipe between her black-yellow-and-white floral dress, a toothbrush hanging from her mouth. The final throws a black, lacy dress over her head-- one foot dyed royal purple. Howler A girl at the top of a wooden windmill without a shirt, the O of her lips upturned to the sky. A group of boys below, all looking confused. A girl below, head thrown back to the sky in laughter. Celebration One girl kisses another girl’s nose as the other kisses her chin at a New Year’s party, surrounded by bustling other bodies. Each wears a glittery dress. Sensible One girl points at a patch of moss, her mouth in mid-sentence, the other presses her hands into the patch- water dripping through her fingers. Slippery Slope Two girls on all fours climb up a steep trail, one behind the other, each wearing boots and gloves, the trail completely covered in ice. Beneath The Train Tracks Girls dancing in a circle around a bonfire, a burning couch at the centre. High Stakes Two girls involved in a vicious game of cards, eyes wild, marker drawings all over their faces, in the cafe of an art museum. Throw Em’ Back A girl in a pale, flowery dress and no shoes bends over to pick up a dead silver-dollar fish off a dock. She has two others in her opposite palm. Feminine Hygiene 3 Two girls in a mirror that reads Employees Must Wash Hands Before Returning To Work. The faucet is running. One girl slathers foamy soap onto her stubbly armpit. The other is brushing her teeth with her finger. There is a makeup bag on the counter, a tube of mascara peeking out. Structure Four girls in mid-topple over a game of Twister, three shouting or gasping, the fourth with her teeth bared in laughter. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 Three girls wearing one oversized cable-knit sweater. All girls wear the same shade of red-brown lipstick. Burn the Witch Girls dancing and jumping around a burning shirt on the ground, all screaming at the fire. Crash One girl floating in a natural pool, arms and legs spread wide. A ten-foot waterfall crashing ten-ish feet above her head. Chest bare at the surface. Weightless. Dreamless Four girls in a pile of blankets, piled on top of one another, limbs wrapped and stacked and intertwined. Waffle-style hand-holding. Wearing jeans and skirts and dresses and lipstick and mascara with bangs and buzzes and lengthy locks and socks. All with their eyes closed. Colleen Fox Breen Colleen Fox Breen (she/her) is a writer, editor, art historian, and film photographer. She has an MFA in creative writing from Columbia University, a BA in literary journalism from Hampshire College, and is a candidate for her MA in art history at Lindenwood University. Her creative and academic work focuses on the relationships between humans and the nonhuman world, with particular interests in magical realism, climate fiction, American landscape painting, and regenerative Earth art. She currently resides in Los Angeles with her dog, Fable.  Very excited about the upcoming Ekphrastic Flash Fiction course with Women on Writing. You won't want to miss this deep dive into ekphrasis and the small story. In this five week course, you will discover how to mine visual art for themes, characters, setting, and narrative, and bring unexpected stories to life. Zoom classes with discussion on ekphrasis, art, and story examples, and responses on your stories. Find more info or register here: https://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/classroom/LoretteLuzajic_EkphrasticFlashFiction.html Testimonials from other Women on Writing courses with Lorette: "Lorette's enthusiasm and wealth of knowledge about art combine to make her one of the most exciting and empowering workshop leaders I have ever had the joy of writing with. And the Hyperbole police would not arrest me for saying that! I was exposed to art I would never have looked twice at, and have learned how to linger and engage with the work and the artist. Her preparation, presentations and written feedback were thoughtful, generous and encouraging. an absolute delight!" Susie Whelehan Lorette is one of the most vibrant, enthusiastic, and knowledgeable workshop leaders I’ve encountered, and I’ve worked with about a dozen of the top poets in the U.S., including Naomi Shihab Nye, Ted Kooser, and Jane Hirshfield. Alarie T. “Lorette’s course provides a multitude of opportunities to practice the craft of writing in a supportive, non-judgmental setting. In four weeks, my confidence grew and my creativity blossomed.” Allison C. “This definitely fulfilled the wow factor- already in the first class.” Elissa G. There are two other courses with WOW! later this fall. You can view more information or register for them at the following links: Ekphrastic Poetry: Exploring Visual Art by Women https://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/classroom/LoretteLuzajic_EkphrasticPoetry.html Writing Through Illness and Chronic Pain: https://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/classroom/LoretteLuzajic_WritingThroughIllness.html
 he Flaying of Marsyas, by Titian (Italy) c. 1570s The Flaying of Marsyas It started as a lovely festive time, Marsyas piping everyone a tune To pair with dancing, drink, and witty rhyme Beneath a cloudless sky and glowing Moon. But soon Apollo came to play his lyre, And drunk Marsyas, master of the flute, Agreed to duel the god who'd soon require A knife to peel the mortal's flesh like fruit. Though hanging by his feet and being flayed, Marsyas found the moment bittersweet. He knew the soaring wonders that he'd played Had made Apollo fear his own defeat. The gruesome way Marsyas slowly died Was proof he'd wounded vain Apollo's pride. Paul Burgess Paul Burgess, an emerging poet, is the sole proprietor of a business in Lexington, Kentucky that offers ESL, translation, and interpretation services. He speaks several languages fluently and has the same warped imagination in each of them. He has contributed his bizarre work to Blue Unicorn, The Orchards, Lighten Up Online, and several other publications. Baptism in the Flood after Carolina Shout, by Romare Bearden (USA) 1974 at 1.06 on above video https://beardenfoundation.org/gallery/carolina-shout-1974-from-the-of-the-blues-series/of-the-blues-carolina-shout-1974-collage-and-acrylic-and-lacquer-on-board/ In the heat of hell, swatting flies and jungle leaves, the ocean swelled and roared again. The waves erased the beach and the schoolhouse swam away and the one-legged men lurched on their crutches to higher ground. The mamas held their bubbling and curious children and their mamas lit candles and chanted incantations to their spirits. The dentists sent their numb-faced patients home and the goats were let out of their paddock to run. The savage ocean conquered their meager land like France had done and stole the fish, and boats and fishing nets and even swept the plantain shack. Dogs barked and woke up old men sleeping in hammocks. The earth never shook but the troubled ocean boiled all around them. The percussive clatter and voices from the tin church under the acacia trees, deep in the tangle of orchid vines, floated on the aroma of wet mesquite Down the jungle slopes into the open village windows where Wheelchairs rolled through brown water up to their seats. They declared their songs of freedom and waved their arms in jubilant Fits of liberty as they danced and sang and stomped, vibrations keeping time. They danced out of the church in their fine white clothes and down the rutted road. Cuffs muddied; ankles soaked. That wild boy Rene swaggers in his white short-sleeved shirt, black arms folded. The priest jangles bells and dances down the slippery hill. Marchers clapping into the deep brown water as villagers gathered ‘round. Rene, who robs shops to survive, surrenders and lays back in the priests’ arms and is baptized in the rising flood. Marjorie Dybec This poem first appeared in Kakalak. Marjorie Dybec's ekphrastic poem "Baptism in the Flood" appeared in Kakalak 2023. Her short Her short story, “Opportunities,” will appear in the summer issue of StorySouth and was a finalists for the 2024 Doris Betts Short Fiction prize. In 2023, "Moving Freely," won an Elizabeth Simpson prize. She plans to query her first novel, a work of upmarket fiction, later in 2025. Dybec is a Connecticut native who recently moved to North Carolina, after decades living and careering in Manhattan. Follow her thoughts on writing, publishing, and books at marjorieapple.substack.com.  Yayoi Kusama's infamous polka dots started as a way to confront reeling hallucinations that threatened to obliterate her as a young woman. Today, in her nineties, she continues a full time art practice and superstar career, leaving the institution for people with lived experience of mental illness every day for her nearby studio. Discover the amazing story of this courageous and outrageous artist who lives life on her own terms. We will do a couple of creative writing exercises inspired by her art, as well as discuss her biography and oeuvre. Yayoi Kusama: Her Life and Art
CA$35.00
Join us for an ekphrastic session on the amazing Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama, the most successful female artist in history. We will look at her long career, her body of work, her themes, ideas, and biography. We will do several creative writing exercises inspired by her work. Checkout will be in Canadian dollars as we are in Canada. Your bank/site host will automatically change your currency. The exchange is approximate, and will be around $25USD. Tuesday, June 3, 2025. $35CAD/$25USD On Zoom. 2 to 4 pm eastern time.  Yayoi Kusama. Photo by Susanne Nilsson via Flickr CC BY-SA 2.0.  The Great Tower of Babel, by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (Netherlands) 1563 The Twin Towers Bruegel the Elder painted twin towers, unidentical twins, in significant ways like the ones we built, hoping to speak to our gods, and we too were thrown into confusion. disoriented and bewildered, we jabber and gibber, gabble and babble: a people dispersed, missing, lost in their incoherence, their namelessness. those remaining feel only a vague sense of being home, like strangers in a nation of their own creation, still searching in vain for meaningful words, phrases, for structure, patterns and purpose -- for a prior place, its found feeling, a sense of hope and communion. still searching decades later. our story is discussed, not as it happened, as another consequence of our own hubris, trade and the interplay of greed and hunger on a world stage, but as a memory, like a pebble thrown in a pond: the reaction peaks, ripples spread, then level out. but the stone disappears, sinks deeper and darker. there’s no bottom to its abyss. we’re stuck in a time, a dimension that follows our descent, decades after we left it. John M. Davis John M. Davis currently lives in Visalia, California. His poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals, includingDescant (Canada), The Comstock Review, Gyroscope Review, Bloodroot Literary Magazine, Constellations and Reunion: The Dallas Review. The Mojave, a chapbook, was published by the Dallas Community Poets.  The Little Tower of Babel, by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (Netherlands) c. 1560s |
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