 Venus and Mars, by Sandro Botticelli (Italian) c. 1485 Venus He sleeps like any firefighter or ex-serviceman, using sex as his opiate to quench PTSD. Yes, he’ll be floored for hours, oblivious to all but his own amorphous dreams from Lethe. After his fill of pleasure, he can fall into oblivion like any pre-adolescent. A god of iron reduced to a flaccid sack of organs, almost naked & caught in the light-trap of my female gaze zoned in on him. He who was mandated a license to kill, now dead to the elements, his fervid senses deregulated, & all but demobilised by our act of coitus. And me: Queen of Love who transcends amorous dalliance. She who sublimates erotica each time, who apotheosizes beyond these bed-posts of myrtle into a garden-paradise of her own sensibility. She who is sensitized to a higher love, who levitates her paramours, gifts them pleasure beyond their respective orgasms. Do not de-mystify my illuminatio coitu. Reduce not my rite to mere biology. Abandon yourself with a sensitive body & mind. Be attentive, even as you succumb. ** Mars Not many have seen Armageddon, not many have lived through the infernal freeze-frames: the fire, blood & anguish of my wars. To be the last warrior standing because snipers have picked off all the members of your platoon one by piteous one, is to be worthy of some kind of remuneration. Troy was my training-ground, body-strewn Thermopylae my place of higher learning. Have since done my work in Palestine & the fields of Kosovo. At Shiloh, Agincourt & Passchendaele, I dug in my oiled jackboot & issued forth my bellowing commands. Have earned my erotic goddess, & this prolonged stupor beneath the myrtle boughs. Too hot for Vulcan to handle, for only a soldier can truly satisfy Venus. And so she availed her well-endowed body to me &, of course, I complied. Discipline in the wars permits me a certain license during peacetime. Wake me up in time for the next war. Otherwise, satiated, let me snore. ** The Satyrs Impish, crammed full of chutzpah, so we gatecrash the post-coital scene. Grab his lance, helmet, breastplate & sword for our gamesmanship & innuendo, eternally arsing around. We fart our raspberries through a conch one of us uncovered in a frolic on the beach, but sluggish, arrogant Mars is dead to our irreverence. He’s shagged out & deserving only of a demobilization warrant. Venus, meanwhile, looks detached & indifferent. Later we’ll fantasize the contours of her breasts & thighs, doodle pornographic graffito. Get high. ** The Wasps In the vested name of the Vespucci family, we make our appearance haloing the god of war. For Sandro’s painting invokes his patrons & Simonetta far more than Ovid or Homer. La vespa’s more than an heraldic motif or vintage scooter buzzing around Florence. Without our golden chevrons, the paint Sandro uses would run dry. Venus’ aurora would vanish for good, the god of war exhaust into pusillanimity. Art’s indebted to patronage. We have our strong hive, this city-state to build. Sandro paints Simonetta & we’re all enriched, ennobled as citizenry. We will awake Mars when it’s time for war. Otherwise, let’s relax in this earthly paradise Sandro’s Venus provides. Love supplants the sword, the State lifts up the individual. We vibrate, loudly converse close to his ear-canal, but there’s no chance he’ll wake. Our dynasty will perpetuate. Mark Wilson Mark Wilson has previously published four poetry collections: Quartet For the End of Time (Editions du Zaporogue, 2011), Passio(Editions du Zaporogue, 2013), The Angel of History (Leaky Boot Press, 2013) and Illuminations (Leaky Boot Press, 2016). He is also the author of a verse-drama, One Eucalyptus Seed, about the arrest and incarceration of Ezra Pound after World War Two. His poemsand articles have appeared in: The Black Herald, The Shop, 3:AM Magazine, International Times, The Fiend, Epignosis Quarterly, Dodging the Rain, The Ekphrastic Review and Le Zaporogue.
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 From the Depths, by Larry Garmezy (USA) contemporary Bewitching at Jacob’s Well The water dazzles, its rippling fingers a swirl of blues and greens enticing the unaware to plunge into coolness-- a pool that beckons and repulses, tethers me to the rocks. The locals say its lacy limestone reaches toward the centre of the earth, conceals an invisible maze of caves, devious alcoves to greet and keep those answering the Sirens’ call. They say somewhere in its unknown depths are watery graves. I shiver as clouds block the sun’s dizzying rays, and wrap my body in my arms. Darkness bubbles up from some uncharted source. I step back from the rim, force my eyes to rest on the peaceful face of a distant, mesquite-covered hill, to break the iron hold of the mesmerizing water, its treacherous colour-- so I can breathe. Sandi Stromberg Read more of Sandi's ekphrastic works here. Larry Garmezy’s photographs chronicle what he finds visually and intellectually intriguing in the natural world. Understanding the physical processes that create patterns in nature allows him to capture unusual impressions and abstractions of the visual landscape. The common thread across his work is the effect created by the distortion of light, color, and shape created either by ripples in a spring, surface tension around a floating leaf, the convoluted fracturing of a cliff face, or the impurities in a 400-year-old pane of glass. Sandi Stromberg’s poetry has been nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize and for 2020 Best of the Net. She is a dedicated contributor to The Ekphrastic Review and recently contributed a Throwback Thursday (May 22). In 2021, the Review awarded her a Fantastic Ekphrastic Award for her contributions to the genre. Her poetry has appeared in many small journals and anthologies, including San Pedro River Review, The Ocotillo Review, Houston Chronicle-San Antonio Express-News, Words & Art, Visual Verse, Weaving the Terrain, Enchantment of the Ordinary, and in Dutch in the Netherlands in Brabant Cultureel and Dichtersbankje (the Poet’s Bench).  Office at Night, by Edward Hopper (USA) 1940 Working Late Looking down: we are all of us looking down, intent on finding a clue to break the code of silence, stirred only by the night -breeze from a passing train, pulling at the blind. Unseen by him, she notes the letter falling to the carpet, the soft drop of his shoulders as he reads, the space between them growing into the silent green tufts, washing over the white walls. She files it away with her feelings. Louise Longson Louise Longson lives in rural West Oxfordshire. She is published by One Hand Clapping, Fly on the Wall, Dreich, Nymphs, The Ekphrastic Review and Reach. A qualified psychotherapist specialising in trauma and enduring mental health issues, she is currently working to support those distressed by loneliness and social isolation. Recently, she has finally cleared enough of her own head-space to pursue her writing in earnest. Twitter @LouisePoetical  Leaf from the Album "Dreaming of Traveling while in Bed" by Shen Zhou - Ming Dynasty (China) c. 1368-1644 Foggy Peaks The peaks were barely seen that night—they hid Among a sea of aster-painted clouds. The skies were filled with stars that shone like pearls Strewn on the shoals of treasure-laden isles. The sage and pupil journeyed on, although Beholding neither earthly fields below Nor mountaintops rearing their jagged crests Into the time-exempted floods above. “But how are we to make our way, or know In which directions we should choose to go?” Questioned the student as he waded through The unshorn clouds that whirled about their waists. “How can we find our way out of this world Master—it seems a tenfold mystery.” The sage continued through the cloudy flood, Though he could neither see his feet below Nor catch sight of the craggy trails that formed The stair on which they made their slow ascent. The sage solemnly paused before the clouds-- “There’s only one way to find out,” he said. “Besides, all that we know are mysteries.” Like clouds, the sage and pupil drifted on. David Gosselin David Gosselin is a poet, translator, and linguist based in Montreal. He is the founder of The Chained Muse poetry website and the founder of the New Lyre Podcast. His first collection of poems is entitled Modern Dreams  We're so excited about next Saturday- August 28th.
Come meet Alexis Rhone Fancher, the queen of the literary erotic! She will share her experiences as a writer, read some ekphrastic works, and answer your questions about how to make your love and hate poems (and stories) sizzle. We will do some sexy ekphrastic writing exercises as well!  Planet Set, by Joseph Cornell (USA) 1950 The new challenge is up!
Every two weeks, we feature a new work of art as inspiration for your poetry or flash fiction. Selected entries are published a week after deadline. Click here or on image above for details. Join us! All are welcome.  Gray Lines with Blue, Black, and Yellow, by Georgia O'Keeffe (USA) 1923 gray line “Georgia O’Keeffe is over-rated,” I overhear the museum patron behind me say, and I cannot help but internally agree Yet she catches my eye, not once but a multiplicity of times But I garner the courage to approach her, to marvel at all she has laid bare for me to see My breath catches as I recognize that she has bloomed under my sybaritic gaze Plump and timid her long white petals curve and fold sensually, harboring a hypnotic power They spread invitingly, revealing gossamer mouths of blue veins absorbing sensation My fingers slowly trace the paper-thin fronds to the pod where the rush of blood infuses life Each layer more alluring, I seek the elixir, the nectar within My face buries in the field of colour overcome by the taste of the fleshy pulp hidden within the flower Exotic, captivating, her feelings overlap with mine and I cannot tell us apart Our secrets have mingled and we are tangled pistils, without stamens to get in our way I seek her centre, where the fragrance is strongest and I can drown in the vibes Waves of her consciousness blossom with each new response and I am now helpless under her spell The moment that germinated with a gentle painting has now culminated in a momentous monsoon of floral spasms My flower arches her slender back then as if a storm had come and passed she sinks into the bed and sighs. Dane Lyn Dane Lyn (they/them) is a queer, educator, poet, and glitter enthusiast with an MFA from Lindenwood University. Find them in Southern California with their partner, playing music too loud, constructing blanket forts, caring for their menagerie of teens, snakes, lizards, dogs, rabbits, and cats, and ridding their shoes of beach sand. Dane’s work can be seen in Gnashing Teeth, Closed Eye Open, Anti-Heroin Chic and Nymph Publication, links to which are all at DaneLyn.net  The Dark Inside the Light There is dark inside the light. The crows are storm-black eye-brows. Their wings fly as frowns across the roiling-yellow Wheatfield. Are they flying towards a new horizon? Or are they winging away from the inescapable dark? In the troubled sky, the Prussian blue broods as your urgent brush-strokes quickened an apocalypse of thoughts. The blue-light clouds are two clenched fists & burst through the line of wheat and cataclysm. Dear Vincent, these unknown threats knuckle towards you. The twig-thin wheat! Your thumb, index and middle fingers propelled the brush across the canvas in short, sharp movements as if dipping a twig in a pot of chrome or cadmium yellow; as if visions moved you across the dome of turmoil. Are these your dreams’ screams & squalls? Or are you painting a utopia of forgetfulness away from death’s oblivion?* Peter Mitchell *Seventeen days after van Gogh completed Wheatfield with Crows, he shot himself in the same field. Peter Mitchell is the author of the poetry chapbooks, Conspiracy of Skin (Ginninderra Press, 2018) & The Scarlet Moment (Picaro Press, 2009). Living in Bundjalung Country (Lismore, NSW), he writes poetry, memoir, short fiction, essays & literary criticism. Conspiracy of Skin was awarded a Highly Commended in the prestigious 2019 Wesley Michel Wright Prize for Poetry & his poetry has appeared in Verity La, The Blue Nib (Ireland) & Soft Blow (Singapore), among others. His first full poetry collection, The Loam of Memory seeks a publisher. His website is www.petermitchellwriter.com.au.
likeness after Augusta Savage how a face is rendered so: fingers melded to stubborn earth, shaped with the tender trust of memory, the impress of a crumpled hat, the gloss of youthful skin, eyes sprightly, lips parted ever so slightly, the quick shock of presence. at times without a folded collar: hair high, taut over a widow’s peak, the curvature of nose and eyebrow, firmness in the cheeks, the groove above a stoic mouth, the sturdy contours of collarbones, naked, not nude. their faces, austere, worthy of unvarnished attention, unencumbered by the muck of phrenology, the few that breathe in polished bronze, the others swept in frailer dust, their guiding hands as tenacious and tender as clay allows them to be. Jonathan Chan Jonathan Chan is a writer, editor, and graduate of the University of Cambridge. Born in New York to a Malaysian father and South Korean mother, he was raised in Singapore, where he is presently based. He is interested in questions of faith, identity, and creative expression. He has recently been moved by the writing of Ee Tiang Hong, Md Mukul Hossine, and Ocean Vuong.  The Ekphrastic Review has made our nominations for this year's Best of the Net Anthology with Sundress Publications. Best of the Net was created to honour excellence in online literature. Nominations are for work published from July 2020 through the end of June 2021. We are most grateful for help choosing this year's nominees from Alarie Tennille, our prize nomination consultant. Alarie is a longtime contributor, occasional guest editor, and judge for our Women Artists contest. Her most recent book is 3 A.M. at the Museum. We cannot thank you enough for your hard work and loving attention. Without further adieu, congratulations to our ten nominees, in alphabetic order. Please read their works and share it on social media! Best of the Net Nominees Standing Tall – Shelly Blankman https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/ekphrastic-challenge-responses-earle-richardson ** Threadbare, by Diane Durant https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/threadbare-by-diane-durant ** Dorothea Lange’s Man Beside Wheelbarrow, by Brian Kates https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/dorothea-langes-man-beside-wheelbarrow-by-brian-kates ** A Crown for Ida O’Keeffe, by Jean L. Kreiling https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/a-crown-for-ida-okeeffe-by-jean-l-kreiling ** Horse and Train, by Lisa McCabe https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/horse-and-train-by-lisa-mccabe ** Wheat Field with Crows, by Pamela Porter https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/bird-watching-contest-poetry-finalists ** Checkered Floor, by Sandi Stromberg https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/checkered-floor-by-sandi-stromberg ** Because the Living May Be Worth Something, Too, by Brendan Todt https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/because-the-living-may-be-worth-something-too-by-brendan-todt ** Return from the Woods, by Nan Wigington https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-journal/ekphrastic-christmas-contest-winner-nan-wigington ** On the Road Between Their Houses, by Francine Witte https://www.ekphrastic.net/ekphrastic-writing-challenges/ekphrastic-challenge-responses-istvan-farkas ** |
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