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Emily Green, English teacher at Maumee Valley Country Day School, submitted these ekphrastic works from her teenage poet students, on their behalf.  Cystoseira Granulata, Cyanotype print from British Algae, by Anna Atkins (UK) 1843 The Woods Follow my voice, into the endless woods, where the wolves howl and run-- where the moon seems to shine forever-- the night never ending. Follow down the quite stream to where all you can hear is the bubble of the stream and the singing frogs, there you will find the old mama bear, do not fear her. Follow her, for she hears and sees all, she knows why you’re here, even if you do not. Mackenzie Phillips ** In the Moment Stay here, in these moments with me Watch the patch of flowers bloom before us, Don’t let your mind wander through the Deep blue walls. Let it stay here, Thrive in the sunlight, Let it roam free and take whatever branch of life it chooses, So you can be here, In the moment. Stay here in time with me, I know the past keeps shooting you down, Like an archer ready to start their day But if you let that arrow sink into your heart, You are destroying all of the branches on the journey You could have had. The things, you could have done, could have seen But you can only reach those things if you let your mind stay here with me. Sydney Abercrombie  Migrant Mother, Nipomo, California, photography by Dorothea Lange (USA) 1936 How It Began Fame -- is not how it began. Millions -- do not see, the struggle -- inside. But grey is our life, as grey is our picture. Children hide on our shoulders, to escape the inevitable Boulders -- of life. in the way now, maybe one day, they will see -- that this is not, how it began Lila Weiner ** The Gray Beginnings We all know what gray is We all have walked with the wind pushing us back With our shoes split just enough to make us trip We all understand how gross the gray really is But some of us know it more Some of us woke up in the gray We saw gray stars in the sky And we noticed gray flowers blooming in the gray grass that should have been green All of our good, gracious things were gray from the beginning Addie Henderson  The Road Menders, by Vincent Van Gogh (Netherlands) 1889 The Epistle Your green walls annoy me, the way your ceiling chips is unsettling, and that mirror, it’s like you’re purposefully making me look deranged. Behind your doors, you hide dusty old board games that haven’t seen the light of day since we had a Shar-Pei running wild through your rooms. The way your heater kicks on in the night irritates me, it irritates me so that I force myself to think of it as white noise. And what is your deal with the air conditioning? In the summer it’s like you’re trying to turn me into an icicle. It was already pretty cold in there to begin with. The way the giraffe sits and stares makes me anxious like it’ll never stop being. When I pull the doors of your cupboards the creek, but they don’t budge. In the morning the vinyl floor tiles follow me to the carpet. I grab a piece of day-old pizza and I sit, and I wait, the wax drippings and the smell of sawdust engulfs me. I wrap myself in a red blanket and sigh. Mornings wrapped in a red blanket are safe. You’re supposed to wrap me in your warmth like the sun on a Florida beach. But your green walls and old license plates watch me like they’re from Antarctica. Margaret Ciminillo Kopf  Moonlit Night, by Xu Beihong (China) 1937 Invocation Lush green fields of grass, The calls of many bluejays and crows reveal themselves to the open ear A tipped over bike, one wheel still spinning, A child’s shoe- buried halfway in the sandbox A watchful eye, peering through blinds. A dog running wildly- barking at everything. what the child sees- they see wonders. but why do we let those wonders getaway? all those forgotten dreams childhood toys left to rot where does the wonder go? It hides in the corner of your eyes, all you have to do is look for it. Noah Taylor  Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper (USA) 1942 Nighthawks A coffee store In the corner standing out Within containing those who not want to fall asleep Or maybe have a child wailing in the night Containing those wanting coffee A supplement that throws away your lack of energy The worker dressed like a blank canvas Looking jubilated to be able to serve coffee and drink it He serves to the customers of the store The woman The man And the other man Within sits a woman Dressed in blood She stares a sandwich on her right Thinking of the baby that awaits her at home Her eyebags telling it all The alertness she must have to be a mother Her other hand although holds the hand of a man The man dressed in a suit and a hat His features could cut glass The jawline and nose both sharp Yet he still radiates pleasure to be in the coffee shop On his nightshift break using coffee to keep himself awake Sitting far off Back turned sits another man His face is like the illuminati Unknown So his reason to throw off tiredness will never be known At the end of the day The man wearing a blank canvas Enjoys helping The woman The man And the other man Cure their tiredness Shrishte Baskara  The Merry Cemetery, by Amrita Sher Gil (India, b. Hungary) 1939 A Letter From a Dark Place You keep me in the dark, secluded from daylight You promise you mean no harm though harm is your only means You claim to be protecting me, hiding me from the outside world. Now I feel you’re who I need to hide from You save me from the pain when you are its true source You insist you’re stopping them from hurting me, but the knife is in your hand. You break me down so they don’t have to. The only difference: I let you Riley Husain  Anxiety, by Edvard Munch (Norway) 1894 Anxiety Standing Surrounded by strangers But still feels alone. His breath on my neck boils my bones Eyes plotted my back Like a predator to its prey I stop to realize there is no good way Lizzy Brown  Piazza d'Italia Con Statua, by Giorgio di Chirico (Italy) 1937 The New Age The dawn of a new age is near, Growing closer and closer, bigger and bigger. Rising up into the sky, a sea of murky darkness and Past ages discoveries. These towers, along with these mountains that Swiftly increase height and range with every new thing Every new idea. Those mountains, Those towering mountains extending higher and higher Scraping their fingers across our past, and possibly our future, Will be conquered. The dawn of a new age is near, Its tracks crossing over every destination, Its towers rising higher and higher Its towns, with all of those people, growing larger and larger, Won’t be stopped. Can’t be stopped. The dawn of a new age is near, Its horizon glowing with New ideas, new faces, new people. The dawn of a new age is near. And you are part of it. Noah Batista
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