Ekphrastic Poetry from Maumee Valley Country Day School

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