A Whole Night I live in the lining of your cloak. I am the spaces between the thread and the satin- tiny blacknesses where the needle entered and the thread couldn’t fill. In my last lifetime, I was a fly on your skin and the time before that, a drop of spit in your butter. After all I have learned, you would think I would be born as your door latch, your water faucet, the hand of the barber who cuts the hair on your chin. But through all those lifetimes, I was not waking up- I was only becoming more vigilant Inhabiting space like a taut question mark, reluctant mathematician, desperate seamstress calculating force of your footfall + number of times your key fumbles in the metal lock x distance fumes extend from your hot mouth - number of steps before you fall down on the wooden floor = number of breaths I can take until I have to stitch us back up again This is what you hate most- for all the weight you throw in the world, all the folds of your flourish and sway, promising protection-- you cannot hide from me the empty body underneath, cannot fill the tiny blacknesses with anything but me That I’m able to think at all is a kind of awakening asking Next time, could I live as the hawk that crouches, hunched against the wind? Could I be the hooded eyes that watch me? Not be distracted by the sky breaking apart and rearranging? Next time, could I wait for the moment to pounce and carry the shivering mouse up off the earth to a high branch to devour it, crunch its bones? make a paste of its parts for my babies? This is what I want to happen to my fear once and for all: Let it be eaten by something noble, something inhuman- that only hunts to live. Once and for all let me pull on the thread that binds us, and from a great unraveling let me knit the tiny blacknesses into a whole night where no one knows you where yours is not even a name that anything can be called by. Susan Skeele Susan Skeele is an American poet, writer and MFA candidate at the California College of the Arts in San Francisco. In 2024, she received Mozaik Philanthropy's Future Art Writers Award, and is collaborating on a book-length project with fellow student and award-winning visual artist Badri Valian on the subject of their childhoods in Vermont and Iran. She lives in Oakland with Riley, Yuki and Nick (dog, cat, cat).
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"That's How My Condition Is, It Cannot Be Fixed" These days I cannot sleep or eat without thinking of flesh. Will I return & if so, in what form? Leaping from the arrowed grove, a bloodied stag with human nose, untouched lips, gaunt antlers to stab the air? Acid rain, lightning. Little cakes of dirt. Sky braiding the forest’s hair with fevered fingers & I, creature of smog & smoke? Me, slipping off my gown of melting fur, & at last, everywhere, burning up-- Barbara Schwartz Barbara Schwartz is the author of three books of poetry, a chapbook Any Thriving Root (dancing girl press, 2017) the collaborative collection Nothing But Light (Circling Rivers, 2022), and the hybrid memoir in verse, What Survives is the Fire, forthcoming from Alternating Current Press in 2024. Survivor’s Lament they came in grey uniforms and blackened boots they raided the granaries set fields to burn relished scents of scorched corn and emaciated horses they ate our food they came with faces grim set their hearts pewtered and stoned they manured the wells razed the houses blindfolded the men for pleasure tortured the boys they ate our food they came with no memories of kin nor loved ones aching their return they tormented dogs and cats lusted young girls rained sky-bullets and demanded we dance they ate our food they came with focal intent one-eyed wildebeests they plundered and crushed they badgered the decrepit forced us to imbibe the blood of the dying they sprouted forehead-horns grew long forked tails skins glowed sickly-red still they ate we could not help the haggard we could not protect nor shelter nor feed you our darlings our maimed sad darlings we the ones left we exist despite the horrors the hell the hunger mothers and nurturers we are only in name Joanne Godley Godley’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Pratik, Mantis, The Bellevue Review, FIYAH, among others. She is a member of the Poetry Witch Community. She is an Anaphora Arts Fellow in poetry and fiction. Her second poetry chapbook, Doc.X, was recently published by Black Sunflowers Press. Haiku lost childhood the fading shades of a mother-of-pearl cloud Judit Hollos Judit Hollos is an emerging playwright, poet, essayist and journalist. Some of her short stories, poems, translations and articles have been featured in English and Swedish in literary magazines, periodicals and anthologies. She is the author of two chapbook collections of Japanese-style poetry and short prose. Her monologues and short plays were produced and received staged readings at theatres and festivals in Glasgow, San Francisco, London, Leicester, Liverpool, Birmingham and Kyiv. Lost and Found Nine feet high and twelve feet wide, 334 years old, a masterpiece emerges from obscurity. Corpulent and naked, Bacchus lolls in leopard skin and light. Round-bellied boys wrestle a goat as tan men skew toward the frame but dressed in pink, it is the artist who regards us, one breast bared, luminous. Linda Scheller Linda Scheller is a retired California Central Valley educator with two published books of poetry, Fierce Light and Wind & Children. Her writing appears widely in publications including Slipstream, Colorado Review, and RockPaperPoem. Ms. Scheller serves as vice president of Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center and programs for KCBP Community Radio. Her website is lindascheller.com. Magic Circle It’s time for me to cast the spell. My fire is lit, the coals aglow; the potion steams and smoulders well -- I wait to see what I must know. My fire is lit, the coals aglow; I draw my circle with my wand. I wait to see what I must know, to gaze upon the world beyond. I draw my circle with my wand; I offer sprays of peonies to gaze upon the world beyond. I need to set my heart at ease. I offer sprays of peonies; these ravens cannot hurt me here. I need to set my heart at ease -- this dreadful toad does not come near. These ravens cannot hurt me here; the scent deters all scorn and spite. This dreadful toad does not come near -- the air shall fill with love tonight. The scent deters all scorn and spite; the potion steams and smoulders well. The air shall fill with love tonight… it’s time for me to cast the spell. F.F. Teague F.F. Teague (Fliss) is a copyeditor/copywriter by day and a poet/composer come nightfall. She lives in Pittville, a suburb of Cheltenham (UK). Her poetry features in a number of journals and her second collection, Interruptus: A Poetry Year, will be published in 2025. Her other interests include art, film, and photography. Buster Keaton Gives Advice on How to Write a Love Poem- Alex Stolis, after Beverly Bennett1/28/2025 Buster Keaton Gives Advice on How to Write a Love Poem Drink a half-bottle of Southern Comfort. Straight. Hit on the cocktail waitress at Ace High, not the sexy hotcoolunmarried one but the older been-around-the-bend-girl; she’s more of a challenge, and there are never enough of those. Go home alone. You didn’t want to get laid anyway. It's about the chase. High speeds, crashes, and pratfalls, the stuff of dreams. Drunk dial your high school crush. As the phone rings start praying she doesn’t answer, if she does, hang up quickly. Wait ten minutes dial again, when her husband answers pretend it’s a wrong number. If you’re hurdling to blackout, pick an unusual spot to pass out; the women's room at Manny’s SteakHouse, the front steps of the local cop shop. We only get one chance to get it right. It’s serious business. Don’t smile. Never smile. Plan exquisitely, hit your mark but make it look spontaneous. Your memory will be scratched, scorched into fragments, love is emotional nitrate; beautiful, extremely flammable and dangerous. Alex Stolis Alex Stolis lives in Minneapolis; his photos have appeared or are forthcoming in Ink in Thirds, San Pedro Review, Unleashed Lit, and Anti-Heroin Chic. His full-length book Pop.1280, is a poetry and photo collection, available from Amazon. His chapbook, Postcards from the Knife-Thrower's Wife, was released by Louisiana Literature Press in 2024, RIP Winston Smith from Alien Buddha Press 2024, and The Hum of Geometry; The Music of Spheres, 2024 by Bottlecap Press. Beverly Bennett, a lifelong Hudson Valley, New York resident, is a visual artist who discovered her love for the bold, expressive qualities of printmaking early in life. Formally a high school Art teacher with more than twenty five years experience teaching studio classes, she holds degrees in Graphic Arts, Advertising and Printmaking. Beverly’s focus, since her retirement from teaching in 2019, has predominantly been on further developing her artistic style while exhibiting in member and juried shows. Currently, she is researching her family's long history in New York and actively experimenting with printmaking and painting methods as a means to express her connection to that family. untitled bathsheba is beautiful in any mood she gets a letter and takes off her clothes to read it isn’t that what everybody does no no the letter comes while she’s at her bath not like she’s going to put her clothes back on to read a letter especially when all of us need to see her as david did and presumably her soon-to-be-if-not-already-slaughtered husband so we can understand why david acted as he did because any man who was king would do the same wouldn’t he why is the bath the only part of her story we hear about it’s in her name for god’s sakes she must have done other things she reads the letter and knows everything sad regret we can’t even consider the word choice is the letter the invitation explanation proposal or command after the end of the inconvenient husband who disobeys refuses a king foreseeing all resigned to fate her beauty is her only power whether she uses it or not she is the king’s subject as a boy I asked the child’s question why do we let anybody even a king get away with murder still looking for answers to that one I already knew the power of beauty the best-looking girl in our class had it in spades the taste-maker even the teacher did not want to upset her a tall young man just married with a kid drove a metallic green comet with baby moon hubcaps made her his favourite her life was outside my experience her dad drove the only thunderbird in town her aunt lived with the family she played piano two or three grades ahead of the rest of us she played beautifully though she wanted no attention for that as if in her smashing burgundy outfit she felt a little apologetic as if it weren’t quite real I remember riding my bike past her open window hearing her practise someone later to be a music teacher stopped there listening infatuated with the music or his idea of her she went out with the drummer of the coolest band in the county whispering said he’d drop her if she wouldn’t sleep with him later when they split she went into nursing failed out that teacher called her up one night drunk and divorced and told her he’d always loved her and could he see her she was working by then in a nursing home I always liked her I think she needed social reassurance more than she’d let on we had that in common along with a long search for a better definition of beauty Roy Geiger A former college English teacher, Roy Geiger lives in London, Ontario, and spends a lot of time on Manitoulin Island. He has volunteered on the board of several long-standing reading series, including Antler River Poetry. His poems and short fiction have been anthologized and published in Grain, The Antigonish Review, the temz review, and The Ekphrastic Review. Just a few more days to sign up for this four week course with yours truly at WOW! Women On Writing. We will take a tour back in time to the roots of ekphrasis, read some amazing examples, look at ways to think and write about visual art, discuss ekphrastic submissions, and of course, work on generating a number of our own new works. Hope you can join us. This course ran in the fall, and here is what participants said about it: "Truly, you are one of the best teachers I've ever had!" Karen F. "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. Register: https://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/classroom/LoretteLuzajic_Ekphrasis.html In March, there is another four week course, on Writing Prose Poetry. You can find more details here and register as well: https://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/classroom/LoretteLuzajic_ProsePoetry.html Nebula Forever rose in double lines on a deserted road when I was young, slowly converged in blurred distance with no hint of meeting. Forever sang a million tomorrows: none of us considered that no life could stretch that long. Forever slid off the tongue with the ease of a kiss. Years later, Forever rolled earth and sun into one, brilliant blues and startling scarlet tinted green, took shapes no longer imagined but lived, a lover, a child grown, us growing old. We began to glimpse the never of Forever, those highway lines an inky nebula, nothing more than a nursery for new stars. Joanne Durham Joanne Durham is the author of To Drink from a Wider Bowl, winner of the Sinclair Poetry Prize (Evening Street Press 2022) and the chapbook, On Shifting Shoals (Kelsay Books 2023). Her poetry appears in Poetry South, Whale Road Review, Vox Populi, and many other journals and anthologies. She teaches workshops in ekphrastic poetry online and in person. Joanne lives on the North Carolina coast, with the ocean as her backyard and muse. Visit her at https://www.joannedurham.com. |
The Ekphrastic Review
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February 2025
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