Special Showcase: The Ultimate Ekphrastic Challenge, Maumee Valley Country Day School, Toledo, Ohio

Over a series of weeks, students at Maumee Valley Country Day School in Toledo, Ohio took part in The Ultimate Ekphrastic Challenge. This creative challenge involved daily poetry prompts exploring various poetic techniques and forms in response to works of art on exhibit at the Toledo Museum of Art (and some others.)

​Here are their poems.
​

The Hunter, by Andrew Wyeth (USA) 1943

Hunted 
​
Watching like the hunter once did,
Cold convenience, cutting the light of candle,
High above the horizon, hoping not to be heard,
Like a child watching to steal candy from a bowl.

Cece M.

Cece M. is a teenage poet from Genoa, Ohio. Her haiku and artwork were recently published in Skipping Stones, an international print magazine. 

**

Hunt 
​
High up in the trees,
Perched and animal,
Small and weak,
Hiding from him,
Him who is stronger,
Him who is faster,
Him who is bigger,
But even he,
He who is stronger,
He who is faster,
Has someone who puts him up a tree too,
Who makes him afraid,
Shiver in fear,
And if he's stronger,
And faster,
And bigger,
Are you smarter?
Do you have to be fast to get away?
Do you have to be strong to fight?
One mans’ prey is another mans’ predator. ​

Amaya G.

Passage of a Smile, by Yves Tanguy (France) 1935

Fly Away
​
Running ragged through the vast valley of unseen leers
Forget the fear, fly far from the fathom of fun,
Fly, Fly, Fly,
Fly fast as time runs on a clock.  
Towards the truth of trust, 
Far from the vast valley of unseen leers.

Cece M.

The Seventh Month, by Diana al-Hadid (USA, b. Syria) 2017

Universe 
​
Endlessly drifting, further into the night
I’m just going in circles
The lucent moon up in the sky
The heart of the stars
The major planets, feeling the heat of the sun
The forgotten planets, once belonging in a world under the sun
The smoky layer of mist
If only I could, I would ask you

Katheleeya C.

Katheleeya C. is a teenage poet from Toledo, Ohio. Her haiku and artwork were recently published in Skipping Stones, an international print magazine. 

**

The Seventh Month

Chaos seething through a melting skeleton.
The frame of fate melts in wake, of a sword. 
And a woman.

Cloth draping over her.
It can’t disguise the evil or darkness seeping like blood from a wound.

Her aura melting through fabrics of fate and time. 
Face, contorted into a hollow grimace of triumph.

Blade shining bright with dim and shallow light as the world collapses into gray.

Aiden S.

Aiden S. is a teenage poet from Bowling Green, Ohio. He is an accomplished artist with a keen eye for manga. 

**

She

Why must she cover her shoulders 
Why must she have long hair 
Why must she wear makeup 
Why must she wear heels 

Why can’t she smile and wave 
Why can’t she walk by herself past seven at night 
Why can’t she like who she wants to like 

Why doesn’t her opinion matter as much?
Why doesn’t her wants come first?
Why doesn’t she matter as much?

Johnna R.

**

She 

She is not alone, as she sits among the rocks
She is not fearful, as the leaves make a ‘crunch!’ behind her
She is not powerless, as she drags along
She is not discouraged, while her mind continues to wander
She is not weak, though her journey is tough
She is not meaningless, because her goal means the world


She is risking everything
She is ready
She is willing
She is determined
She is strong
And she is brave

Brynn C.

**

Always 

I’m a mess.
I’m a mess because my thoughts are always,
Always running, always
Spiraling around in swirls
I’m a mess because now, and always
Everything I think about 
Spirals all the way back to you, always 
I’m a mess, because even the simplest things
You say to me
Make me crumple in on myself.
I’m a mess, because of you,
And because my thoughts won’t stop spiraling around you,
Always.

Jessica S.

Brook by Moonlight, by Ralph Albert Blakelock (USA) 1891

A Call to Be Adventurous 

2020, The Age of Technology. 
Of YouTube and social media and staying indoors. 
The internet is great, but try something new.
Go outside, there's fun to be had. 
I’m telling you, begging you, roam the outdoors like you roam cyberspace. 
You’ll be much more fulfilled and happy.
This I promise.
Go out and explore the great unknown 
The ocean, the rivers, the brooks and the streams.
They are all waiting for you. 
Get out of the house, go take a walk.
You won’t be disappointed.
This I promise.
Go on hikes, on bike paths, and trails.
Go to the park and try to spot deer.
Build a treehouse, a snow castle, or a wooden fortress.
Get outside, the possibilities are endless.
This I promise. ​

Jack B.

Jack B. is a teenage poet from Whitehouse, Ohio. His haiku and artwork were recently published in Skipping Stones, an international print magazine. 

**

As I Reach for the Stars 
​
Take me to the stars, oh take me--
To the outer world,
The flowers bloom as I spring and,
The wind urges me to go

Let’s lose ourselves tonight
Dancing away in the sky,
We don’t have to worry about life, let’s--
Just forget about it all

We don’t have to reach for Mars
Or the Moon, for that matter,
Just beyond the clouds and into the stars--
That’s good enough for you and me

We can celebrate
And dance away
And pray that this night’ll stay,

Leave behind the gravitation of things,
Leave behind those clattering chains
We don’t need such impossible things
That keep us to the ground

So come, let’s spread our wings and take off
Straight into the night,
Those expectations we’ll just doff
The sunset sky, oh please be mine

Karen C.

Alom 1, by Victor Vasarely (France) 1967-9

We

I am not afraid of the Coronavirus
I am not over the age of 65
I don’t have a compromised immune system
I am not personally affected by it

But “we” are

We need to be worried about it
We have elderly citizens
We have citizens with weakened immune systems
We, as a community, are affected by it

So we need to stop worrying about ourselves
And start focusing on the community around us

Izek R.

**

When You Look Up 


When you look up at the night sky,
You will see a river of stars,
Shining, twinkling.
When you look up at that night sky,
You will see the stars fall out like raindrops,
Drip, drop, drip, drop.
When you look up at the night sky, 
You will see the ones you love the most,
Sending stars your way,
Sending hope.

Lyra Q.

Avenue at Chantilly, by Paul Cezanne (France) 1888

Seasons 

My back presses against the fence
My fingers work to twirl the dandelions into a small braid
I stare across the fence
The fence that divides 
The dead winter grass 
The lush summer field 
The autumn leaf- covered ground 
And me 
The flowers underneath me 
The millions of  flowers 
Stare
And I stare back
I leave the dandelion crown 
In the leaves 
For my friend

Abby B.

**

Flowers, by Henri Matisse (France) 1924

Abuelito

Dear Abuelo, 
You support me through anything and everything 
The thunder of your claps shaking hands with my confidence.
Driving hours to see a game 
Lifting my head for me when I want to hang it in shame 
Telling me I’m beautiful-
When I want to be down on myself
Saying “Mija be proud of yourself and you’re not for a shelf” 
 Overbearing and mean to others 
But soft and caring with me 
When I don’t know where to go or lose my faith 
You call me Nena-
Mija-
Or your little sun goddess 
And all feels right 
And I know I’m in a safe place 
So I knew I had to give thanks 
To my Abuelito

​Johnna R.

**

Memories 
​
The vase of daisies 
Sitting on my side table 
Stares at me 
It’s eyes never leaving mine 
The thorns tell a story 
Of a young girl in a field 

The vase of daisies 
Sitting on my side table 
Becomes my friend 
People stare 
Their eyes never leaving my figure
The daisies and I exchange stories 
Of memories fading away 

The vase of daisies 
Sitting on my side table 
Stop staring at me 
Her eyes dull 
Her petals fall

Her thorns litter the ground 
She looks up one last time 
And utters a goodbye 
I stand shocked 
While my only friend 
Breaks to pieces ​

Sarah E.

**
​

Man on Bench, by Horace Pippin (USA) 1946

Patience 

The old man waiting for the bus
Like he waited for many other things in his life

Like he waited for the bus many many years ago
Like he waited for the bell to ring

Like he waited for his crush to notice him
Like he waited for his wife to say yes

He has become a very patient man 
Over the years he has waited and waited

But now he's just waiting for the bus

Joss N.

**

Reclining Figure, External Form, by Henry Moore (Britain) 1953

Bones 

Bones full of holes
​Dark as a cave
Shadows become things
Turn around 
And it is gone
Hope it stays that way

Shadows darkness
Nothing but memory
Cold hand
Grabbing you
Holding on tight

But with time 
It lets go

Phoebe S.

**