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Best Ekphrasis Poems | Poetry

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The Best Ekphrasis Poems

Details | Ekphrasis Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Laminated Love

LAMINATED LOVE

Frozen flames pressed 
between each page; 
suddenly, I felt each passing note.
The painting on the wall began to breathe	
gently the same colors repeated life. 
I was so close; I felt every vibration 
and there underneath the gloom, 
the roof let in the luminance of the moon.	
A memory unfolded while I held your hand,	
repainting our years, a devoted love
at the heart of everything. Steam is drawn 
from our hands. The canvas, 
the beautiful canvas, tied by solid green-gold.
Flames-brushed each wall as ageing you and I.	
In perfect harmony. TOGETHER 

1-06-2016


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016


Details | Ekphrasis Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Your Smile Sends Me


You were sly with your wanton  stare 
How you seduced me with only a look
Neither classic nor found in any  book
Unique to you it was somewhat unfair
While I was naked just standing there

The strokes so quick we barely...met
I do not know how the pallet had felt
But I feared my whiskers would  melt
As I kissed the canvas, us two a duet
A miracle occurred as the paints...set

I the paint brush marveled at your smile
You - The Mona Lisa the epitome of style


01~13~2015
Sponsor: Rick Parise
Inspired By The Mona Lisa
Painted By Leonardo da Vinci





Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


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Plato and Socrates

Dramatic prose for the pompous asses
I throw my Platos at you
If you come any closer
I will Socrates you right in the nose
Demands, demands!!!! The clowns now have demands?
I say, rise up oh poets of the infinite dot universe
Proclaim the revolution a new
Justify our fight with words wrapped in doo doo
When I see a condescending donkey trip on his verbatim
I laughs cause I know he will fall into Satan's den
I am at eleven, usually a sober man
I carry my saber high and shout "Ekphrasis I don’t give a bloody damn"
Infinite ............................ Universe


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


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Waterloo Bridge

In London fog, the river stills.
In silver sleep, it cools and fills
with cobalt mist as dawn unfolds;
above the Thames, the sun bleeds gold.
Into the haze, it pours and pools
like melting opal, liquid jewels
until the brume of morning fades
to prune the sky with unseen blades
that slice the flaming clouds in two
to frame a glimpse of Waterloo.


*Inspired by Monet's painting, "Waterloo Bridge: Sun in a Fog"


Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013


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Abbi of Bacabi

She left one day, her Kiowa village
And stood proudly in the sun
Beneath the Tabletop Mountains 
And walked among the golden sea
Of waving grass, fearless and alone
Waiting, with keen ears and sacred breath
For the setting sun to call her name
So that her spirit could cross the great divide
 
No more would she walk
Across my night or my day...
Except on the wind that touches my face
Or the laughter from a child
Or perhaps in the song a meadow lark sings
And surely in the pleasure of my dreams
And in slumber I can rest, knowing full well
That her spirit has entered the land of green pastures.





Inspired by t.c.cannon and his wonderful artwork


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009


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WE, NASTY WOMEN

                                   
must refuse relegation, obey
only the roar of our own angels, then reshape 

breastplates to shield the motherland
from any warlord who dares 

to pimp our flag.
Battlefields have always been a woman’s place,

We were born to bleed, to fight-
off advances, to heal from the inside-out.

We, nasty, nasty women
who dare castrate filibusters, know grit, 

audacity, the combat for higher grounds.
History is lit by an army of fiery 

heroines, burnt at stakes by low-life 
aristocrats, suckling-pig-kings.

We, Nasty women rise from ashes
to become better-armed daughters,  

knightmares, hallowed witches on frontlines, 
glorious, undefeated legends. 
 


After Jeanne d'Arc et Saint-Michel by Eugene Thirion, painting seen above 
 


Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2016


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Absinthe Leaves

In the firmament of trees
October's eye
looks down in cruel azure
on summer's absinthe leaves,
flocking like survivors
to a mortal haven.
Autumn's blood magma
creeps through leaves
bequeathing fire 
and brittle amber. 
Fertile frost breeds
in arctic prisms,
whispering feral eddas
as withering violets
echo bitter truth.


Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2018


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Lemon Afternoon

The incendiary wick
of a lemon afternoon
flickers in the lime lagoon
as sunset breathes fire,
tangerine scorching
lilting melon waters
until incandescence
drowns in dusk's indigo 
and coconut hills rise
to cerulean shadows,
when night whispers 
in plantain lanterns
swaying in the slender trees.


Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2018


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A Depiction Of One Artist And His Starry Night



Vincent Van Gogh~Starry Night __________________________ a precarious world of indecision a dark pallet of light this brilliant depiction , it does scream , it cries out blues and yellows swirl in a maze of defeat a crescent moon suspended in a blissful evening , hangs lone in agony I rest within this small town of hope my eyes are saddened , my mind relentless in delight You are mine , my asylum , my starry night a dimension of light under this wrenching canopy of demise oh Vincent... __________________________


Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2010


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Springtime By Monet

One nail goes in my barren wall, to bring the spring alive I can almost hear the birds that greet, in morning's gold sunrise There is a garden, now, within my palm, and dew within my eyes The fog lifts high, and drifts away, and clouds within the sky While butterflies, and bumble bees, bring color, oh, so grand Addressing spring, caressing things, a rainbow in my hands. A glimpse, as if through windowpanes, I'll fall in love anew Enchanting me with roses, red, in bloom around my head They welcome me to a cottage old, to cheer me from my blues The world is painted softly, gold, in shades of pastel hues From nature is a vast array, of color, painted, thus I wish to hold the magic long, to frame, to keep, ... to last
__________________________________________________________________ Inspired by "Springtime By Monet" For Ekphrasis Contest Sponsored By Rick Parise 1/5/15


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015


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Table for One

Insistent starkness claims a leafless day
Where morning breaks with silent calm and dread
The slope of field is framed, behind the glass
reveals a fallen tree, with jagged edge
and grassy hills now laced with autumn rust 

Inside we find a plain and cheerless room
The table sparce, an empty chair
A plate, a knife, a saucer, without spoon
One empty cup, will wait for no one there...

Ambiance of what has been, 
 ...still lingers in the air,
as amber glows, with threats of snow,
are just a hint, instead

Lonely hours, and lonely days, and lonely shadows blend
The endless songs of yesterday, slip in from window's ledge 
A meager meal will spread upon a table set for one
Where breaking bread alone without a friend
is companioned by a solitary end 

The angled sun, casts shadows deep and long
A somber mood, reflects this quiet calm 
Upon the walls, where gardens grew, are faded memories 
where yellow blooms of yesterday, are just a step away

Where, once were two, who loved and knew their sun would rise again
There now is one who sits alone  ...at the table set for one 
Where hope has gone, when morning comes...
                                       to sing a lonely song



Based on the Painting by Andrew Wyeth ... "Groundhog Day"
http://www.andrew-wyeth-prints.com/gallery_andrew-wyeth-groundhog-day.html


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009


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Wrapped in Colors

*Inspired by photo

As the sun sinks behind the hills
Color tints snow, where all is still
A bright sky ends a winter day
Into the night, leading the way
Highlights of beauty to recall
In solitude, a tree stands tall
Calmness reaches a restless soul
Regaining what loneliness stole
More to see than being alone
Wrapped in colors, nature has shown


Heidi Sands

2/20/18


Copyright © Heidi Sands | Year Posted 2018


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Bird of Prey

A cerulean heron
perches in cloisonne
among jade shoots
of a topaz tree
as shadows of platinum fish
undulate in silence
of teal waters.
The tableau of moonstone,
fulgid in azure sky,
hovers in citrine dusk
above pearl clouds 
and indigo coastal bluffs.
Night's onyx falls quickly;
the food chain pauses
until sun's lambent carnelian
emerges above a pewter horizon,
when jeweled birds of prey feed
and the gemstone cycle continues.


Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2018


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She Weeps for Summer

In autumn's brisk crimson
she weeps for summer.
September courts her
with scarlet and fire,
but xanthic plains
and sun's saffron blush
on cobalt lakes
stain her cheeks.
She'll sleep
in winter's bereft cloister,
the lambent trickle
of peach orchards
seeping into her dreams,
memories embossed
on a gold-stained pillow.


Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2018


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Hickory Sunrise

The morning's first cup is sweetest, rich and hot, 
as I look through my kitchen window at the hickory.

The low branches will come off first.

Once upon a time I'd climb it, perch atop the high branches,
then in the throes of leafing, to gaze unfettered at the land.

Should take the day to get them all,
put them through the chipper.

Dawn creeps upon October's harvested plain,
sun igniting pumpkin flames in the lazy creek that bends at the tree,
early mist caressing damp carob earth.

The trunk will come later this week.

Dew-stained fences meander idle tracts of shorn fields, 
air pungent with hay, apples and barley.

Etched against apricot clouds spread in lemon sky
strides the hickory, alive with orange light
and bustling with wrens and robins, 
far off roosters crowing morning prayers.

The stump will be out before the first snow.
We'll be moved to town for winter by then,
won't hear the wind crying over memories.


Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2018


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The Greatest Generation

Wise to emulate
 
“The Greatest Generation”
 
Depression Era
 
Hard times faced with dignity
 
Heroes rose from common men
 
 
 
*Entry for Brian’s Ekphrasis contest.  Based on the book “The Greatest Generation” 
by Tom Brokaw, a truly inspiring account of how people met the financial challenges 
of The Great Depression.




Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011


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The Camp of the Dead Children

Emily of three years
Leukemia eating her soul
Her bald head, made her smile wider
Please mummy do not cry
I will hug you even after I die

Tommy of five years
Bone cancer eating his limbs
Unable to walk, this beautiful mind
Absorbed any book like it was fine wine
He kissed his Daddy, and said all will be fine

Lena a sweet young lady of seven
Preparing her bed, for her voyage to heaven
Her little liver refused to function
Her spirit however could not be shrunken
She smiled beyond her years, I love you mummy daddy

Jacob of six, suffered from irony
Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease was to be his downfall
His hockey days were all but over
His favorite stick he gave to little brother
He said I love you, so don’t you too suffer

Raquel was all of four and one half years old
Menkes Disease was very soon to take hold
Her sad blue eyes expressed her fate
She knew the lord was waiting, staying up late
Her tears were for all those she was leaving behind

Jimmy was a young lad of only eight
With burns all over his body, death his only fate
His family hovered over his last moments here
As a plentitude of love gazed up to mum
His life fluttered away, he knew he was done

Emily, Tommy, Lena, Jacob, Raquel and Jimmy
All suffered and taken before their time
All of them far wiser than their childhood years
All of them sad for all their families tears
The heavens of the universe, seem so fickle and unkind


Why, why why, as my heart comprehends not at all this time

The camp of dead children, killed me as well

Yet they were survivors and filled with eternal love

Why why why, as I can only cry


Quantum entanglement
Inside the human conscientiousness
Schroeder’s cat, has been freed at last
Multi universe, exposing heads and tails


It’s the last ecstatic day of the Olympics
The spectators are in awe
Anticipation is hanging in the air
As the best, most fit, most disciplined
Of young men and woman are set to compete....
The finest of human specimens in both body and mind

The starter raises his pistol
The Big Bang
The race of life is on

The families of the triumphant winners jump for joy
Mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters
Clapping and cheering, years of dedication
Are seen on the smiles of these young ones

On to the podium does the team step
They stare out proud and filled with joy
Gold medals placed over their shoulders one by one
Emily, Tommy, Lena, Jacob, Raquel and Jimmy
They have won!

Somehow, deep within, they know, they have won


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


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Introspection On Toast

There once was a picture that wormed itself into my reverie
On a gray, cloudy morning, whilst it was raining and cold.
In this one picture were four slices of toast and five beverages.
Three glasses held tea the color of honey, and two were raspberry tinted.
Somehow it was important to me that the toast was suspended
In the air above the table by two glasses, like bookends.
For a moment I wondered who had achieved this strange feat, and why;
But then my thoughts turned to how my life was like that toast,
Suspended in air by forces counteracting gravity,
And any moment a passerby might jar the table, destroying the illusion
Of serenity and stability. I've seen people's lives change as quickly.
For the most part, everything seems to go well for them,
Then there is a turning point, after which nothing seems to be right.
Anything can trigger it; the loss of a child or job,
A spouse, or the home in which they have always lived.
Moreover, there is no reasoning to whom it happens;
Just like a careless passerby might bump a table,
And four slices of toast fall to the table, or the ground.

(Poem is written in Prose form)


Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2015


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haiga - Enigmatic Moment

C          R           O
a           a           n
p           p           l
t            t           y
i
v           I           S
e           n           h
             s           e
S           i
h           d           C
e           e           a
                          n
I            T
s            h          S
             e           e
H                        e
e           M
 l           y
d           s
             t
             e
             r
             y




Inspired by Brian Strands' Imagine contest and Edward Hoppers' "Automat"



Copyright © Robin L. Gass | Year Posted 2009


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Ekphrasis 12 Line Max

New Year’s Eve

I need to feel the trade winds blow
To know they have my heart in tow,

Here in the twilight of this hour
I feel the grandeur of God’s power.

The Sun, a ball of golden fire
Rises with my heart’s desire

That this New Year will offer love
As Sol begins to rise above.

How wonderful, the winter sky—
With mist filled clouds that float on by.

Sweet birds of beauty on the wing,
Portends the gifts New Year will bring.

© Connie Marcum Wong

My Muse is the New Year
Contest: Ekphrasis 12 Line Max
Sponsored by Rick Parise


Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014


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- NATURE'S PSALMS - 1

NATURE'S PSALMS

Is Beethoven's ensemble fairer than nature's psalms?
Amidst a crowning sun: ears and eyes are drugged,
drenched with tender notes, orchestrated by greens,
inhale deep, the aromatic blossoms from the vine

with their lilting swell, brushed shades of fine wine.
Listen, listen to the sudden leap, the vibrato of bird song
or the raucous winds rubbing against house-corners
and the blithering brook carrying tales of who?

As you walk attuned to the crunch of the brown foliage.
When the cobalt skies turn to ash - gray mode,
hear heaven's vault lament, drizzling sobs to loud weeps
when day's face in angst pout or blush beside the beloved.

Feel your feet push or pull deluged by the liquid fingers
of the sea; in whites, they murmur ripples. They tremble
and stir, savor the flavor, a brief interlude:

Nature's power: tones, sharps, curls, pants. It slants
aiming to reach a rest upon blues of sky at its zenith,
The darting patterns curves, verves are diapered
wanting to delight, to wonder, to shock, to soothe.
__________________________________________________________________
~~~Inspired by the painting: Blue and Green Music by Georgia O'Keeffe 1921

*** I am always glad to be taunted by learning drive with you Debbie Guzzi,
thank you so much...

__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
6:06 pm, January 10, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2016


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Black Sunday {Personification in Couplet form}

I was as high as the eyes could see
A giant dark cloud of pure misery

I seemed to roll as one with the wind
A giant black wall that had no end

I stripped the land and left it bare
Of the lives I destroyed, I didn’t care

Those who stayed I covered in dust
As their children died I broke their trust

From my hell many families did flee
Left to wander homeless in misery

I changed the word these words are true 
Black Sunday brought darkness on you


I didn't see any direct link but just goggle
pictures of the dust bowl and you will see
what i have written for Brian's Contest.
The Dust Bowl - Alexandre Hogue - 1937


Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009


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A Beautiful Woman

A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN 

Her face was a constellation of perfections 
She was ravishing; beautiful beyond condemnation. 
Her voice was like many water 
Yet, it's coo whenever she sputtered. 

Her gait was just so alluring 
No wonder men couldn't help but kept gazing. 
She trod on her pathway like a goddess -
This woman I saw was priceless. 

Even her dance step sent signals to heavenly bodies 
The immortals were mesmerized - she was more than a novice. 
The flexibility of her body was as a swift wind
It moved so fast, it could not be filmed. 

When she sang, it was like that of an angel 
Kingdoms let loosed: heaven, earth and hell 
In her eyes, you'd see paradise 
In her world, great men and women did arise 

There was ample concinnity in her kingdom 
Everything was cloudless, no entrenchment of freedom 
She also spoke with authority and with great audacity 
Owning to her greatness, she created a brawny fraternity 

Loosed men and women longed to have her by their side
'Sorry, I'm not your type' she did chide 
They tried to restrain, but they were so much in love 
Her being angry at them only waxed their hearts together in her glove 

Men of great status came to have her
They were with their luxuries - they came from afar 
The splendour of her beauty got them sprawling to the floor 
The radiance of her look made their visions blur

In her, greatness was defined 
There are so many traits of hers which can't be outlined 
She kept her statute; she was a woman of virtue
Her works were known, they reached their plateau 

Of a truth, this woman is a goddess 
And this makes me remember the game of chess
At the end, the king and queen are brought to rear
So also is this woman I saw. Her name is Nigeria.


Copyright © Jimmy Godwin | Year Posted 2014


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You Gotta Have Heart

Tag words: advertising, bebop, bird, bottle, Charlie 
Parker, Coca-Cola, Cole Porter, Dizzy Gillespie,
door, flag, heart, jazz, light bulb, Louis Armstrong,
Miles Davis, palette, Pepsi Cola, pluralism – found
object, retablo painting, sculpture

Arbitrary or subconscious, Saunders picked six.
Man created on the sixth day from darkness;
we came into the light, of knowing, of naming.
Satan, sin held within, black of skin. Oh,
Africa chopped up bleeding, the third world’s
doors shown black, nailed shut. With the skin
of drums, the heel of hand, he pounds the nails
on the trail of the carpenter.

Kept in place, biblical wives of Lot turned to salt,
white-line the globe. White powder, white power,
sugars the unpalpable, addicting, coca leafs and 
caffeine, doping the public, the poor for dimes. 
Reinforcing the lure of the bottle; the cola bottle 
that fell unbroken to earth from the sky in The 
God’s Must Be Crazy. Some have always used their
addictions to create. Like a found objects, we too
fall calling to Mother Mary.



After: The Gift of Presence Raymond Saunders 1993
First Published by Ekphrastic Art:writing and art on art and writing

*Lot the nephew of Abraham, husband of Edith
who was turned to salt.



Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2016


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Sacrificial Lamb

Not all news of its existence brings joy – 
a heartbeat is denied the trumpets
instead, news is shared in long drawn 
out breaths with eyes that never dry. 

A vow was broken long before – 
Those nights, when they turn off the light 
a silence is broken amidst long sighs. 

A creature of habit learns in time certain 
vested interest will come to be expected; 
promises are forgotten in the dark. 

But this is unexpected news; now the light 
need no longer be turned off every night. 

The weeping stops when a decision is made; 
she finds that self-sacrifice does not extend 
beyond the sanctity of life. A creature 
of habit learns hypocrisy the hard way. 


After:  Twilight Confidences by Cecilia Beaux 1888


For Debbie Guzzi's Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 7
Kim Patrice Nunez
14 January 2016


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2016