Best Ekphrasis Poems
Like no one before, nor since
you painted that starry night in oils
superimposing your life story.
I feel I know this idyllic village
blanketed by tranquil rolling hills
embraced by calming olive trees
their very branches a symbol of peace
the steadfast church steeple
a sacred echo of the stalwart cypress.
But never have I witnessed
hills so inflamed - burning to tell the world their history
a moon so agitated - suffering from an incurable insanity
the night sky so frenzied - seeking answers to life's suffering
such undulating indigo eddies of despondency and confusion
or stars radiating with such feverish beauty - concentric circles of passion.
That starry night
you painted stars that, like you, are light years away from anyone else
looking on the serene village scene from an insurmountable distance
for you saw things, Vincent,
like no one before, nor since.
[free verse ekphrasis of the painting "The Starry Night" by Vincent Van Gogh]
Written 5 Jul 2020
Painting by Edvard Munch, 1895: "Moon Light"
your soft hand trembles in mine
no words are spoken
we observe our ascending full moon
as we have every month for forty years
empyrean empress rises to her throne
queen regent of the night sky reigning
over brooding blue bay and melancholic mountains
as predictable as death
we again sit in our folding chairs
whispering under our favorite tree
anticipating the coming light show
enjoying her long bridal veil
shimmering in the existential ripples
a nocturne of nebulous narratives
stopping at the shore line
stopping
she inevitably will descend
the shroud of shadow will cover the land
comforted that tomorrow will awaken
to a resplendent sun
and next month will bring another full moon
the doctor said three weeks
so this will probably be our last
your soft hand trembles in mine
no words are spoken
written 11 July 2023
Frozen flames pressed between each sheet
I flip every page while taking notes
Censoring every event in my past
I fall deep when staring at the painting on the wall
Every blink feels the same when in love
However, on this one night, I stumbled
On a certain page, I found my heart beating twice
The roof at this moment allowed the moon to illuminate inside.
A memory unfolded while I held your hand,
Repainting our years, a devoted love
At the heart of everything, I've forgotten this feeling
The canvas opens more than an old chapter
the beautiful canvas, tied by solid gold.
Flames brush every wall as we age as one
In perfect harmony. TOGETHER
Laminating our love forever
1-06-2016
from beyond his
vibrant palette
that bore all his
lifelong scars
is what I see
beneath his sky
and myriad
of stars
a scene of shades
and silhouettes
formed by the
yellow light
that hints at
The Last Supper
at that café
in the night?
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
oh ...
Gustav, how you pique the senses
captured passion's plural tenses
lovers twined in percale folds
caught supine with spattered golds
porcelain dolls in fetal slumbers
brushed sublime in tans and umbers
bold, the bleeds of Burnt Sienna
stippling scapes of fair Vienna
Yellow Ochre, Prussian Green
Cadmium Yellow, Blue Indanthrene
trees like soldiers, lilting boughs
abstractions spun of silken vows
ceilings meant to thus adorn
gilded graces - Heaven-borne
waters, tranquil - tresses, bare
a world composing textures, rare
you struggled long to e'er refine
your critics and uncommon line
subjects some then found appalling
yet, remained, your faithful calling
imbibing absinthe, sans a chaser
life you sketched with no eraser
and while we mortals can but dream
you left the world your gauzy gleam
so death would not define the worth
of genius meant to shake ...
the earth.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Klimt" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Judge & Sponsor.
nothing spoils this surface view ~ see me
crave attention, gift empty touch
tonal mask veils flaws and vices
face alter ego and kneel
to feed the shallow shadow that circles
~ around gossamer tears of the grieving moon,
as silenced streaks of tongue-twisted lines,
undress a puddle of poisoned stars
pull force imperceptible, attraction
lost in blissful contemplation
comatose until that last equation
gravitational persuasion creating longing
but will the lake that flows with fears
thaw words tangled in golden chains?
for I’ve drowned in liquified lies,
drawing perfection from imperfect reflections
delve to the depths of my spun world
peripheral interference dissipates in darkness
only requirement is carved version of self
that steadies my hand and drags me in
sinking beneath Narcissus's polluted undertow
tainted oxygen leaves my expanding lungs
hitting jagged rocks, spoiled skin shreds,
exposing a forgotten empath ~ salvation rises
The searing sun has long been a revolving revelation of angst,
repelling songs of the skies, sung by the strings of the wings.
Pallid, poised only by muscle memory - a compositional backdrop,
past the point of revival, yet something inside me still ticks.
A trembling truth that never drifts,
these broken blues: a silent shadow with loud hues.
The bones of me, tunelessly picked out,
until I'm the aching hollow of unamplified sound.
Where do breathing colors of me sleep,
when deadly nights of the air eclipse upon the web once woven by whispers?
Death just a dropped chin and averted eye,
the slow slump of a sinner's stagnant dirge plays out.
Let those cobalt stones cease writings from vicious veins,
where wilting roses dip their thorns in starry puddles with no name.
Now begging for exsanguination of my pain,
the measure of a man captured, still, in expired offerings of disdain.
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"
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
Stir my moonlight coffee
with your freshly dipped brush
in bright yellow ochre ~
I will not complain.
Sprinkle pigments from
from your pallets
on my unflavoured coffee~
I will not complain.
Even when
your indigo eyes
spill Prussian blue
to veil my night sky~
I will not complain.
Come sit with me
share this coloured coffee
on this café terrace
where unfinished canvases
lean on metaphoric walls,
where unwritten poems
bathe beneath starry nights.
Roots and Dandelion Dreams: A Mother's Heart
- Daniel Henry Rodgers
Roots and Dandelion Dreams: A Mother's Heart
- Daniel Henry Rodgers
At dawn's first blush,
milkweed pods,
burst with a sigh,
A feathery shower of,
silk sending secrets...
on the wind's soft cry.
Yesterday they wore a crown of pink
Today they are set free;
like dandelion dreams floating on the vast sea
a thousand wishes taking flight.
I see you spinning gracefully
on dandelion fluff.
each strand like a
glowing thread
forming a halo.
Your laughter flows like
a babbling
brook over stones.
while your tears resemble mist
clinging to ferns in
the whisping breeze.
As twilight falls and fireflies twinkle
like scattered stars,
a new constellation is born.—
a flickering dance in the dimming light
as transient, as a summer evening.
In your eyes wild irises bloom
reflecting the evening sky as
they search for their fragrance.
Amidst meadowlarks songs
welcoming the dawn in morn.
my heart remains intertwined
with yours like a nurturing vine
that delves into the soil
forever connected to you.
You write the poetry of life
moments full of freedom.
Like a ballet of butterflies
a child experiencing wonder,
both wild and free.
No need,
for preaching!
just the melody of the wind
whispering through
the pine trees.
A communication,
a connection that binds eternally.
With patience engraved
in the face of mountains
I stand as a protector.
a sanctuary in this forests
intricate beauty.
While shadows dance in a transient
vanishing performance
My love stands firm like
a redwood sentinel enduring
all challenges.
In the settling of dusk,
where fireflies sparkle,
My presence is like a meadow
where bluebirds dream.
For you,
my child,
are a hawk,
on the wind's caress.
Soaring on thermals,
a spirit,
etched upon your face.
My heart,
a beacon's steady fire,
guiding,
through the unknown,
In this life's,
choreography,
bathed in your,
boundless exploration.
Mother
Sheltering, strong
Branches rustle tales
Roots grip the earth deep
Child
The sun’s sparkling streaks,
of sangria grace,
descend upon
the malachite verdant valley;
world of pristine mountains,
and evergreen tales of
rainbow hued meadows.
Where medieval castles
are guarded with a fragrant
fortress of blushing flowers,
enveloped in topaz gold beams.
She walks along the
fields of redolent reveries,
where hope sprouts
like the rising moon-
whispering secrets to
the whimsical wind,
in mystical musicality,
whilst butterflies
rest upon her ebony hair,
choreographing a
three dimensional
ballet in ethereal delight,
cradling and mirroring the
dancing spirit in
emerald elegance.
Her chrysalis heart
nurtures their sanctuary
with sanguine serenades,
for she is the queen
of azure wings,
dressed in timeless mists;
her mind is wrapped
in kaleidoscope clouds
draped in pearl crescent dust,
fluttering and twirling with
twinkling stars between
fragile thin veins,
like delicate petals
woven from a tapestry
of thriving dreams.
Yet the sound of
unsung songs drift
along shadowed skies-
of champagne and
rosemary rays,
fleeting like waning colors,
longing to spread floral arms,
to sketch watercolor
paintings from
dandelion desires-
to be heard and seen
beyond the creek of thorns
and thistles,
as peacock feathers soar
amongst petrichor leaves swaying
to the celestial tunes of her life-
amidst raining regrets
a devoted warrior never lets
eclipsed spheres dim
their light upon her sight.
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
When love is torn asunder and there is nothing left but dissent,
a lover's heart will be shattered, mortally wounded and rent.
In a relationship that was once held as sacred and eternal,
sorrow takes a heavy toll on the one left behind, and infernal
flames of grief scorch the lonely heart so that it must dwell,
suffering in what seems like the fiery abyss of emotional hell.
Forlorn the man when his once-upon-a-time love went astray,
and became a wraith without a face. She refused to stay.
Dressed in bridal gown, perhaps she seeks a new marriage mate,
a man who will please her instead of treating her like a roommate.
She looks forward to a brighter future than one she's left behind,
wondering why she married him. How could she have been so blind?
Could it be there's another side to the separation of two lovers?
In death she was buried in a white shroud. Sorrowfully, he hovers.
A bouquet of crimson flowers he's brought to leave at her grave
but he cannot bear to look at the tomb. Today, he's not that brave.
Ghostlike she appears to him, a wispy figure, floating in the mist.
He's haunted by memories of the lips he'd passionately kissed.