Love Ekphrasis Poems | Examples
These Love Ekphrasis poems are examples of Ekphrasis poems about Love. These are the best examples of Ekphrasis Love poems written by international poets.
poetic art
a brush stroke, perhaps a word...
so daring in its galliant debut -
onward...pulsing, pushing...
perhaps a time of remembrance...
perhaps an inkling to stir the mind...
drifting, searching...
of all the childhood haunts...
I remember your first endeavor ....
of leather and lace
Colors traced
And a sense of freedom
Through the fields of youth
silent
typical
visibly
passive
an
idealised
profile
so
natural
caressed
by
love
in
faithful
marital
perfection
USPS Stamps Contest 7-24-25 Stamp Chosen American Treasures Louis Comfort Tiffany 2006 Tiffany believed stained glass was a spiritual experience.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Through a Tiffany Window
Touched by the whisper of a coral dawn,
Morning opens a casement portal
And steps into a garden –
A crystalline cathedral -
Where the alabaster breath of dawn
Enchants dusk
With rippled amber rhythms
In between ascending yellows
Spoken as a love poem.
First light
Shapes daylight
Fragments of lavender
Perfume iris’ blooms
Roundels of golden petals
Sing
With southern smiles
In magnolia blooms
Spoken as a tender sonnet in glass.
Serenity speaks in daybreak
Hushed murmurs
Of a trickling river,
Born in blue-grey mountains,
Silently slide
Into azure waters
As opaque morning mists
Float
Above sapphire stillness
Frosted grace
Clothes hills
In rounded curves of blues
And moss
Aurora’s triumph snug
In lines of armature
The glazers journey
Hones broken shards
Into beauty.
A banner flutters in miniature pride,
stars frozen mid-waltz, stripes folding
like gentle waves—
a tiny chorus of red, white, blue.
I imagine the seam of that paper flag,
its edges serrated like hopeful teeth,
waiting to bite into air,
to sail across neighborhoods on whispered wings.
Each star is a promise—
a small light in a massive sky.
Each stripe, a pulse:
resilience, unity, churned history distilled
into red—blood, courage, sacrifice.
At the bottom: FREEDOM—
a single word anchored in gray,
soft as ash and loud as a marching drum
pressed into one corner,
a vow to endure beyond the moment.
I see letters etched beneath fingers,
penned in midnight lamps—
love letters to mothers and soldiers,
invitations to lonely birthdays,
apologies and confessions sent
with trembling stamps of hope.
On this paper flag, we bind our stories.
It’s less about the pride of nations,
more about the weight of our words
and the silent faith that someone, somewhere,
will hold that flag
and read our hearts.
I happen to take Art classes in oils. My teacher directed me to Van Gogh's Flores:
I am not sure what it's called. But I am very impressed with it's colors of yellow, maze and the swirls of a blue vase. It appears that the painting is all swirls. I can't imagine how it was done. But it presents itself as a plain and effortless painting.
As this is all new to me as a new Artist of oil painting, this will be a great challenge. Anything "Blue" is my favorite color.
The painting has brown in its background. I believe judging from the picture it was one of his best masterpieces.
I usually color with pencils, and have very little knowledge in coloring in oils. Again this will be challenging. However, I am going to love it.
One might ask what does this have to do with USPS Stamps? However, I believe the Post Office did select stamps from various Artists and a few were from Van Gogh's Flores: "The Sun Flower" and a picture of Van Gogh himself.
Form : Double Tetractys
love
expressed
surreal
heart opens mind
queen mumtaz essence eternal captured
embodied geometry world wonder
shah voiced sacred
masterpiece
power
grand
Written July 14, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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So tiny, yet so vast: a square of purple flame,
A postal stamp formed from forever lame.
Houses at its center a half-cast, cloudy glass,
Trapped in a gilded cage of grief and lilac crevasse.
Bedecked in the hue of storm-light, a figure stands,
A gaze carved from ache, hair as comet strands.
Static roses, suffused in blue, stood behind,
Each petal burned by cords, yet spirit did not mind.
Rain doesn't soak into his skin or asphalt as he vies,
Yet, unshed tears flow from the dream to the sky.
The water leaves his clothing with faint rings,
But in this dampness, nostalgia unfurls its wings.
O, how you bend and blaze, purple witness—
A design firmly woven into the yarn of threnody.
Your quiet strength lingers as words fade,
A melody that pain cannot shatter or jade.
Let this stamp be a symbol in all mortal prayer—
For timid souls who dare not weep amid silk fare.
A poignant lament for love wrapped in mauve grief,
A message sent to a visitor, destined for the glyph.
This stamp brings visions to our eyes
Of years gone by, in summer's skies.
He left to join our freedom's sound;
And band of brothers, there he found.
To guard our freedom, his thoughts turned-
For love of country surely burned;
With comrades joined, to then unfold
a unity of strength untold.
Two hundred fifty years this year
Marine Corps- still, to us so dear!
This stamp will proudly send our mail.
With thanks, all veterans we hail!
Gate or Gates 7-1-25 Based on Rodin’s Gates of Hell. It struck me that Rodin’s gates are closed which made me think of a pastor who said he would want to set up a mission at the gates of hell, that maybe, there might be one last chance of forgiveness. Agree or disagree, theologically correct or not, this poem is just my musings based on this perception by Rodin – the acceptance or rejection of grace - forgiveness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gates of Hell
Mercy stands outside
The GHOSTLY gates of hell
Spreading amazing wings
Benevolence
In GOSSAMER compassion
GRIEF-STRICKEN
At the sight of unquenchable fires
For souls born from the pure fire of love
GROANING with tender clemency
Offering the finality of forgiveness,
Amnesty born from an empty GRAVE
In a garden,
An empty cross on a bloodstained hill,
Armors built in plates of arrogance
Scream,
Dissolve,
In the acid of this reality
Grace, never GODFORSAKEN,
Offers a chalice of ruth
For the ruthless,
A breath of pardon
At the execution of a soul –
Pilgrim thinker
Sits outside the gates of hell –
Building a mission on closed gates.
Our Time Together
hand in hand we stroll
window shopping our wishes
together on the couch trading laughs
as we guess the Jeopardy questions
making small talk over a dinner
we prepared together
hiking along our favorite trail
taking in the beauty of nature
art galleries are your favorite
and you fish with me
a gentle smile at the end of
a long day or a knowing glance
at night in bed, we caress each other
and talk of our time together
we run our fingers through
each other’s hair and we touch
The sisters calmly sit~
not as muses,
but as morning light caught in linen~
one leaning gently into the other’s calm,
as if sisterhood were
just a dream.
The elder holds
a silence far beyond her years,
her fingers a quiet shield
over the other’s fluttering world.
She is stillness, composed, watchful~
a portrait of care before language names it.
The younger rests
wide-eyed, soul blooming,
a child who doesn’t yet know
what it means to be seen.
In her gaze, a question,
in her posture, a trust
only the very young can wear.
Their hair is a spiral of a notebook,
loose thoughts escaping the brush,
stories curling behind ears
too small for the weight
their father’s love will leave behind.
He painted them not to capture,
but to remember~
not daughters,
but moments
the lean of a head,
the hush of a room,
the pause before childhood
folds itself away.
Moonlit Shipwreck At Sea, 1901 Thomas Moran (1837-1926)
A misty memory
Touch a bleeding heart
Through a moonlit beam
Peering from storm clouds
A light of hope
Revealing a story
To late to redeem
Upon the sea
Crystalline drops
Dancing free
Touch facets
In the mind
Of painted memories
Drowning dreams
Crying in pain
Write a story of love
Floating
In a distant galaxy
Mesmerizing
Melancholy
Leaves a haunting
Brush stroke
Upon the moon
Slipping away
Fur bounds, through the cottony breeze, to me.
On a warm, summery day,
the scent of dog resounds.
A wet nose, commiserate smile and hug.
Against my skin, he reclines.
I’m always home with him.
His eyes, see not, purple flowers blooming;
not intuitive of hue;
but bud’s loyal as bees.
My shoulder’s bare, does he know skin, or care?
He stays very close to me
and wanders nearly far.
My pretty dress and handsome hat amidst
the enchantment of meadow.
He doesn’t know its charm.
Obeys, he stays, protects territory.
A fine life, with benefits;
faithful to each other.
Blood Moon
I gaze at the full moon
now bloody, weeping red tears
a symbol of our sacrifices
and the love we lost
Where beauty
meets passion
the scarlet
of compassion
the emblem
of love
of heart's greatest
emotion thereof
God's trampled
red rose
a messenger of hope
He chose
sacrificed His child
in a world
sin beguiled
thorns on His head
the Rose
of Sharon bled
divine love seen
His blood red
washed us clean
His child reborn
no more stung
by sin thorn
my soul
now glows
inspired by
the perfect
red
rose