"ekphrasis" poems - Hello Poetry

Surrealist Cut-up boatman Purple haze contemplative pouring the sky as lone rides the horizon. islanding into the lake, Cubist Arc to the horizon apparition, brooding figure, a form rides in twilight haze junction of the worlds into a slither of light. Literal Purple haze islanding the sky pouring into the lake, as lone boatman rides contemplative into the horizon.

0

Nov 26, 2014

Nov 26, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC

prabhu-iyer

Ekphrasis on Monet - 1

Surrealist Cut-up boatman Purple haze contemplative pouring the sky as lone rides the horizon. islanding into the lake, Cubist Arc to the horizon apparition, brooding figure, a form rides in twilight haze junction of the worlds into a slither of light. Literal Purple haze islanding the sky pouring into the lake, as lone boatman rides contemplative into the horizon.

19

Surrealist Cut-up them of drooping perspective them blue water lilies, branches boughs, the blue wavering illuminated that window is causing These the stars in moonlight, to shiver; late in a ripple, then, blooming The clouds, sky, tither. Figurative-Literal These the stars then, blooming late in the blue sky, a ripple is causing them to shiver; The clouds, perspective branches of drooping boughs, that window them blue water lilies, illuminated in moonlight, wavering tither.

0

Dec 23, 2014

Dec 23, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC

prabhu-iyer

Ekphrasis on Monet - 5

Surrealist Cut-up them of drooping perspective them blue water lilies, branches boughs, the blue wavering illuminated that window is causing These the stars in moonlight, to shiver; late in a ripple, then, blooming The clouds, sky, tither. Figurative-Literal These the stars then, blooming late in the blue sky, a ripple is causing them to shiver; The clouds, perspective branches of drooping boughs, that window them blue water lilies, illuminated in moonlight, wavering tither.

17

Surrealist Cut-up lotus pond lonely on the bridge verdant in spring still in the garden Literal Figurative Lonely bridge on the lotus pond in the still garden verdant in spring

0

Dec 15, 2014

Dec 15, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC

prabhu-iyer

Ekphrasis on Monet - 3

Surrealist Cut-up lotus pond lonely on the bridge verdant in spring still in the garden Literal Figurative Lonely bridge on the lotus pond in the still garden verdant in spring

6

One-sidedly decided arrows, vacillating ellipses; equilaterally considered triangles, biased Isosceles; worlds, whorls, rectangled squares, afflicted rhombuses; A self-destructing nova. The night opens up, a book of wonders across the sky, shining in the stars; broken moon; Wading across ancient expanse. Flashes of illumination: lighted mountain bush, cross rising on the eastern sky; One look at the visage, blooming out of this figure wrapped creeper-like around faint sight, flower emerging in silver light out of the shadows: bubbles, rolling, nonagular, collapsing; Oh pointless ratiocination!

0

Nov 5, 2013

Nov 5, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC

prabhu-iyer

Flashes... | Abstract Ekphrasis

One-sidedly decided arrows, vacillating ellipses; equilaterally considered triangles, biased Isosceles; worlds, whorls, rectangled squares, afflicted rhombuses; A self-destructing nova. The night opens up, a book of wonders across the sky, shining in the stars; broken moon; Wading across ancient expanse. Flashes of illumination: lighted mountain bush, cross rising on the eastern sky; One look at the visage, blooming out of this figure wrapped creeper-like around faint sight, flower emerging in silver light out of the shadows: bubbles, rolling, nonagular, collapsing; Oh pointless ratiocination!

21

GO ! BELOVED MAN ~ go c r e a t e YOU are the CENTRE OF CREATION see these children in my embracing protection I will send them when you are ready we all float flying together confidently but now you must L E A V E, descend our forefingers are disengaging, a pattern paternal, forever humanity will remember this gesture, TWO IN ONE, a HOLDING and LETTING go, sign of GRACEFUL DIVINE INSTRUCTION I birth your progeny, birthing ALL WORLDS this teen your son says : “BE not afraid” he becomes angry as you lounge hesitant, question or plead he is impatient to elevate what you will manifest but wait he must ~ ONLY I control TIME I s t r e t c h Y O U, SON I O P E N S K Y in the eternal Now immersing myself in my creations then letting them GO this is NO FALL call it ART ~ MY COMMAND FOR YOU IS RISE then F ~ L~ Y You are my CHOSEN EYES to eyes THE TIME IS NOW recline no more in cloud beauty endurance is your hallmark ferocity tangos with LOVE I will not forsake you you will soar on my winds they will carry your shapely limbs ready groin will create at my bidding your elegant strong fingers will caress Question not MY IMAGE man of man, woman of woman curved ears hear, wide nostrils breathe life Heart pumping into infinity food will flow from hair to toe tip ACT and RELAX, written into ****** constitution Forever MICHELANGELO, Sculptor humble Genius I saLute you, My own Creation Son of Marbled Art Yours sincerely, GOD

0

Sep 14, 2025

Sep 14, 2025 at 4:42 AM UTC

GDPresence

Creation of Man : Section Sistine Chapel : Michelangelo: Ekphrasis Poem

GO ! BELOVED MAN ~ go c r e a t e YOU are the CENTRE OF CREATION see these children in my embracing protection I will send them when you are ready we all float flying together confidently but now you must L E A V E, descend our forefingers are disengaging, a pattern paternal, forever humanity will remember this gesture, TWO IN ONE, a HOLDING and LETTING go, sign of GRACEFUL DIVINE INSTRUCTION I birth your progeny, birthing ALL WORLDS this teen your son says : “BE not afraid” he becomes angry as you lounge hesitant, question or plead he is impatient to elevate what you will manifest but wait he must ~ ONLY I control TIME I s t r e t c h Y O U, SON I O P E N S K Y in the eternal Now immersing myself in my creations then letting them GO this is NO FALL call it ART ~ MY COMMAND FOR YOU IS RISE then F ~ L~ Y You are my CHOSEN EYES to eyes THE TIME IS NOW recline no more in cloud beauty endurance is your hallmark ferocity tangos with LOVE I will not forsake you you will soar on my winds they will carry your shapely limbs ready groin will create at my bidding your elegant strong fingers will caress Question not MY IMAGE man of man, woman of woman curved ears hear, wide nostrils breathe life Heart pumping into infinity food will flow from hair to toe tip ACT and RELAX, written into ****** constitution Forever MICHELANGELO, Sculptor humble Genius I saLute you, My own Creation Son of Marbled Art Yours sincerely, GOD

42

Surrealist Cut-up pouring in together in the cold, huddled in the harvest Grain-stacks, on the farm from the palms. gathered heavens for Thanking gradient mist clenched the earth in evening skies; Figurative-Literal Grain-stacks, huddled together in cold, gathered on the farm in gradient mist pouring in from the evening skies; Thanking heavens for the harvest the earth in clenched palms.

0

Dec 17, 2014

Dec 17, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC

prabhu-iyer

Ekphrasis on Monet - 4

Surrealist Cut-up pouring in together in the cold, huddled in the harvest Grain-stacks, on the farm from the palms. gathered heavens for Thanking gradient mist clenched the earth in evening skies; Figurative-Literal Grain-stacks, huddled together in cold, gathered on the farm in gradient mist pouring in from the evening skies; Thanking heavens for the harvest the earth in clenched palms.

13

Surrealist Cut-up vanishing illuminated darkness enveloping into figure Faintly Figurative-literal Faintly illuminated figure vanishing into enveloping darkness

0

Dec 13, 2014

Dec 13, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC

prabhu-iyer

Ekphrasis on Monet - 2

Surrealist Cut-up vanishing illuminated darkness enveloping into figure Faintly Figurative-literal Faintly illuminated figure vanishing into enveloping darkness

8

in the lighter steps of yesteryears come the name of which I cannot remember insofar as I am awash with the delusion of what a poem, or what to make out of a poem, or what use is there, to heave out poems – I was then raw, supple if you may allow, like dew on blade of grass, face front against the blithesome matutinal, heart somewhere displaced, beginning to look for something the inward expects, as though things happen for the first time again, with wisdom of what to look for – resigned, young, inconsistent with the word, fetal in my hands: pen and paper. a well-guarded secret swaying in tune, curtailed by some sort of split-second inhibition, trying to save face and give this blandness a whole new meaning and arrive at two intersecting points where the lost self will be redeemed in finding – monologue of sorts, dark it was, dampened by such bleakness, this leitmotif; all around me purged of sound, strip to rogue without senses, suddenness at the tip of my body, lunging at any feat of light that succeeds to champion this behemoth of blackness, to complete this impedance, a singular impetus to fruition ekphrasis, yet not quite, deep in the study again, as though yesteryears are all but the days starting to disintegrate into tiny segments to wreak something devastatingly vague, as in, a language curled in the tongue, relentlessly flexed against the wall of me, losing yet no little piece.

0

Jan 26, 2016

Jan 26, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

Disintegration

in the lighter steps of yesteryears come the name of which I cannot remember insofar as I am awash with the delusion of what a poem, or what to make out of a poem, or what use is there, to heave out poems – I was then raw, supple if you may allow, like dew on blade of grass, face front against the blithesome matutinal, heart somewhere displaced, beginning to look for something the inward expects, as though things happen for the first time again, with wisdom of what to look for – resigned, young, inconsistent with the word, fetal in my hands: pen and paper. a well-guarded secret swaying in tune, curtailed by some sort of split-second inhibition, trying to save face and give this blandness a whole new meaning and arrive at two intersecting points where the lost self will be redeemed in finding – monologue of sorts, dark it was, dampened by such bleakness, this leitmotif; all around me purged of sound, strip to rogue without senses, suddenness at the tip of my body, lunging at any feat of light that succeeds to champion this behemoth of blackness, to complete this impedance, a singular impetus to fruition ekphrasis, yet not quite, deep in the study again, as though yesteryears are all but the days starting to disintegrate into tiny segments to wreak something devastatingly vague, as in, a language curled in the tongue, relentlessly flexed against the wall of me, losing yet no little piece.

25

lacey sea foam tossing through windy air aging man with walking stick and poet's mop of gray hair trudges through sand... halts, leaning on his stick , observing an old woman with shriveled body and age-riddled skin stretched out on a giant towel trying to get a tan [Title Card: Maybe this man, old tattler, esteemed former laureate, is wondering if he could make a sonnet out of this sight. ] he walks on, stooping to pick up a conch shell near his feet looks at it, turns it clock and counter, peers into it holds shell to ear starts slow meditative amble towards mist-waving distance [Title Card: Doesn't it seem he might be hearing humming of every thing's destiny in the brittle pink alleys?]

0

Aug 20, 2016

Aug 20, 2016 at 12:37 AM UTC

ronald-jones

ALONG THE SHORE-an ekphrasis of a silent film clip

lacey sea foam tossing through windy air aging man with walking stick and poet's mop of gray hair trudges through sand... halts, leaning on his stick , observing an old woman with shriveled body and age-riddled skin stretched out on a giant towel trying to get a tan [Title Card: Maybe this man, old tattler, esteemed former laureate, is wondering if he could make a sonnet out of this sight. ] he walks on, stooping to pick up a conch shell near his feet looks at it, turns it clock and counter, peers into it holds shell to ear starts slow meditative amble towards mist-waving distance [Title Card: Doesn't it seem he might be hearing humming of every thing's destiny in the brittle pink alleys?]

10

dead head the roses, suffocate in silk. stifle their feelings. dead head the roses, suffocate in silk, stifle their feelings. bundle them blind with bloodied rags, boiled clean. bind them twice. the smell is decay. Magritte. sbm.

0

Jun 18, 2017

Jun 18, 2017 at 12:38 AM UTC

sonja-benskin-mesher

. ekphrasis challenge - magritte .

dead head the roses, suffocate in silk. stifle their feelings. dead head the roses, suffocate in silk, stifle their feelings. bundle them blind with bloodied rags, boiled clean. bind them twice. the smell is decay. Magritte. sbm.

13

There’s color all around me; I feel it on my skin. But no one else can see it. My color blooms within. I want to speak my colors But I have no mouth. I want to see my face But my body’s inside out. You never see my skin; My blood and bones hide it. Wings and snakes and flowers, They're all that you can get. My color blooms within, But I’ve shared it with you. I’ve given my reds and yellows To the rest of the world's blues.

0

Nov 11, 2019

Nov 11, 2019 at 12:19 PM UTC

makaed

An Ekphrasis poem to Hyman Bloom

There’s color all around me; I feel it on my skin. But no one else can see it. My color blooms within. I want to speak my colors But I have no mouth. I want to see my face But my body’s inside out. You never see my skin; My blood and bones hide it. Wings and snakes and flowers, They're all that you can get. My color blooms within, But I’ve shared it with you. I’ve given my reds and yellows To the rest of the world's blues.

16