Ekphrastic Challenge 9
The winning poem and a selection chosen by editor and judge, Emily Tee
Artwork by Eoin Lane
Eoin's painting for this contest easily brought in the most entries of any contest so far in the year since I became the judge. That of course means a tough time choosing not just the winner but narrowing down the pieces to include in the newsletter. Thank you to everyone who engaged with writing to this fabulous painting, and especially the winner for producing such a well crafted and engaging poem. Thank you to everyone who submitted and congratulations to this month´s winner John Muro, and special mention too for the following poems “Internal landscape”, “Looking long”, and “The landscape”. Congratulations to all whose poems are included below.
-Emily Tee, editor and judge of our Ekphrastic Challenges.
Congratulations to John Muro from the USA for his winning poem “Dispersal”! A Wee Sparrow Poetry Press notebook is winging its way to him.
Dispersal It’s difficult to recall a day such as this when a sky of breathtaking blue has gone gossamer, steadily dwindling and giving way to clouds that seem to dissolve in an expansive sleep of water, leaving to me this fugitive landscape and the brief quieting that comes when day offers up the last of its splendor and, for a moment, heaven becomes a place that’s indistinguishable from the contour of the earth and the sudden spill of the divine presses against all things, as the tide softly swells then retracts, haunting the soul with its diffused murmur, and a warm wind, hushed and heavy-hearted, too, in its passing, extinguishes the last light before giving way to a lone sentinel’s eerie bellow, leaving the weighted air infused with plum-rose splatter and the pungent smell of pine. - The Lough's embrace All around is blue, all that matters in this place, this sea, this sky, this stone on shore, this seaweed lough we call home. Every year as Solstice draws near, it happens at dawn and at dusk in the liminal space, that all manner of portals appear to open and beckon the magic to rise. One by one they come out of the gloaming, the elementals leading us on over winter's palest blue tide upwards towards Scrabo Tower where we soar to new heights, bird-like watching heaven's clouds mirrored in powder blue sea below. Our worries will be washed away on the tide one by one, dispersing through the upside-down sky, through the lough's embrace. We will be reborn with new sight to take flight and welcome the dawn, a new blue of thought ebbing outwards. Caitríona Ní Laighin Letterfrack, Co. Galway - Across The Bay Across the bay, the last rays of the sunset fall I see the distant hills and a tower standing tall With a secret there to be discovered for us all Now, even in this twilight, it is finally in view Much to be examined, as to whether it is true The grey mist may take no prisoners, it seems Tomorrow may offer me a crossing of the bay A time for determination and courage, I’d say Yet still with the prospect of another tiring day When I reach the tower, responding to its pull I’ll seek the whole truth, to be answered in full No longer the quest that is the stuff of dreams Howard Osborne UK - The Knowing the mountain presides over the sage’s ashram blessed and pure mapped and charted it's a beacon of wisdom for all who seek its light hopeful aspirants knock at its doors to find the truth of their existence silently they meditate quietly absorbing the essence of their being in circumambulation old ignorance bows to the fire of Knowledge soon they return whence they came, hearts brimming with songs of universal life feet wearing down stones mountain and ashram abide Rupa Anand New Delhi, India - the lookout a young man flails in the water, his thin arms tiring minute by minute as storm clouds grow in their ferocity. I’m just an old woman, brittle and frail—all alone. this wheelchair defines me now; every day, a solitary futility. my sole joy, this view from my bay window, the tranquil waters of Lonesome Pond. the daughter I gave away haunts me. has she, too, floundered in life? child, have you been treated well? does love sit with you each day? I no longer wonder if I might someday learn your name. 9-1-1 is all I could do for you, young man. but even then, arthritic fingers prevented a quick dial. the sirens grow louder. can you hold on just a bit longer? I did what I could. I did what I could. Julie Allyn Johnson USA - Internal Landscape I dream of a place. Mountains, reflections, symmetry and clouds, depths I can’t fathom. But you know it already. Landed on your knees navigated highs and lows, dropped a plumb line, found equilibrium between real and imagined at the water’s edge on a rocky shore. Janet Laugharne Wales, UK - The Landscape Twin hills drawn as proud breasts, the body flowing away, glistening with post-coital sheen trickling into the artist's subconscious, lapping around dreams, desires, terrors. Mam Eire—she of the inspired poets, rebels, dreamers; of the gab, the craic— with dislocated shoulder and cold Atlantic arse, shifts her gashed and bloody body through years of hunger, tears of blight. The Liffey flows from between her thighs, nine parts stout, one part life-water, pissing into the Irish Sea, sending floods of her children to work the world and return with stories of bravado, of daring-do-wells, or never to return, never. Oh painter, paint! Send them your siren colours, woo them, sing them home, inspire memories and tears, reel them back to Mam Eire’s emerald teat. Ben Bruges UK - Even when you are lost You are still At peace with finding your way back To the shore Never sure when darkness lifts But you know it will Become mist Become light Without you ever having to fight for it. Lisa O´Hare UK - Calm to quake The faintest moments Become more defined with time The breathing mountains Become like dragons The lightheaded clouds Like thunderstorms The dull sunsets Like revelation A scene that At first glance Resembles the moon Cast on a daytime sky Familiar but unearthly Steady but spinning In my memory I listen To the voice of the shore Sure that everything will shift In my heart I listen To the thinking lithosphere Certain our guide posts will fall River Ripa USA - a distant light house sucking in all the war greys tall yet all alone a path lights the dark of night sail on by a clear blue sky Hla Yin Mon Yangon, Myanmar - Looking Long Spot the monolith that marks the way and the feeling of being watched, even long abandoned. Climb round its tower, spiraling by incision eyes. Once occupied it becomes sighted. Watch the watched become the watcher, like the land attentive. Ring the bell, long lost within. Replace all missing songs with your singing. John Paul Caponigro USA
Here´s Emily Tee´s wonderful poem -
I put myself in the picture "The artist should paint not only what he sees before him, but also what he sees within him." - Casper David Friedrich standing on the shore, eyes drawn to the tower it's hard not to think of the folly of a rich man despite the solemn beauty of the evening light the sky holds inky hints of a kind of darkness the lough water, blue as any exotic lagoon, catches the last pink tinges of the setting sun mists stretch into the distance, hide rolling hills, their purples fading farther, hiding lands far afield this place calls deeply for connection, reflection as evening storms form, ready to strike, to interrupt the first ripples reach the shore, a breeze is rising - my own spirit moves to this outer foreshadowing I look back to the folly, the tower. I see no beacon, but a lighthouse warning of hidden rocks, coming dangers I am the Rückenfigur, standing at the edge of the frame I am the lightning rod drawing all these feelings into me
Thank you so much to all the poets who submitted. We will be opening submissions for our 10th Ekphrastic Challenge in the new year.
A wee reminder that submissions for our monthly Wee Sparrow Haiku Nook are open until the 15th December. You can read the full guidelines on our website here.
Stay well and stay creative.
Claire
Wee poet sparrow watercolour by Colin Thom
Such a beautiful painting, and the responses are all lovely. It is easy to see why the one that won did so--very powerful and descriptive.
Incredible the unique yet interconnected expressions 💕💕