#ekphrastic poem

[amalgamationink]

a eulogy for my son, who will not hear it

I would say “you’ll understand when you’re older”, but I suppose therein lies the rub. I would explain myself— tell you the grown-up truths of regret and shame and survival, and the fact of the matter being that all children are inevitably failed by their parents so, forgive me, but you’re lucky that I got it out of the way so quickly and made a spectacle to boot— but I should have done that when you still had ears. And anyway it’s rude to talk with your mouth full. Something else I would have taught you if I’d only had the time.

If it’s any consolation, they will not look kindly on me. I will be the monster who consumed his son, who knelt in a bloom of copper and salt and tore the babe to shreds. There is little room for nuance when I am stuffed so full of flesh. Did you know that it was you or me? Parenthood is about sacrifices, and I couldn’t bear to lay myself upon the altar. Forgive me. They are welcome to their judgement. When they discover the knives in their backs, gifts from their precious lambs, they will understand. Or they won’t. I won’t ask.

It was you or me, you know. You had my eyes, my mouth, my hunger. These were gifts from my father, once, and he fell at my hands for them. Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, forgive me — I could not play his part for you. Your gifts were mine to give, and mine to repossess. The revolution ends with me. I have done what I must to survive you. Part of you will survive with me, resting somewhere in the caverns of my gut. We will share the blame. You couldn’t help your birthright. I couldn’t let you keep it. Believe it or not, this hurt me more than it hurt you.

I picture you serene. Better than picturing you headless, bloodied, between my fingers. In the depths of me, there is a quiet peace, drowning the sense memory of the snap of your spine. The fruit of my loins had tender skin, and it burst ripe and sweet between my teeth. Even in my grief, my mouth waters. They will say that my consumption has cost me the right to mourn, but nothing else can hurt you now. I have saved you a lifetime of little agonies. It was violence as an act of love, a shield from harm. It was you or me. It had to be me. You understand. I know you do. Forgive me.

(inspired by Goya's painting, Saturn Devouring His Son).

#went off-prompt for this day. just wasn't feeling it rly and i had written about this painting for class from the perspective of an outsider #and my professor was like ''a rly interesting poem would be one from the perspective OF saturn in this painting.'' and i went ''bet.'' #i'm not sure if this is good Per Se but it was an interesting exercise. #spilled ink #spilled poetry #napowrimo #ekphrastic poetry #ekphrastic poem #saturn devouring his son #abuse poetry #poets on tumblr #prose poetry #prose poem #tw abuse #tw cannibalism #napowrimo 2023 #napowrimo day 6 #damien.txt

[helenewate]

Beautiful Death

—after Botanica No. 23 by Gail Potocki

Bursting.

I am bursting at the seams. From within me, a rustle of leaves.

My skin severs, there becomes two of me. It stings, this gruesome separation of being.

Cold air floods my open wound, and I begin to bleed.

Blooming.

A buddling, from every last pump of my heart; each beat, a sproutling in the cavity.

Desecration pollinates my bloodstream. Death parrots the stench of beauty.

Begging.

There are roots in me and they are plenty.

I cannot contain them all, who must I beg for mercy?

Even in death, they will beautifully defile me.

— helene wate, aka olivia garrett

#helenewate #my words #helene’s poetry #ekphrastic poem #ekphrastic poetry #poetry #horror poetry #horror poem

[poisoned-jet]

at the chance i ever said, “don’t tell me what it’s like to lose someone”

I know when his body hit the ground you had a smile of your face

Did you imagine me crying, tears dripping to the bass

of your battlecry. 

Where the sweet music ceased as you tried to be sly

Stealing my love away from me

You ripped my armour from his body.

Leaving him defenseless, where was your pity?

You didn’t even let him try to flee,

Did you dance in his blood while he was in shock

Apollo took your hand as you planned to drag him around the city blocks

You laughed as his simple spear splintered

Where his beautiful eyes widened in surprise,

Do you take pride knowing you stopped him the last time he reentered

Was it of fear that you would lose another nine men

But instead of going again

He was on the ground with his chestplate split

But you don’t have enough witt

To realize I would come after you

With the help of Ares you are my muse

Did you think you would not feel the wrath of me?

Oh dear Hector, darling

Make sure you stay alert

I hope you look into my eyes as I bloodstain your night shirt.

#patroclus #achilles x patroclus #achillesandpatroclus #ekphrastic poem #patroclus death #patrochilles #love poem #hate poem #grief poem #i wrote this like a year ago but i just remembered my friend is a patrochilles shipper lol

[hotwraithbones]

Continuous Cities 6 (A continuation of Italy Calvino’s Invisible Cities) by Ami J. Sanghvi

—Published in Prometheus Dreaming Magazine’s 2019 Prometheus Unbound anthology; semifinalist 🥀🌹

#amaranth #amaranthine #prometheus #invisible cities #magical realism #italo calvino #ekphrastic poem #ekphrastic poetry #ekphrasis #metaphysical #survivor #prose #prose writing #experimental writing #writing experiment #art experiment #indie art #indie author #parafiction #poets on tumblr #experimental #experimental poetry #indie writer #poetry blog #queer poetry #queer bipoc #desi writers #support indie authors #indie press #indie publishing

[papers-in-the-attic]

gorgeous symphony / like a lake singing / put it together / with a forest of live music / rock us about

Poem © Dianne Cikusa 2022  //  Digital art by @dreamrecycler1

~

#magnetic poetry #original poem #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #art and poetry #ekphrastic poem #digital art #poetry #female poets #poetic #short poem #thoughts #poeticstories #spilled poems #art #ekphrastic art #spilled words #music

[bunnybearblogs]

Two Rivers

One of red, one of white

Forever running side by side.

Opposing currents that take travelers far away.

Always going,

Going,

Going.

The rivers ebb and flow

Sometimes sluggish and slow.

Other times rushing and racing.

Always going,

Going,

Going.

They go anywhere and everywhere

On fantastic journeys to places rare.

Just ride the currents that are

Always going,

Going,

Going.

#original poem #poetry #ekphrastic #ekphrastic poem

[atompowers]

Why so much life? I don’t know what to do with less I have given up all I have.

—Ilya Kaminsky, A Walking Man

From a new poem in partnership with the National Gallery of Art: A Walking Man by Ilya Kaminsky

“Giacometti is not working for his contemporaries, nor for the future generations: he is creating statues to delight the dead.” –Jean Genet

#Giacometti #alberto giacometti #poetry #ekphrastic #poem #ilya kaminsky #A Walking Man #Art #Poetry #Poem #ekphrasis #ekphrastic poem #existentialism #DC #DC poem #Washington DC #DMV #quote #quotes #inspiration

[loveisadonkey]

Van Gogh Forgetting to Breathe While Furiously Painting Trees

An unfinished poem. Ready to grow, we’ll see where it goes:

[Van Gogh Forgetting to Breathe While Furiously Painting Trees]

Unable to express their fears

they burst at the seams.

So he paints them bright

without mouths

#poetry #poem #words #spilled ink #writing #work in progress #van gogh #vincent van gogh #painting #ekphrastic poem #art #breathing

[ek-phrase-is]

The Lament For Icarus (1898) by Herbert Draper

The Lament of Icarus

The stories will tell you

That my wings were fragile

That my feathers were bound with wax

And the heat of the sun was my demise

But as I lay here in the laps of my would-be saviors

I find my wings intact

I am still blinded from the sun

But under my hands

They feel the same as they did

In my father’s workshop

Soft and strong and free

The stories will tell you it was my hubris

And the heat too close to the sun

But the truth is that my hands are weak with chill

My toes bitten with frostbite

My skin chafed by icy wind

Apollo is not a warm god

When he showed himself to me the first time

It was in a dark corner of our prison

Shrouded in shadows and frost

I did not believe he was the sun

He whispered the idea of wings

Into my father’s ear

As I watched from that same corner

Eager to be free

Free with him

He told me the sky would be warm

He told me I would make it high enough

If I could just make it high enough

He would bring me home to him

The tips of my fingers are wet

From the ice dripping from my feathers

And the ocean I plummeted so far into

This stone, even shaded by cliffs

Is warmer than my sun god ever was

My would-be saviors are crying, now

Nymphs, maybe, or dryads

One with her arm beneath my head

Her skin, cooler than any human’s would be

Is warmer than mine

With her hand pressed to my ribcage

She can tell my oh-so-human heart

Isn’t beating

In the shade of these ivory cliffs

I am shielded from Apollo himself

His glare

But I can still feel his gaze

He knows I am dead

Perhaps he meant it that way

Perhaps I was an idle game of gods

Or perhaps

He intended to free me

From the cold grasp of life

Into the warm cradle of death

#my poetry #my writing #poetry #ekphrasis poetry #ekphrastic poem #the lament for icarus #herbert draper #icarus and apollo #icarus

[arrynnat]

Wrath--an ekphrastic haiku

by Arryn Liu 

Grey storm clouds close in

upon the red horizon; 

the mountains collapse. 

(The Great Day of His Wrath, John Martin 1853) 

#poetry #TUMBLR POETRY #ekphrastic poem #ekphrasis #ekphrastic poetry #John martin #the great day of his wrath #spilled ink #haiku #haiku poetry #haiku poem

[tryst-art-archive]

Poetry Class Final Compilation: [The title's long so it's below]

(May 2011; this was previously "Untitled, 2011")

Untitled, 2003 (of which there are actually several, it turns out)

Nurses grow poppies –

            or tomatoes.

A nurse grows,

and there are lions and boars –

            birds of prey –

they have each other’s bodies –

            men with feline faces and breasts

under the bristles of hogs –

they are the aphids on our tiger lilies.

Pluck a Chinese dragon from

the branches of your staring poppy/tomato plant;

            tell me that it does not swoon!

for it is beneath your iron grasp, and –

that smug smirk of yours;

why do you detest nature? –

give me the zodiac animal, and

            I shall save him from the jeers

of your raucous bulbs. Go –

grow your flowers elsewhere, sweet nurse;

            there is no call for talking fruit.

#old writing #writing archive #TrysKits work #poetry #assignments #ekphrastic poem #Marcel Dzama

[ivors20]

I Am Going To Die

I Am Going To Die

Featured Image Above; ‘Waiting for Rainfall – Winton Wetlands, a painting by Geelong Artist/Poet, Jo Curtain, and the image was this weeks Geelong Writers Inc. Ekphrastic Photo Prompt, that subsequently inspired my ‘morbid’ poem below I Am Going to DieI am a fish out of water Writhing and flopping In this polluted puddle Splosh! Another toxic garbage bag Squelches by How did I ever…

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#Ekphrastic Poem #Melancholy #Music #Poetry/Australia

[i-am-nobody-poetry]

“The Starry Night” by Anne Sexton

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of—shall I say the word—religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars. Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother

The town does not exist except where one black-haired tree slips up like a drowned woman into the hot sky. The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.   Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive. Even the moon bulges in its orange irons   to push children, like a god, from its eye. The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.   Oh starry starry night! This is how   I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,   sucked up by that great dragon, to split   from my life with no flag, no belly, no cry.

#poem of the day #poem #poetry #daily poetry #bidaily poetry #anne sexton #the starry night #vincent van gogh #confessional poetry #ekphrastic poem #ekphrastic poetry #not mine

[katygorl]

“The Thoughts Swirling Around”

Cold and desolate, this tiny room feels like to me.

‘They put you here’, my thoughts, they whisper so intrusively.

‘Stop it’, I whisper back to them, though they hear hardly a word I say.

It feels so lonely here today.

‘Enough with this!’ I shout out loud, for I have had enough!

I shake my head, to get the thoughts out, to have them stop giving me guff.

They didn’t listen to me before, but now they will.

I swear, sometimes my head feels like I am stuck in a prison cell.

I take out my paints and canvas, ready to take my mind away from the chaos that occupies it.

Turning to the window, inspiration strikes me with a firm hit. 

The thoughts swirling in my head felt so dark, so putting two and two together, I depict the night sky in such a similar way that it is not subtle.

I put in the moon, it shining so brightly, like it is the light at the end of my tunnel.

#my writing #poem #poetry #ekphrastic poem #the starry night #another poem from 2020

[papers-in-the-attic]

what if time / could spring from light / and soar above life / ask him / my purple friend doesn’t lie

Poem © Dianne Cikusa 2022  //  Digital art by @dreamrecycler1

~

#magnetic poetry #magnetic #art and poetry #poetslife #poets corner #poets on tumblr #poetscreed #poetsclub #higher light #original poem #celestial #ekphrastic art #ekphrastic poem #creative writing #my words #digital art #art #visual storytelling #inspiredaily

[batgovernor]

Ekphrastic poem: Jenna Le, 'Patti Smith, 1976'

Ekphrastic poem: Jenna Le, ‘Patti Smith, 1976’

This photo, black-and-white, where Mapplethorpe portrays his dark-mopped ex in profile, seated nude on wooden floorboards, knees drawn up to hide her breasts to hide her nipples, heated by the sideways radiator pipes on which she rests her palms, her bulging ribs a set of parallel oblique gray stripes rippling her bare white skin, unsmiling lips a short flat line– these were my first parameters,…

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#ekphrastic poem #formal verse #how to write poetry #Jenna Le #Patti Smith #Robert Mapplethorpe #sonnet