Ekphrastic Challenge April 2022
Poems inspired by the drawings, paintings and photos of Gaynor Kane, John Law and Anjum Wasim Dar. All hosted by Paul Brookes.
You can read these poems and many others on Paul's website The Wombwell Rainbow.
April 1st
In the unconscious night
the world is in colours,
swirling, melting and folding.
There is joy and laughter,
people surround me
like a child's blanket.
In the daylight my room is empty.
April 2nd
Wonder
I wonder if the sun
ever wished it could alter course
and bounce along the horizon
or rise in the West
or pop up at midnight?
Whether it resents
the laws of physics
that keep the planets in order
and its motion in check?
As I resent this virus
that has invaded my body.
I watch the sun set once more
and force myself to breathe.
April 3rd
Lilies
Lilies in the sunlight, me on a blanket
spread out on the early summer grass;
a bumble bee zigzags across the pond
and disappears into the shaded trees
where birds converse. I wished that I were light
enough to float like that bee, leap from lily
pad to lily pad or even perch on the pond's skin.
You call, and I turn, your face remembered
mostly from pictures. From before that summer
when we lost you.
April 4th
The Old House
stlll looks the same, as if I could
dip in my pocket, take the key
and slowly turn the creaking door
that later I'd forget to oil.
Step on the bumpy kitchen floor,
that we said we'd change but never did.
You said that it would spoil
the feel, the spirit of the place.
I felt that too, and we would
let the clock tick on another year
until the stairs would hurt your knees
as winter's chill would drain your face
and so with tears we said goodbye.
And when the door closed one last time
did the creak seem like a sigh?
April 5th
Monochrome
When winter comes,
it comes in monochrome.
Drains the colour from the trees,
turns blue to grey above our heads,
lays snow and ice to mask the land.
April 6th
City
From the bridge the city seems remote,
lit but empty, reflected in the blackness
of the river.
It masks the stars, denies the moon.
April 7th
Butterfly
A flash of colour
catches my distracted eye;
a trick of the light.
April 8th
Distorted Vision
Where there is a round tower
I see only a missile
pointing to a blackened sky
that is truly blue.
A clear lake is poisoned.
Ghost bodies litter scorched fields.
Above, the angel of death
spreads its wings
and smiles.
April 9th
History
I look out on history; lights flicker
in the harbour as an old newsreel
clatters - ships breaking the water,
nervous soldiers crawling the streets,
hooded figures in the shadows.
April 10th
Wheat
The wheat would grow tall this year,
reaching for the midday sun;
touching its warmth.
He would not witness it;
he would go East, to bathe in blood.
They would go West, lost in tears.
Only the wheat would stay, waiting
for them, a ruined harvest in the storms
of autumn.
The wheat would come back, next year,
and the year after. The wheat would not
lose hope.
Licoreria
Only the old stone remembered.
They would meet here, clasping hands,
embraces heavy with thought. Toast
with the same glasses, words and liquor
harsh yet warm in their throats.
Silent in the company of strangers,
only the old stone walls listened
to the breath of revolution.
One by one they fell, taken in the night
or dragged from the street. Their place
of secrets smashed, their blood cold.
Rainbows
The magic of rainbows never left him.
Even after he learnt it was pure light
dispersed across the spectrum.
Even though he knew the Northern Lights
came from solar bursts, dancing
on the Earth's magnetic field, he gazed
upwards like a child in wonder. When lightning
crackled in the skies, when thunder groaned.
When the moon blocked the sun and darkened
the day, when comets seared through the night.
April 11th
The End of the Street
was never in view
until, unexpectedly, you were there.
Past the old thatched house, shadowed
by old trees and leaking smoke
from its ancient chimney.
Dots of red flowers on the plants
by the side of the road, birds
lazily tracking across late afternoon
skies. The urge to go back was strong;
to see it one more time, to be cushioned
in its sepia pillow.
April 12th
Castles
We build our castles
with double thick walls
made of the hardest stone.
They stand remote
on the highest hills.
We dig deep moats,
create heavy gates,
make our windows small.
April 13th
Lighthouse
The Earth is swirling,
melting, we gasp
in its heavy air,
claw at its unyielding land.
The seas we try to escape on
are choking.
As our eyes close in prayer,
we glimpse the lighthouse
as it flickers one last time.
April 14th
Perfect
The silence was unexpected;
surrounded by a million souls,
the river still, the air touching
her face, cool in the orange dawn.
Nothing seemed broken here,
everything in its place,
poised for another circuit of a sun
that was making its usual entrance.
The single piece of litter
bothered her more than it should.
Everything should be perfect,
eyes closed in the golden river.
April 15th
The Girl in the Snow
looked at me as I passed
it was only fleeting
her eyes said everything and nothing
I wondered if she lived
in one of the grey buildings
or prayed at the church
whether she was cold
and whether she was loved
it was only fleeting
April 16th
With a forward reference to day 23
Drink
The red liquid stared at him
the last half inch in the large glass
drained easily, staggered track to the door
out into the city night
sounds of sirens, only emergencies
and taxis this late. The Gothic building
towered over him; he felt its
disappointment, its disgust.
"Fuck you!" he shouted,
and vomited into the road.
April 17th
Fathoms
In the blue cave
creatures live brief lives;
some alone, drifting,
carried by the unseen tide.
Others, schooling together,
flicking direction, sensing
peripheral danger.
On the rocky walls, some
have crafted their own
protective shells, or hide
in subtle gaps.
April 18th
Level Playing Field
The playing field
slopes left to right;
steeper and steeper
until it becomes
vertical.
The Ice Prince
The Ice Queen kept her Ice Prince locked in the Ice Tower.
She kept the windows shut to keep out the pale sunlight.
All their food was frozen, and they wore ice clothes.
She always said to The Ice Prince "It's not safe out there
for us, your father went out and never came back. I have to
keep you safe, keep you frozen."
The Ice Prince didn't want to be locked away. He wanted
to play in the snow, feel the wind chill his face.
One day, when he was out of his locked room, he spotted
a small patch of sunlight coming through a crack in the tower walls.
When the Queen wasn't looking, he put his hand in the patch of light
and melted a few drops of himself onto the floor.
The thin trickle went into the crack in the wall. He did this every day,
drip by drip. Sometimes he added some of the icy food. He noticed
the crack getting bigger. Day by slow day, trickle by trickle, he knew
a little Ice Twin was growing.
The Ice Twin would wait until he was big enough to go outside,
where he would grow and grow until he could come back and take
him away.
April 19th
The Last Man on Earth had plenty of time on his hands.
Time to ponder the big questions.
How had it come to this?
Would another species evolve
with the ability to destroy itself?
And why is the last human on Earth
always a man?
April 20th
Waves
The waves are sparkling today,
bubble-froth on shining sand
straggles of brown seaweed
dragged in, abandoned
to dry out on high tide.
The April breeze picks up the salt
and cools it on our faces
in the lemon ice-cream sun.
Carries the sounds of reopened
amusement arcades, gulls
and excited children.
The first taste and sound of summer,
the town's high tide,
lost in the ebb of drizzle drenched winter.
April 21st
Smile
I have always loved
watching children force a smile
for the camera.
Half grimacing, sometimes
with slightly upturned mouth,
sometimes not.
Or not showing teeth at all,
perhaps embarrassed
by Tooth Fairy gaps.
Seen, more often than not,
in overpriced school photos.
April 22nd
He had removed his glasses
and his eyes were wet
with grief. The whole garden
was smudged, shapes understood
but indistinct.
Sky to leaves, leaves to trunk,
trunk to roots, roots to flowers.
April 23rd
Wine
Wine transports you to places
seen and unseen. The castles
of the Rhine, the banks of the Loire,
the hills of Spain, the broad plains
of Marlborough.
Sun. Rain. Vine. Grape.
Fermenting and aging in cellars.
Waiting for the turn of cap or cork,
the sound of pouring liquid.
The swirl of the glass.
Memories and wishes.
April 24th
Ships
You lose perception of distance
the further away you get.
Jet trails in the sky,
ships on the horizon,
memories.
April 25th
Unorthodox Easter
A stark wooden cross
pierced the blue April sky.
Far away, a gilded cross was carried,
reverently transported
by robed and pious men.
They light a candle and fires rage.
Whispered prayers order death.
Voices and eyes raised to Heaven,
their leader fresh from slaughter
makes the sign of the cross.
Jesus wept.
April 26th
Dark Side
beneath the flat exterior the polite smile
the thank yous and pleases the do you mind ifs
the oh it's no problems the front we show
like a cute piglet in a scarf you think it's all roses
and chocolate and nice things don't you but it isn't
it's dark in here
April 27th
Galway Girl
after Steve Earle
Galway Girl was being played in the Irish pub
by the regular turn - his backing track thumps
and as he sang, across the room,
I saw you, cocktail in your laughing hand.
Your hair was blond and your eyes were brown
and I longed to take you from this tired town
round the Salthill Prom or anywhere at all
and get asked to your flat when the rain starts to fall
but then he came in and his kiss on your mouth
left me all alone to dream
of your brown eyes and long blond hair
and how my broken heart
never got chance to get halfway there.
April 28th
Ukraine
after Miguel Hernandez
We come from the earth;
lands of wheat, from the same milk.
Sun and air, flowers that laugh
at the gently falling snow.
And we will fight now, fists
clenched and blood in our throats.
And to the earth we will return.
April 29th
Surfing
It was just him and the sea
and the cold sky watching;
the slow rise and fall,
further out, further out,
waiting, heart pumping,
the world shut out,
only the board and the waves,
holding on, certain yet uncertain,
balancing risk and reward.
April 30th
Colours
Red - weathered stones on the beach
Orange - glowing winter sunset
Yellow - leaves fading as they dry
Green - seaweed draping stones
Blue - pale, empty sky
Indigo - the blue-black sea
Violet - tree-shadow
The seabird rising from the ground
has all of these and none of them.
Snow and night.
