The Starry Night A moon, some stars. In spite of everything, and because there was nothing to spite, we came to that silent place and gazed at stars in the sky as if stars were portals to another soul. In no uncertain terms, even though nothing was certain, we pledged ourselves. But one by one the lights went out. That same old serpent swallowed up the stars. A gibbous moon pulled heart-felt tides, then pushed them with a swelling pride − one face completely hidden, another partial, pallid, pockmarked. The necessity of desire hid cruel malignancies: child’s play rising to the horror of becoming someone’s toy, love sinking to that piteous condition of becoming someone’s regret -- Ice so high, so cold it burns. The moon changes faces like the serpent sheds its skin. O starry night. John M. Davis This poem was first published by The Comstock Review. John M. Davis is a Canadian citizen currently residing in Visalia, California. His work has appeared in numerous literary journals, including The Comstock Review, Descant Reunion: The Dallas Review. The Mojave, a chapbook, was published by the Dallas Community Poets. A former resident of Toronto, he taught political theory at the University of Toronto, and worked for several years at The Open Studio, doing lithography.
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Why She Hates Facebook She’s the stout one in the bottom left-hand corner, busy contemplating the stripped twig as if it has all the answers: why the golden fish sucks up all the light, casts an unholy glow all around, takes selfie after selfie; why every joke she tells, he passes off as his own; ditto any insight she offers—that becomes his, too; how he takes up so much space, the ocean ripples them all out to the periphery. When she brings it up with the others, they jabber about how lucky they are to have his luminescence among them, as if they didn’t choose the depths for a reason, as if all that matters in life is to be shiny & new & bright, monopolizing the centre of things. Jennifer Randall Hotz Jennifer Randall Hotz is an award-winning poet whose work has appeared in Burningword Literary Journal, Naugatuck River Review, Connecticut River Review, and Hole In The Head Review, among other publications. She won 1st place in poetry for the Virginia Writers Club 2023 Golden Nib Awards and has been nominated for a 2024 Pushcart Prize. Her lifelong love of music and words drew her to poetry, where she delights in weaving the various strands of her interests into something new. Find her at: www.jenniferrandallhotz.com. To You Who’s Kept Me Company after Self-Portrait With Birdcage, by Joyce Tenneson (USA) 1976 (View at 2.15 in video above.) Bare shrubs whisper in their shifting. Sometimes, asleep, I wave my arms like wings. Not because I fly in dreams, but because when it’s dark, I am a bird. Do swallows also glide in prayer? The trees, the stones, the snow: we are a ballet without audience, choreographed to songs about staying where you settle. And together, we are warm. Or so I thought. I have nightmares: bound with wrought iron—tight, tighter, I pace paths of shadowed circles—small, smaller. Until dawn’s cold light carries the swallows’ pleas through gray, frosted glass. The sinner when he hears a hymn. So here, fly. Fly and forgive me. Meagan Chandler Meagan Chandler holds a bachelor’s degree in creative writing from Baldwin Wallace University. She currently attends the Poetry MFA program at Bowling Green University. Her works have been published or are forthcoming in Everyday Fiction, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Inscape. She also placed as a finalist and runner-up in the 2023 competitions for the Hollins’ University Literary Festival. Reflections on The Baptism of Christ, by Piero della Francesca Love stands half-naked, hands together; a tilted bowl and dove above. Garlanded in flowers, three angels hovering. A golden glow on the skyline. John whispers a blessing, pours peace over head and body. Over head and body. pours peace; a blessing whispered by John. On the skyline, a golden glow. Three angels hovering, garlanded in flowers with a dove above a tilted bowl. Hands together, half-naked, love stands. Terry Sherwood This poem was first published in Orbis International Literary Journal. Terry Sherwood lives in John Clare country, Northamptonshire, England. He is a former artist who has had a painting exhibited at the Royal Academy of Arts Summer Show. For health reasons, he turned to writing poetry as his creative outlet. His work has been published in Acumen, Allegro, Orbis and upcoming in The Seventh Quarry. Monsoon The rainy season comes like grace, blessing our horizon. Thousands of bowler-hatted men rain down without a pause or second thought. Beliefs turn green as leaves. The butcher under a red umbrella carves away a tasty bite and gives it to a passing dog. Migrating birds upload and share cloud videos. All is forgiven in the pivot between head and heart. I do not crush the ant that crosses my computer screen. I put on a bowler hat and join the raining men. There is nothing to resist. We all are frogs, falling in a mist, hoping to be caught and kissed. Stan Crawford Stan Crawford is an attorney and poet who lives in Albuquerque with his wife Dawn and their neurotic dogs and complacent cats. His poetry collection Resisting Gravity (Lamar University Literary Press) was a Finalist for the First Book of Poetry award given by the Texas Institute of Letters in 2017. Pegasus at the Pump It’s early evening and the man in his long-sleeved white shirt is thinking about home. He shuts off the three gas pumps that stand sentry all day on their concrete island in the middle of what looks like nowhere. The light from inside has followed him and the faint hum of the radio. Above the station the Mobil sign sways a bit then steadies. In the tall trees it is already dark. Wild country grasses - orange and gold - explode like night tracers framing this country road. Here is what I want to know from the man in this painting, the man leaning over so slightly whose face is hidden from view, that he can still choose fire, leave his threadbare jacket draped over the leather chair, step out into what is holy and take flight. laura jackson laura jackson: "I retired a few years back from my work as a documentary producer and teacher. Throughout my life I have written poems sporadically and decided to give myself the gift of joining the MFA program at Rosemont College. It has been wonderful to spend time among a community of writers and to dedicate more of my life to writing and reading poetry." We have an amazing batch of different workshops ahead!
These are two-hour Zoom sessions. Join us! Our focus is on conversation, connection, and creativity. You can participate as much or as little as you are comfortable with. We have workshops with special speakers, including the brilliant Kathryn Kulpa up next on using redheaded characters in flash fiction; and TER editor Kate Copeland. Some workshops are focused on art history and discussion. Some focus on a single creative personality. Some are generative, designed to inspire your writing. Some are on craft. If you're new to The Ekphrastic Review, or haven't joined us for a workshop, try one. This is a terrific community, and it is truly an amazing experience to connect together and learn. See you soon! Thank you for your support! Gorky as Naturalist? Nature took on a violent dimension. What had been looked at before and loved was changed. Thorns became sharper, knots and burrs more savage. Sinister. Nature was a dangerous beast, unruly, merciless in its running of the environment. Its terrifying aspect had been hidden but now, now that his eyes had been opened through illness and abandonment, through the irrepressible surge of memory, it seethed. This disturbance, this change, brought his painting to gloomier realms. Colours darkened, brushwork became more snatched and jagged, shapes were crueler, edges able to cut. He could not stop looking. Looking, searching, yearning: what he had always done. Looking now transformed. It was no longer the intrigued and joyous taking in of the world. He could see horrors. The horrors nature brandished, the horrors staining his past. Terrible things he had witnessed, brutal and bloody acts that man perpetrates on man, were now ringing out in the plants, the bushes and the trees he saw before him. This world knows no mercy. Any care that surfaces is arbitrary, temporary and inevitably destroyed. We are all ripe for destruction. His days were a wading through this. Trudge. Terror. Trudge. First the looking, then the holding of the images, then the transformation, images into painting. The worst was looking back, staring at the picture. Again, again the horror. A horror which he had created and could not bear to look into or away from. Drawing, painting had always lifted him from misery, now it held him there, bound him to a pitiless and brute existence. His hands slowed. Each act took longer, delaying any arrival that admitted he was just another player in this abominable tragedy. To paint or not to paint? There was no question that he would ever stop if he was alive. The question was, whether he could bare to stay alive in a world where all love seemed lost. Simon Parker Simon is a London based writer, performer and teacher. His work has been published in The Pomegranate London, The Ekphrastic Review, shortlisted by the BBC and was a finalist for the Galtelli Literary Prize. Simon is an associate artist of Vocal Point Theatre, a theatre company dedicated to telling stories from those not often heard, and providing workshops for the marginalised. He also runs creative writing and reading groups for the homeless, socially excluded and vulnerable. For more info go to https://www.simonparkerwriter.com Nine Lives: an Ekphrastic Marathon Try something intense and unusual- an ekphrastic marathon, celebrating nine years of The Ekphrastic Review. Join us on Sunday, July 14, 2024 for our third annual ekphrastic marathon. This is an all -day creative writing event that we do online, independently, together. Take the plunge and see what happens! Write to fourteen different prompts, poetry or flash fiction, in thirty minute drafts. There will be a wide variety of visual art prompts posted at the start of the marathon. You will choose a new one every 30 minutes and try writing a draft, just to see what you can create when pushed outside of your comfort zone. We will gather in a specially created Facebook page for prompts, to chat with each other, and support each other. Time zone or date conflicts? No problem. Page will stay open afterwards. Participate when you can, before the deadline for submission. The honour system is in effect- thirty minute drafts per prompt, fourteen prompts. Participants can do the eight hour marathon in one or two sessions at another time and date within the deadline for submissions (July 31, 2024). Polish and edit your best pieces later, then submit five for possible publication on the Ekphrastic site. One poem and one flash will win $100 CAD each. Last year this event was a smashing success with hundreds of poems and stories written. Let's smash last year out of the park and do it even better this year! Marathon: Sunday July 14, from 10 am to 6 pm EST (including breaks) (For those who can’t make it during those times, any hours that work for you are fine. For those who can’t join us on July 14, catch up at a better time for you in one or two sessions only, as outlined above.) Story and poetry deadline: July 31, 2024 Up to five works of poetry or flash fiction or a mix, works started during marathon and polished later. 500 words max, per piece. Please include a brief bio, 75 words or less Participation is $20 CAD (approx. 15 USD). Thank you very much for your support of the operations, maintenance, and promotion of The Ekphrastic Review, and the prizes to winning authors. If you are in hardship and cannot afford the entry, but you want to participate, please drop us a line at [email protected] and we'll sign you up. Selections for showcase and winning entries announced sometime in September. Sign up below! Nine Lives: the Third Annual Ekphrastic Marathon
CA$20.00
An all day ekphrastic marathon on Sunday July 14, 2024, celebrating nine years of The Ekphrastic Review. Eight hours, fourteen drafts. Polish drafts later and submit your five favourites! Poetry, flash fiction, micro fiction, CNF, anything goes. Marathon will be held in a private Facebook group with multiple prompts to choose from. Your objective is to create a rough draft in thirty minutes and then move on to the next. You can take time out for breaks and lunch, of course. If date or time zone don't work for you, we will have alternative participation options! More information will be made public closer to the event. The first two marathons were epic experiences. Try it! The goal is to complete the marathon, nothing else. Any awesome drafts and story ideas will be a bonus. And you WILL have several! Thank you for supporting The Ekphrastic Review. Instead of War I imagine for you two chairs untoppled, stained red with only paint, their frail spindles intact, seats spattered with the spray of powdered sugar from warm pastries. I imagine for you an ordinary day that will hold no significance for your grandchildren -- the sun setting on nothing more eventful than doing what you did the day before and will do again tomorrow. I imagine you departed from this room for no reason other than to freshen your cup of tea, or tell your husband you found the puzzle piece that has long evaded you under the old braided rug. I imagine, across a horizon of glittering sand, another couple —your neighbors-- about to sit down with tea and laughter to ponder the same puzzle. Amy Ralston Seife Amy Ralston Seife is a poet and short story writer whose work has appeared in One Art, The Bellevue Literary Review, Literary Mama, The Ekphrastic Review, Quartet, MER Vox Folio, and elsewhere. She has been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology and Pushcart Prizes, and is the publisher and editor-in-chief of The Westchester Review. |
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