One of the ways that I am finding sanity in an ever chaotic world is to participate in a local writing group. Although my purpose of this site is to share with you my liturgical writing, the site is called Wandering and Wondering, so join my in a little diversion.
Here are 5 Ekphrastic writing pieces. Ekphrastic writing as it was introduced to us is using a picture or other non-literary piece as a jumping off piece for our writing. This is the site that the leader of the group this month cited to help us understand what was expected.
Here are my experiments in this writing style:
#1
A memory not mine
By dawn m. adams
In amongst the pages
was a memory before my time
of a boat upon the ocean
that in my lifetime only sat on cinderblocks
growing weeds and harboring wasps.
The photo, though, is of a life before the time of kids, responsibilities, and bills.
The photo’s bent and crackling face give testimony to its ages
as it tries unsuccessfully to hold its color –
mustard yellow-brown blotches overtaking the dock and threatening the people in its frame.
My mother walks on the dock, approaching the teal topped wooden cabin cruiser.
A smiling stranger puts out a hand to her
and another pears out the captain’s window.
It seems that all but she knows they are being photographed.
Is it my father taking the still? He is nowhere in sight.
The sea is calm and the boat only gently rocks
as it waits tethered to the dock for its passengers.
Atop the boat, likely stuck by accident, is a fragment of upside-down “th” sticker
From another long-lost memory, trying to tell its own story.
#2
The Mustard Seed Retold
By Dawn M. Adams
A single seed suffers in the ground
like the pearl of great price, its value is beyond compare.
Down its roots burrow,
and up its branches grow.
For such a small dull seed, it flourishes
above the ground into a bush flush with
yellow flowers:
each branch a home to another species of bird.
What a racket must come from that bush:
chickadee,
heron,
thrush,
and raven;
swallow,
cardinal,
orange tanager,
and jay.
They make their home within the mustard bush,
taking refuge from the harsh world.
Together creating a brash combination of
yellow,
green,
tangerine,
and blue.
Every hue and every caw testifying
To the power and wonder of
a single seed willing to
grow in a harrowing world .
If you would like to see the picture from which it was inspired, visit Kelly Latimore’s page.
#3
A Mother’s Lament
- A response to Michelangelo’s Pieta
By Dawn M. Adams
How?
How could it come to this?
I said, “Yes!”
I carried you within me.
I birthed you.
Was it all for naught?
Would God be so cruel?
I hold you now –
your body ravaged and worn.
What I would give to bring you back.
I hear them singing, “Where you there?”
and my tears cry out, “I was. I am. Where were you?”
I hold him hoping for another miracle, hoping he will awaken,
but knowing he will not.
I wish I could will him back into my body
so that such suffering might end.
He is a man
And yet,
he is my son.
I cannot bring myself to let him go.
I will not let go.
I will hold him in my arms forever.
My son,
My son,
May you rest.
Your mother is here.
#4
The Eye
By Dawn M. Adams
I draw myself one stroke at a time.
I do not wish to go outside the lines.
I mix the colors o’ so carefully
trying to be true.
Can they see through? Behind the mask?
Is the trembling of my hand visible
to the trained eye?
It is strange to have such power to
create how the world sees me. I’m not
sure if it is a privilege or a curse.
I am not God. What do I know really?
Some days I’m tempted to start all over again.
Maybe I’m just too close to the subject to
be objective.
What do you see?
Do you see the true me?
or the me I want you to see?
Do you care if there is a difference?
This picture I found at: https://www.southwales.ac.uk/study/subjects/art-and-creative-wellbeing/
#5 and final
I so wish they’d stop fighting. They both say they love me and yet they will not stop. Don’t they know what such hostility does to a young heart?
I sit here waiting and watching, wishing I was somewhere else, anywhere else.
The whole thing makes me tired. They toss me back and forth like a prized football – not realizing that in the tossing that I am getting scuffed and bruised.
Mom made me dress in my Sunday best and even put a red ribbon in my hair. I think she wanted dad to think everything was normal at home without him, that we were getting along just fine without him; but there are days mom doesn’t even get out of bed. Days that I have to try to figure out what to make for dinner – – – Did you know that fried bologna can be pretty good when put on Wonder bread with a squeeze of ketchup?
If they keep fighting like this I may as well just put on my jacket and disappear. I wonder if they’d even notice that I left.
I bet mom would leave thinking I went upstairs to my room ; and I bet dad would think she dragged me back home with her.
How long do you think it would be before they realized that I was with neither of them, but instead out in the world hoping to find a rainbow in the storm.
I am unclear who to attribute this painting to as it seems to have many attributions on the web.
I would love to read your version of a Ekphrastic writing. Please feel free to post or link your work below.
NOTE: All rights reserved for the works above. It you would like to use, please contact me with purpose and usage proposal.
Wandering and Wondering 