Exhibition | Art and Ekphrastic Poetry

Squint

by Maryella Sirmon

She could be my granddaughter

standing at the shoreline, wrapped

in terry cloth flowers to keep cool breeze

from goose-bumping her shoulders.

Borrowed from gold-leafed clouds,

a sunlight nimbus circles her head, 

chiaroscuro foil to damp-darkened hair.

Right hand pulls her woven cotton cloak

toward a sun-brushed cheek, her chin

props on folded fingers, eyes unreadable.

Gentle thoughts whisper and she nibbles

a loose blue thread as she gazes beyond

the water to a future I cannot see.

Our Quilt

by Celia Turner

No vintage pattern this

but modern willful display

sewn together

the artist’s own way. 

Coffee Outside

by Lauralie, 5th Grade

As I walk I hear birds in the trees

As I walk I feel the breeze

As I walk I hear someone start to speak

I stop to talk and see my aunt sitting there in peace

“Darling, could you get me a coffee please?”

I put my flower pot down and my smile brightened all around

I nod my head and say “happy to help”

As I skip inside my dog gives a yelp

WE COULD OPEN OUR MOUTHS
by Wendy Drexler

We could open our mouths
or remain silent.

We could hold hands with one another 
in the mirrored hallways of ourselves.

We could perfect each line in the book 
of silence until entire chapters 
could speak our true names. 

We could praise the darkness 
that was the universe before 
the universe learned to count time.

We could claim our bodies 
as not lost, as never having been
lost, we could teach the wind 

to sculpt each one of our shadows 
to show us how strong we are. 

5th Grade Anonymous

The warmth on my face filled with joy
when I’m painting in the messy studio.
Ducking, jumping, dodging,
Careful not to break something
in the messy studio
just to get some paint.
Exploring everything.
Listening to music in the warm studio.
The smell of oil, paint.
I couldn’t sit still.

Priscilla Over Garden
by Celia Turner

       Your palm on sill,

outward gaze will

    take you out into this world,

sunlight and leaves unfurled 

        for your wonderment. 

Untethered, you go sent.

Full Moon, North Star
by Chloë Geffken


I have been longing for you, my love

There are nights you are not so far from me,
your light a whisper in the shivering trees.

The forests, the mountains are flattened in our pale light
- or is it just me, an echo, alone in the blue black.

Hills & valleys are obliterated in this ocean between us
as you linger just beyond the reach of my fingertips -

would that I had a shadow to lengthen across
this expanse, that could clasp you to me.

I would hold you against me in the burning day,
keep you cleaved to me in the night

as the tiny reflections of you wink up at us
but I am an echo.

& some nights you are so far from me.
So I am left here with my longing, my love.

Fragments of Self
by Keith Nelson

My  first and closest encounter with a fisher was at fringe between forest and pond
"What the hell" I thought as this nimble strange critter
Raced up from cattails in the pond, grazed the toes of my hiking boots,
Disappeared like a phantom into sparse bushes and a meadow

Had I just met a mythical combo hybrid animal moving at blazing speed?
My senses were confused. Though uncertain, it seemed I had seen
Tail of a large squirrel, face of a mink or weasel or fox or cat, 
Body of a thick beaver or coyote or muskrat.
What mysterious dynamics could meld these incompatible fragments together?

Fisher cats are known to be agile and ferocious and fearless predators.
Flexible enough to feast on rabbits and mice and frogs and fish
Also tough enough to kill an occasional bobcat or wolverine or porcupine
Their ambiguous appearance reveals shades of wolverine jaws, baby faces 
Of young bears or kittens or little kit foxes, large tail like a cougar or leopard
To balance their sudden violent attacking gambits.

Perhaps you, too, are like the fisher cat, struggling in certain contexts and
Times to live comfortably with odd personal fragments and pieces and roles.
Feeling tensions, for example, between your inner, wildly disparate selves
Engineer, painter, counselor, jungle explorer, guru, sailing instructor, lazy bum?

Regardless, the realities of the world are right here, now
Inviting our exploration, our deep awareness and empathies,
Inspiring our reaching out to form new connections and insights.

Within that framework, I have been blessed with remarkably many 
Face to face wild creature encounters which shook my sense of self,
My awareness of what the world holds and how we might sustain it

Bobcat, deep forest,  soft heavy snow, flakes still streaming down
Bobcat and me stunned to meet at ten feet away, freeze, then breathe and accept

Fisher, relishing a comfy summer nap, in a thick cushioning tangled bed
Vines twenty-five feet up a hickory tree. He's confident, barely glances at me

Multiple alligators basking in March glow of sun, legs wet in shallows
Jagged grey backs baking pleasure, only a few quick steps from our hiking

Maybe the Fisher Cat reminds us to accept and embrace
The far-from-neat complexities of the world and of our selves
Why not reach across boundaries and wildness and fears and surprises
Support and Celebrate all other beings?

Ivy Dreams Herself Into a Winslow Homer Scene
by Nancy Sobanik

The room inhales 
so deeply 
               windows rattle.
Ivy balances on her toes,
      leans toward the blackboard.
                Her hand holds chalk,
                                 stretches high 
as it will go, 

circumscribes 
           the hurricane of her dream, 
                     knees pressed to islands 
of peeling paint.
                    A compass needle gyrates,  
directs her arm due north.

She wears only a white shift,
the hour late, the air chilled,
 raising gooseflesh 
but she cannot stop, 

    chalks a border for the eye 
of the storm, 

circling, 
circling.

She shades ghostly heads with chalk dust,
she must 
anchor them 
in place.

Dream mother 
wraps a shawl 
around Ivy, holds her tight
and points to the ocean, 
preternaturally calm.

On nearby ledge the other wives stand,
silent and rigid 
they watch and wait.

Before the broken 
boards wash ashore,
before her mother’s eyes turn 
flat and dull as pennies 
in the dirt,
before an ellipsis of erasure
returns with rising light.

Before another day 
      dims 
and Ivy stands, 
  reaches again and again,

inside the storm
 
which drowns 
the dream in gray. 

Preserves her father 
with all 
she can—

grips the tiny bit of life-
line in her hand.

Sub Rosa Formation
by Iris Quinn

Awake child, when you ask is growing up enduring is growing over over-growing,
muse answers yes and no and shows you how she is careful to make sure there is shaped
that gap for kindness,
this intricate area cut in and pinned out for love.
Then you keep the shadows moving by your sway, and
you, tender and strong, you keep your garden seen through resilience.
Awake you ask growing up is growing over
answers no and shows how she is shaped
for kindness,
this area in and pinned for
the shadows by and
you, tender keep seen through
child, when is enduring over-growing,
muse yes and you careful to make sure there is
that gap
intricate cut out love.
Then you keep moving your sway,
and strong, you your garden resilience.
Like wild roses, we grow where there is room for us.
Windswept by blatant truth or truth in any draft.
Grounded by holding gratitude or gratitude of sandy soil.
We are tougher than we know. We live through with the brutal spiked stalks of winter.
Like roses where there is
draft.
Grounded by holding or gratitude
we know. We live through with the brutal
wild , we grow room for us.
Windswept by blatant truth or truth in any
gratitude of sandy soil.
We are tougher than spiked stalks of winter.
Passing the past golden-yellow fall casting orange-red,
cycles of seasons caterpillar-slow, yet fast as thought the change
(snow-coated fallen stardust must have melted clear with the risen frost) and change
and change so summer scent is in the air again, sweetly for sensilla.
The dunes shred in and back the tides, like inspiration to realise
and expired misgivings best forgotten,
for great deeds forth and out, such crimson-blood or rose-hips shining bold, plumper,
shedding to remind us fruit is for seeds are for the future.

Passing the past casting orange-red,
cycles of caterpillar , yet fast as the change
coated dust clear with change
and summer the air again, sweetly for
back tides, like to realise
misgivings best ,
for great such blood shining bold
shedding fruit is for
golden-yellow fall
seasons -slow thought
(snow- fallen star must have melted the risen frost) and
change so scent is in sensilla.
The dunes shred in and the inspiration
and expired forgotten
deeds forth and out, crimson- or rose-hips , plumper,
to remind us seeds are for the future.
Intricately framed, so exhibit by obscuring
the parental patterns people repeat, even if unpreferred, pinned as a paper imago.
People repeat, even if unprompted, even when long gone.
Arrange the chaos, overshadow highlights
in just juxtapositions, introduced but unmet, gifting.
The present is a statue sculpted by the past, now
reads like a spider thread ensnaring the sun in split-seconds, a morse-code pulse,
infinitely variable how always the same message.
The paean of exterior nature, ornamental and evolved.
Intricately exhibit
parental people repeat pinned imago.
People unprompted, even when
chaos, highlights
in juxtapositions, but unmet
a statue past, now
reads like a thread sun in -seconds pulse,
infinitely how always the same
paean of nature, ornamental and
framed, so by obscuring
the patterns , even if unpreferred, as a paper
repeat, even if long gone.
Arrange the overshadow
just introduced , gifting.
The present is sculpted by the
spider ensnaring the split , a morse-code
variable message.
The exterior evolved.

PTime, caretaker, when you come away on walks with me, meandering is branching,
leaving and returning in the same wander and wonder.
The kiss of salt spray stays. Time, groundskeeper of truth, daylit
where growth stems and leaves a lattice, lace cyanotype inverse, in verse.
Nature alone lets a castelet be the stage beneath to become behind.
Time, when away with me, is branching
and returning the same wander and
salt spray stays. Time, groundskeeper of daylit
growth a lattice, cyanotype in verse.
Nature alone be the stage to become
caretaker, you come on walks meandering ,
leaving in wonder.
The kiss of truth,
where stems and leaves lace inverse,
lets a castelet beneath behind.
Mind, curious how a hiding site is an inside outside of sight.
How a façade holds the meaning of that below
in its necessity to be oppositional, begetting union. No sky to be scene yet resplendent blue.
So covered for a brief spell, summons the terracotta,
the windows, doorways, gateways; the archway: elements of revelation and welcome.
Patterns overlaying patterns, introduced and deduced, poems full and blank, tell,
fill completely the canvases of ourselves. Our stories the picture, the entry of emptiness
and abundance, from sea to shore, muted and hard, from town to town, clear
and blurred, our lives where the negative space we un-lived happens to form our home
in daydreams.
Mind, how an inside
façade holds the below
necessity to be , begetting sky to be yet blue
covered a spell, terracotta,
the windows, doorways, gateways; the archway: welcome.
Patterns deduced, full and
fill ourselves. Our stories , the entry of
abundance, from sea hard, to town
blurred, our lives we un-lived our home
in
curious a hiding site is outside of sight.
How a meaning of that
in its oppositional union. No scene resplendent .
So for brief summons the
elements of revelation and
overlaying patterns, introduced and poems blank, tell,
completely the canvases of the picture emptiness
and to shore, muted and from town , clear
and where the negative space happens to form
daydreams.

Muse is perennial, arising from play, rambling over urbanity and invading civility,
distracts paths with her uncommon joy usually,
thankfully. Not a discrete creature with edges. Eternal,
she’s got devotion down to an art, and she’s up to it,
making mess-hot your project, ache-warm your focus, and stone-cool your cup of tea.
Muse is , arising from rambling over urbanity and
distracts with uncommon
a creature with
devotion to an
ache- and stone-cool
perennial play, invading civility,
paths her joy usually,
thankfully. Not discrete edges. Eternal,
she’s got down art, and she’s up to it,
making mess-hot your project, warm your focus, your cup of tea.
Inventing you meticulous is her whimsy and sneaky humour her delight.
She might let you know her secret, that she does not come and go,
off flitting and fleeting in hours as it feels, jet-lagging limerence,
but crafts on and on, and on and on. Yes, with you,
waiting lightly for the golden moment to captivate.
Muse endures, glaucous figure, outlines her rose unearthed taupe touch,
familiar chiaroscuro, serrated silhouettes.
Inventing you is sneaky humour
secret come and go,
off flitting and fleeting as jet-lagging
crafts on and on. Yes,
waiting for the moment
endures figure outlines unearthed taupe ,
familiar silhouettes
meticulous her whimsy and her delight.
She might let you know her , that she does not
in hours it feels, limerence,
but on and on, and with you,
lightly golden to captivate.
Muse , glaucous , her rose touch
chiaroscuro, serrated .
Gentle archivist, affixing to modify meaning, subtle power of place to replace.
Layers the difference between notation and denotation.
Seeming intrigue is peering through the foliage mask.
Connotation of sense of mystery,
intimations of the impossibly permanent moment in the peace of art, indelible ephemera.

Gentle affixing meaning, subtle of place
between notation and
foliage
of mystery,
intimations of moment in the art, indelible
archivist, to modify power to replace.
Layers the difference denotation.
Seeming intrigue is peering through the mask.
Connotation sense of
the impossibly permanent peace of ephemera.
Get in the pattern of repetition to be entranced.
Heads of pins as dark stars of a dawn or dusk ocean of firmament. Liminal.
Broken and unbroken, the shallow depth, revealing and obscuring.
On the verge of an ineffable explanation in colour of how it is,
of how it is that when she scissors words your chest butterflies, unclasped.
Get in to be entranced.
Heads dark dusk of firmament .
Broken the shallow and obscuring.
On ineffable colour of how it is,
Of how when she words butterflies,
the pattern of repetition
of pins as stars of a dawn or ocean . Liminal
and unbroken depth, revealing
the verge of an explanation in
it is that scissors your chest , unclasped.
Faunal botanical type and floral insect kind,
leaf-winged in its quelled tableau:
the metamorphosis of fascination to empathy.
Faunal floral kind,
winged in its
metamorphosis of
botanical type and insect
leaf- quelled tableau:
the fascination to empathy.
A civilized way to build is to meet without carelessness.
A beautiful way to control erosion is to care with abandon.
Hold on to the letting go. Ideas pollinate and dreams are pulled petals. Song’s blessing
is for those who envy to choose admiration, those who are impatient to choose tolerance,
and those who would not choose, cocooning their jealousy and discontent until they will.

A civilized way to build is to meet
erosion .
Hold on . Ideas and pulled petals. Song’s blessing
is for those who choose those who are to choose
and choose and discontent
without carelessness.
A beautiful way to control is to care with abandon
to the letting go pollinate dreams are
envy to admiration, impatient tolerance,
those who would not , cocooning their jealousy until they will.
New knower, see how the ungenerous turn life to specimen, to contain,
to display, to set a simple example of complexity. We are escaping the grip.
Neither thorns nor pincers, but how they mean sharpness by capture, by judgement.
They move opinion for enclosure being closure and they clench,
trying to control the enlaced butterfly thicket, the multitudes of trees in a shrub.
Artists understand freedom is extending.
New how life to specimen,
to display, a simple example of the grip.
Neither nor but how they mean capture, by
opinion being closure
enlaced thicket, the multitudes of trees
freedom is extending
knower, see the ungenerous turn to contain,
to set complexity. We are escaping
thorns pincers, sharpness by judgement.
They move for enclosure and they clench,
trying to control the butterfly in a shrub.
Artists understand .
Heart, life reaches and hands to us all our wild order,
our exquisite disruptions in domestic yearnings. Fly, then attend earth.
Seekers listen wordlessly for a promise of consciousness to blossom, in silences,
where we hope the blade of our work carves days into the world creatively
and these days make beautiful something
close to stillness.
Heart and hands our wild ,
our domestic . Fly, then earth.
Seekers wordlessly of consciousness ,
the blade of days the world creatively
days make beautiful something
to
, life reaches to us all order
exquisite disruptions in yearnings attend
listen for a promise to blossom in silences,
where we hope our work carves into
and these
close stillness.