The Collected Special Ekphrastic Challenge for May 2020. The Final Days. Artworks from Mary Frances, James Knight and Sue Harpham the inspiration for writers: Alex Mazey, Ankh Spice, Samantha Terrell, Dai Fry, Carrie Ann Golden, sonja benskin mesher, Rich Follett, Don Beukes, Yvonne Marjot, and Paul Brookes — The Wombwell Rainbow

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Acknowledgements Thankyou to Jane Cornwell for designing the front cover Day 23 .. there is a dampness.. they called it heavy the adults before a storm pits hang damp lips prickling then he said it he said it so I hid in the plant house amongst the smell; the frogs should I add fetid air […]

via The Collected Special Ekphrastic Challenge for May 2020. The Final Days. Artworks from Mary Frances, James Knight and Sue Harpham the inspiration for writers: Alex Mazey, Ankh Spice, Samantha Terrell, Dai Fry, Carrie Ann Golden, sonja benskin mesher, Rich Follett, Don Beukes, Yvonne Marjot, and Paul Brookes — The Wombwell Rainbow

Welcome to a special ekphrastic challenge for May. Artworks from Mary Frances, James Knight and Sue Harpham will be the inspiration for writers, Alex Mazey, Ankh Spice, Samantha Terrell, Dai Fry, Carrie Ann Golden, sonja benskin mesher, Rich Follett, Don Beukes, Elizabeth Moura and myself. May 21st. — The Wombwell Rainbow

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Twilight Asylum Frozen Eyes – Daily prodding confused nodding Yes sir no ma’am, ‘You’re not my mother!’ – Look into my eyes stop fidgeting widen your eyes stop complaining look up – ‘Shut up I am fed up shut your trap you old hag!’ Now calm down look this way no that way are you […]

via Welcome to a special ekphrastic challenge for May. Artworks from Mary Frances, James Knight and Sue Harpham will be the inspiration for writers, Alex Mazey, Ankh Spice, Samantha Terrell, Dai Fry, Carrie Ann Golden, sonja benskin mesher, Rich Follett, Don Beukes, Elizabeth Moura and myself. May 21st. — The Wombwell Rainbow

:: the red coat ::

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:: red coat ::

published in The BeZINE#

thanks to G Jamie Dedes & Michael Dickel

sonja benskin mesher

the red coat
was hiding
under layers,
but i saw it.
red it is, worn, shabby.

a friend you say.

lining cream silk crumple.
the label
harris tweed,
heather washed,
as old.

the back a thin satin sash
to tie.
oh lovely coat
i love you.
**
away for coffee
italian,
a biscuit.
**
back to the red coat,
tried it, and looked daft in it,
and imagined how it would be
**
hungry i would wear it,
run on the moor, windy,
a cotton dress beneath,
grubby knees,

old boots, and wrap it round me.
night garden, pyjamas,
and the red coat looking
at the moon
**
slight smell of camphor,
and lavender,
un threading,
pockets with notes,
and hankies
and all well, all well.
**
men will sing with three voices,
and dance in their suits,
and i will be headlost, and dizzy.
leaving the coat
to bathe…

View original post 68 more words

:: deep waters::

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if you lean at the bridge,

sun warmed, watch the water move.

light glancing, know that,

when the moon is full,

the tide comes up,

it will pool, deep and dark,

still, inviting.

deep waters to sooth pain,

that comes as the tide

now and then.

curses, back again,

at what is gone,

and that

which will not be.

the river is deep

©sbm

 

:: museum ::…

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i found,

perfumed , decked with

statues and sympathetic leaflets

to no avail.

 

i saw the people here.

 

studio, still, paintings.

 

i saw the artist there.

 

the museum, past

locked behind glass,

and computerised screens,

swimming in light.

 

i saw the man here.

 

the man too tall,

so they bended him wholly

to fit,

as they did the ladies waist,

to suit the time, and hat.

 

i saw my friends there.

 

the bus, crowded  chatter,

 a quiet place,

to watch as film

 

much time to think,

 

i saw myself there

 

the window steamed

reflected way, the day.

 

who do i see there,

today

sbm

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/aromatic/

 

:: bottles ::

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shot_1373797274853

now it is installed,
I can write of it.

my husband’s portraits,
in the first cabinet,
locked, precious.
a photograph below,
pickled in time, sweet to the touch.

the top is the negative side of him.

the middle is reflective,
the mirror smashed.

bell jars are easy, chain store,
small dome more difficult,
borrowed from his grave,
when the ants crept.

larger dome is mine. part
of my memorial piece, my
space reserved six years ago,
due to the high water level
in that hallowed ground.

we will lay side by side to molder.

the second cabinet.
now it is installed I can write of it.

lower shelf, the guilt I felt ,
about most things, nurtured
this way it still remains.

yet now it is locked away
in the glass cabinet.

two portraits of a lover,
you may know of him?

the secret pickled,
sent out into the world
for all to see. irony.

sealed. the waxy string
is wax and string.

say no more.
it is done.

sbm.

notes:-

The red string of fate, also referred to as the red thread of destiny, red thread of fate, and other variants, is an East Asian belief originating from Chinese legend and is also used in Japanese legend. According to this myth, the gods tie a red cord around the ankles of those that are to meet one another in a certain situation or help each other in a certain way. Often, in Japanese culture, it is thought to be tied around the little finger. According to Chinese legend, the deity in charge of “the red thread” is believed to be Yuè Xià Lǎo (月下老, often abbreviated to “Yuèlǎo” [月老]), the old lunar matchmaker god who is also in charge of marriages.
The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. This myth is similar to the Western concept of soulmates or a destined flame.

bottles are also in the collections of:-

museum of collage. america.
davis museum, Barcelona
oriel mostyn, Llandudno.