Poetry from the Ekphrastic Poetry Writing Workshop
Ekphrastic Poetry Writing Workshop
Ekphrastic poems are written in response to the artwork in this year’s Exhibition. Using various prompts and techniques, participants explored new ways of seeing with our words. Complete beginners to seasoned writers welcome. Participants participated in a live reading on the last Sunday of the show.
Ceci’s on Fire!
Fred Dodsworth
See Ceci stitch her songs out loud
no one can silence this passion,
her proud celebration of all we love
flying far up above bad vibes
harsh words or worse we’ve heard
can’t be heard, dispatched to lost memories
all the hard ways our world wears us down
can’t shut us up, can’t make us stop
Sit down, sit still, drink it in with your eyes
All Ceci loves is in this art for us to see
indifferent to any attempts to keep
us apart from the deep rich soil
from which we sprang, the organic
world wide colors of life are bells
she rings singing: See me fly! See my life!
I am here! I am all right! This is us in love
with this beautiful, righteous, gorgeous life!
Ceci Bowman
Women Doing
cotton quilt, cotton batting,
2025, 72˝ x 56˝
Reading the Bones
Gloria Saltzman
The peaceful vortex beckons me
pulling me towards the center
The eddy senses my need for relief and redemption
Time has swept me into the external waves of divisiveness and contempt
Judging my difference as criminal
Unable to fit into the binary black and white ,no grey option opens .
Here, the fluidity of the energetic meld of color allows for generosity;
for subtlety of motion.
Turquoise melts into blue into black into purple
creating waves of possibility.
Here my spirit is expansive and dissolves into every crevice.
Visions of Memories
Dale Johnson
“Reading the Bones” has created
A new vision of memories
Associated with colors
Extruding from the artwork
The blues remind me of
The schools I attended
The family, friends and
Teachers that influenced my life
Green colors represent
The history of my family
Through several generations
Small white flashes
Relate to where my life
Duplicated or rearranged the original
Versions to create new ideas
The artist has created
A memory and history
Of my life
And how I see the world
Craig Hong
Reading the Bones
acrylic on stretched canvas,
2025, 39˝ x 42˝
Pam Mendelsohn
Still Life, Bethlehem, PA
photograph, 2026, 11˝ x 14˝
I am
Fred Dodsworth
I am the past, past worrying
about the way I look
about the role I play
about the future
there is none
about my broken glass
about all the jobs undone
about my faded paint
about my rusted mettle
about the weeds growing up.
I’m okay with all that
for I have lived a good life
I carried my six with pride
I delivered the goods
and the bads the best I could
and for that I am satisfied
Ja Kim’s Yellow Mountain
Sheila Dickenson
II could live
in this yellow
for all my life,
then be buried
under these glowing walls
for eternity.
Heaven
is just here.
The swimming hole
transforms us into
luminous fish boys -
see us glitter?
The delicate waterfall
sends down sheets of gold
onto our bare feet
anointing us.
I’ve climbed parts
of these sunny walls
but can’t reach
the top peaks,
only going as far as
the bottom splash
of the tallest waterfall.
Weeping trees drape
above my smallness,
over my home nest,
protecting me, engulfing me.
At golden dusk
I can wander to the bridge
staring straight up
a thousand shimmering meters.
Someone has spilled
a dish of wet sun
down this rock face.
On Yellow Mountain
I am the richest person alive;
the sun queen,
Louis the XIV,
King Midas. I am a
sacrificial astronaut
sent to live in the sun.
I am a mountain canary
wrapped in sunbeam feathers.
The sun goes down,
disappearing
over the other side
of radiance.
Ja Kim
Yellow Mountain
acrylic, 2025, 24˝ x 18˝
The Final Dance
James Morehead
She is translucent filament
in a floating leap
with a curve of breast
that tickles light
and catches every puff of wind
Her finger tips fly
arms and legs arc
disguising taut muscles
with delicate precision
and eyes closed
lips serene
Her world is moss
and pink wildflowers
soft and springing
beneath her toes
But behind a shroud of rust
rebellious others watch and wait
Medusa awakened
writhing in scales
hisses through darting tongues
A shelved skull
all teeth intact
and staring darkness
rests above a trove
of stamped gold coins
A pair of Russians
stern in orange tunics
and kokoshnik headdresses
sewn with pearl lattices, foil,
and brocade
The dancer lands a final turn
as waves of crimson hair fall
and a single torch reveals
FINIS INNOCENTIAE
engraved in stone
Cy Bowers
The End of Innocence is the Beginning of Rebellion
digital painting, hand-applied pigment,
mixed media on paper, 2026, 36˝ x 48˝
Heavenly
Fred Dodsworth
The Body is The Nexus
The Cross Roads of Life
Sweet Tasting Flesh
Who can Complain?
I CAN! Bodies Excite!
Filling my Head and other Parts
With Desires of Knowledge
Secret Sacred Expressions
Regeneration, an Obsession
As I Drift toward the Exits
Having Lived Well and Good
Having Done the Best I could
Having Carefully, Foolishly
Impossibly Picked my Way
Through the Maelstroms of Life
Through the Train Wrecks of Wants
To Exactly this Moment.
Patio Companions
Sandra D. Simmer
My patio is my haven from the stressors of the day,
The space I seek when I need to relax and meditate.
The succulents thrive on my patio, so tolerant of
My sporadic attention to their minimal needs.
They live happily in their cozy containers
Satisfied with a bit of sunshine, drops of dew,
And the occasional soaking by their negligent caretaker.
The type of plants on my patio range from
Those with round, flat, spoon-shaped leaves,
To spikey cactus that proudly jut from their pots.
Yet, others twist themselves into tangled messes,
And laugh at the fussy hydrangeas growing nearby
Who are so frilly and posh in their seasonal dress.
Magnificent blooms take center stage then leave
Brittle shells, mere ghosts of their former glory.
But the succulents are sturdy soldiers marching
Through their days with little fuss and bother,
Dependable to be there when I need company.
I can relate most to them and appreciate
Their understated beauty, their hearty disposition,
Their ability to flow with the season no matter the weather.
I enjoy their gift of companionship when I sit
At my patio table, a cup of coffee in hand.
They are grateful for my presence and I for theirs.
Lisa Rock
Barrel Cactus, Succulents & Breeze Blocks
oil on canvas, 2023, 36˝ x 30˝
Mother
Gloria Saltzman
She gathers her son in the melted netting of her embrace
A mother can always recognize her child
no matter how the world has caused
it’s body to be disfigured.
She can smell the aura of her offspring;
the soul never loses its ability to emanate its true essence.
Held in her arms
She bends over his sleeping spirit
and comforts him as she sings him to sleep
one last time into eternity.
Mia Feuer
My Pieta
sculpture made entirely from
discarded hockey nets and resin,
2025, 72˝ x 60˝ x 60˝