Kerfe Day: One More, Final, Final Day of the Ekphrastic Challenge

Kerfe Roig

A Rainbow Future After the Storm

Soft dove clouds transform to dolphin dark,
again change, and roaring black wolves
pounce

with a flash, then
the shrouded monochrome world becomes a tapestry,

a multitude of shape, color, hues. Here, a strand of azure,
here, emerald-green, glistening with diamond sparkle, woven
under and over

embroidered with the vibrant wishes of children—blue horses, red deer,
twinkling golden stars, a spotted purple dog, a striped-orange cat—

a collection, a connection of
smiling faces brighter than the sun,
dream of a rainbow future–
after the storm has passed.

There was a mixup with the images, so Kerfe has been given her own day! So, this is Day 31 of the challenge, Kerfe Day. You can read the rest of the poems here. Once again, thank you to all the artists and poets. It’s been a wonderful, creative challenge.

I don’t know why, but this song went through my head as I started to write.

Ekphrastic Challenge, Day Twenty-Six

This is Day Twenty-Six of Paul Brookes’ January going into February Ekphrastic Challenge. All of the artwork is wonderful, but once I saw Kerfe Roig’s “These Hands,” I had to write about them.

Her Hands

Her hands are a kaleidoscope,
holding within all the colors,
shapes, textures she once touched.
Far distant memories telescoped
and brought close—flaking pink polish on her nails
makes her think of flowers that grew in her garden,
her crooked finger,
reminds her of her mother’s hands.

Her hands are a map,
the etched lines a pathway showing where she’s gone
and where she’s heading. That crosshatch marks the years
of the now-demolished city shop
where she touched goods and gestured to customers—
these show the first time

she picked up a paintbrush, or
held a small boy’s hand as he scampered on a beach.
She sees his boy-face in her mind, clearer to her than his man-face,
though it’s been decades since he was a boy. Her hands

are treasure boxes full of memories—everything she has ever touched—children,
flowers, pets, lovers. She can’t see the spots on her skin, or
the wrinkled creases, but she can feel the touch of my skin—
my hand holding hers.

Day Seventeen: January Ekphrastic Challenge

For Day Seventeen of Paul Brookes’ Special January Ekphrastic Challenge, I’m responding to one painting. Anyone who knows me, could probably predict I would respond to Kerfe Roig’s “Owl Moon.”

Owl Moon

Full and bright, the night alight
with skittering scatters and chitter-chat
of sated rat. The vixen barks to her mate,
and beneath the walls, creatures slither and crawl,
while mice and voles in the shadows hide
as feathered wings outstretched glide–and bide.

And shall I call it owl moon?
A moment in time, perhaps not real—
Imagined flights, unseen sights, but
the planets spin, the stars glow and go
about what they do, and the owl does, too,
with a hoot to the world, he dives,
survives—though it’s fate—not feud,
the hunters and the pursued.

All the questions, unanswered, still are asked—
the moments gone, past to future and to past–

but listen–
the fade of argent song, the hummed goodnight,
as trills and twitters awaken dawn’s light.