Ekphrastic poetry is poetry that describes art, photography or other images.

On Top of the World

On top of the world, I conquer fear,
upon the mountaintop, I stand, tall.
I stand in awe of the pink granite ledges beneath,
I am above it all,
In the distance, I see the storm,
yet as high as I am, the storm I will not know.
I have earned my reward, a vantage point,
a grandiose show.

Not too close to the edge, I tread with care,
I take no chance,
Respecting nature’s power that ensnares,
in its wild dance.
The ocean shrinks, a tranquil gem,
beneath my lofty view,
From this majestic height,
distant lands emerge in shades of blue.

Bathed in bright sunshine’s warm embrace,
the land before me is unrolled.
I stand above this world of wonders,
a sacred beauty to behold.
Feeling invincible! I am untouched by storms,
that in the distance brew,
As clouds swirl in anger in the sky,
I know my feelings are untrue.

Yet untouched am I,
upon this lofty crest in the heavens,
where clouds ever dance,
feeling invincible, feeling blessed,
to witness nature’s wild, untamed expanse.
The rain may break, the storm may rage,
swirling in anger, but I stand serene,
On this mountain top, above the tempest,
in this lofty dream.

On top of the world, where thought takes flight,
with pink granite at my feet—sky so wide,
Where mountains kiss the heavens.
I see beyond the storms, where dreams reside.
The world beneath me is a speck,
at this moment,
I am strong and free,
as I embrace the pinnacle of existence,
as a part of nature,
where we all long to be.

Self Portrait

In a photograph, a moment forever caught in time,
A self-portrait of a woman-child, in her prime,
With the palette of her soul,
she paints her vibrant truth,
A symbol of her beauty, her unwavering,
endless youth.
With grace, she applies lipstick,
a stroke of artful care,
A symbol of her femininity, a beauty rich and rare,
Her clothing, like a spring day,
bright and full of grace,
Pink and white and yellow, in colors that embrace.
She stands before her wall of books,
a testament to her mind,
A library of her passions, hopes,
and dreams, intertwined,
A living room transformed,
into a sanctuary of the heart,
Built by her loving husband, a work of love
and literary art.
In each beloved trinket,
in every cherished book bound,
Her memories, her knowledge,
her aspirations found.

The shelves adorned with stories,
both near and from afar,
a reflection of her soul, like a twinkling, distant star.
The photograph preserves a moment,
a glimpse of her in time,
A young woman forever, in her spirit’s joyful prime,
With beauty that transcends, with colors that ignite,
She stands before her dreams,
in the candle-opera light.
A snapshot of her essence, captured for all to see,
A testament to a life well-lived
and to her dreams set free,
In this self-portrait, youth remains
even as time continues on…
For her heart and soul are ageless,
even after her books are gone.

The Mailbox

In the midst of solitude, on a weathered post it stands,
on a weathered green post, it stands alone,
A green mailbox, its presence humble, in quiet,
open lands, A green mailbox,
its presence overgrown.
Its gold flag, once a sentinel, now lies gently down,
a sentinel of solitude, on a road unnamed,
No letters rest inside, no news from town to town.
Its gold flag rests, as if in slumber’s claim.
Spider webs, delicate and fine, adorn each side,
with no letters nestled within,
no envelopes to unfold, The webs are words of rejection,
in silence they abide,
No messages of joy to comfort the old.
No news of love or laughter, of distant family near,
A green mailbox on a lonely stretch of lane.
The mailbox stands as a witness
to the passage of each year,
Where solitude and stillness forever remain,
A green mailbox, on this lonely road, resides,
Spider webs cradle its sides, like fragile lace,
No letters are to be received,
where the lonesome road abides.

A silent testament,
to time’s steady embrace,
And if by chance a letter came, a secret it would keep,
if by chance a letter found its way,
only the spiders, in their silent vigil,
would read, and weep.
Only the spiders would gather to survey.
In this quiet corner, where time like webs are slowly spun,
No letters received, no hands grasp,
to open with joy, words of comfort, ‘neath the setting sun,
In this quiet corner, only echoes of the past.
A green mailbox on a lonely road, it stands in patient grace,
A green mailbox, a relic of yesteryear,
No letters are to be received, only nature’s embrace.
Touched by the webs of time, whispers, and tears.
For in the absence of letters, it bears a tale profound,
So let it stand, a symbol of days gone by,
Of moments lost to time, where silence is the sound,
of letters that once danced, like birds in the sky,
No letters come to grace, no words written with care,
the mailbox stands forgotten, its purpose fled,
Yet in its solitude, it whispers stories held dear.
In the realm of silence, memories are spread.

The Shroom

In the heart of the forest, small and unseen,
with a delicate cap, a fleeting, fragile grace,
A little mushroom dwells, in shades of quiet green,
in the shadow of giants, it finds its place.
The trees–they stretch to the heavens high,
But time, it whispers a truth unknown,
Unfathomable to a form so shy,
Even giants bow, their power overthrown.
Compared to the colossus of towering trees,
time to this mushroom is both swift and sly,
It’s but a moment’s whisper on the forest’s breeze,
Yet in its world, at its level, it touches the sky.
A giant it becomes, in its own tiny realm,
The trees tumble and fall, at the mushroom’s feet,
Even the mightiest, time overwhelms,
by this small, finite thing, the great meet defeat.
These thoughts it ponders, as it stands so still,
the wisdom of the ages, in this humble abode,
In the depths of the forest, where silence does instill,
Where the cycle of life is bestowed.

Beneath its broad cap, a refuge one may find,
In this small world, a universe in its own right,
A mosquito blown about by the weather unkind,
the mushroom gives it comfort from plight.
The little mushroom ponders, in quiet grace,
As this mosquito seeks shelter, a refuge rare,
The insect grateful for nature’s embrace,
beneath the mushroom’s cap, wide and fair.
“In my small world,” the mushroom sighs,
“In its subtle existence, a truth is unveiled,
I am the giant as time goes by, In the cycle of life,
all roles are detailed. For the towering trees,
they too shall fall,
A reminder that stature matters not at all,
And to my earth, their majesties shall call.
In nature’s cyclical dance, we stand and fall.”
So let the little mushroom’s wisdom guide,
For even the mighty, in their final demise,
in the vast forest, no one can hide,
their final purpose is for the mushroom to fertilize.

Behind the Beach

Behind the bustling beach,
where waves enchant the shore,
Where countless footsteps tread,
seeking treasures to explore,
Lies a hidden world,
untouched by many a glance,
Where nature weaves its tales,
In a quiet, subtle dance.

The quiet dunes–they rise like whispers to the sky,
A landscape ever-changing, as time and tides go by,
Inland, where the sun kisses the freshwater stream,
A gentle fusion with the ocean,
like a dreamer’s cherished dream.

The mountains in the distance,
their majesty displayed,
While on the beach,
the world seems eternally replayed,
But turn your gaze behind you,
to the scene that’s rarely seen,
A weathered fence, like art,
frames the dunes that are serene.

For in the frame of this forgotten, rustic gate,
A masterpiece, in seasons early and seasons late,
The sands and streams–
they carve their paths anew,
In the quiet of the dunes, secrets, old,
and secrets true.

While the beach is a siren,
its waves a siren’s song,
It’s the hidden realm behind it,
where beauty truly belongs,
The mountains keep their watch.
The fence stands firm and wise,
In this tranquil, timeless haven,
where nature’s story lies.

So look behind, not at the waves,
and the sandy, sun-kissed floor,
Discover the quiet dunes,
behind the bustle in visions to explore,
A world where the ocean meets the stream,
and the mountains touch the sky,
Behind the beach, is a sanctuary,
where hidden wonders lie.

The Black Sheep

In the meadow,
a black sheep stands.
it casts a lonely gaze,
imprisoned behind a fence,
while all the other sheep graze.
In the background, by the barn,
the content sheep convene,
But the black sheep stands apart,
its’ wool a striking sheen,
Its’ ebony coat,
like its’ discontented mind,
contrasts the rest.
A symbol of uniqueness,
it wears its differences best.
With eyes like polished onyx,
it stares unflinchingly,
directly at the observer,
a soul-seeking synergy,
amidst the domestic flock,
it will not find its place,
a yearning for freedom
etched in its solemn face.
The white sheep, wander,
and by captivity, they abide,
Oblivious to the black sheep’s
silent plea, its yearning inside.

It persists, undaunted,
in its quest for freedom’s connection,
In the world outside the fence,
exists its’ soul’s reflection.
This lonesome black sheep,
Seeking its’ freedom to find,
Not content to be fed with the herd,
seeking truths of every kind,
Though it stands alone,
it stands with courage true,
A testament to the power
of being uniquely you.
So let us not forget,
as we journey through our days,
The black sheep’s lonely vigil,
the hope that never sways,
For in its solitude,
a message it sends to all,
Never lose sight of freedom,
the fence may yet fall.

M&Ms an Allegory

In a candy-coated world, a lesson we can glean,
From the colors of M&Ms, a vibrant, tasty scene.
For in these little candies, a taste of human diversity.

Red, like fiery passion, love’s enduring flame,
A heart that beats with ardor,
in every person’s name.
It reminds us of the fire, the spark within each soul.

Yellow, like the sun, brings warmth to every day.
A smile that’s like a beacon, chasing clouds away.
It signifies the joy that dwells within our hearts.

Blue, as deep as oceans, as vast as boundless sky,
A well of endless wisdom, where hopes can fly.
It speaks of contemplation, thoughts, and dreams.

Green, like nature’s bounty,
the earth’s embracing hue,
A symbol of abundance, in everything we do.
It represents our growth, our journey to the light.

Orange, like the sunset, a burst of energy,
A zest for life’s adventures, in every moment free.
In the richness of existence, our inner strength.

Brown, the earthy color, where stability resides,
A symbol of foundation,
where life’s true beauty hides.
It signifies our grounding,
the roots from which we grow.

So in the colors of M&Ms, humanity is portrayed,
A palette full of stories, in every shade displayed.
Each one is unique and precious,
like candy in the hand.

It signifies our spirit, our boundless curiosity,
In every new endeavor, we find our destiny.
Together we create a world, delicious in diversity.

The Treasure in the Forest

In the hush of dusk, as shadows softly fall,
A small rocky stream, with secrets to bestow,
Where nature’s canvas weaves its mystic thrall
and unfurls its tale as twilight’s candles glow.
Deep blue rocks– they glisten in the fading light.
Bright waters dance with ripples, swift and keen,
River stones embrace the waters, a captivating sight.
liquid ribbons thread through evergreen.
Dark-green sentinels, the evergreens stand tall,
as if guarding the passage, a sacred forest’s dream.
In whispered conversation,
they share an ancient call,
sacred secrets, with the quiet, rocky stream.
Two trees, in the distance, reach out and intertwine,
arching the watery path with a blessing of grace.
Like lovers’ arms, they form an X,
a symbol so divine,
a promise of adventure in this enchanted place.
With perfect clarity, this twilight scene unfolds.
The small rocky stream, in its serenity so grand,
is a treasure trove of wonders,
where nature’s story molds,
a world, untouched by human hand.
Linger in the dusk, let your senses be your guide.
For in this silent moment, in nature’s sweet embrace,
as the stream’s bright waters, with the rocks, collide,
treasure awaits, in this tranquil, sacred space.

Returning to the Forest

Once more I find myself by the small rocky stream,
Deep blue rocks, and bright water’s eternal song,
as dusk descends, and shadows softly gleam,
In this enchanted forest,
where I truly belong. The fast-running current,
a lifeline through the trees,
a path of liquid silver, winding through the woods,
dark green evergreens, like ancient sentinels, please,
in nature’s silent sanctuary, where secrets have withstood.
Standing in the middle, of the stream’s wide embrace,
An arched opening ahead, where darkness takes its stand,
the boulders like steps, lead to a mysterious place,
A world deep in the woods, an uncharted land.
Do we press on, into the shadows’ grasp,
Or in fear, do we turn, and run for the light of home,
Do we uncover secrets hidden in nature’s clasp?
Or Leave mysteries unsolved, the forest secrets unknown?
The choice, a crossroads, a moment to decide,
beyond the arch, where the stream narrows its flow,
Do we venture forth with courage, or in comfort hide,
leaving worlds undiscovered, where fearfulness,
wonderless, will grow? In the hush of dusk,
my courage I restore, With each step into the darkness,
I’ll find my way, As mysteries of this forest,
I explore, in the enchanted woods,
I’ll happily stay.