I would like to credit the owner of this photo, but know nothing other than its signature. It is a great photo, nonetheless.

If this is Ekphrastic, which I’ve heard recently described as one of the ugliest words in the English language, then what follows is the complete irony. It also demonstrates what little fodder poets need to inspire them to feats of great imagination and great poetry.

It is thanks to Shan Ellis-Williams, poet and established author, who has recently provided some inspiring picture prompts, that has moved us to write poetry that otherwise would not have been written.

Abigail Baker

“War Horse”

This is how I see you
in my dreams, my nightmare,
all traces of softness
swept away by the ravages.
Your still, standing, skeletal form
reminds me we both lost
the days before the skies
were scorched funeral black,
as your now cold coal heart.
Your clock hands are frozen
a bitter pill memento to fear
paralysed by this phantom
an abject failure to treasure
this most precious of our gems.
Today I shall kiss your velvet
feast my eyes upon your flames,
so when our time had past
I shall stand tall and smile
without a shred of regret.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jacqueline Dick

Horseman of the Apocolypse
one of you dissented
this was your lot
the punishment is
immortality
a vision of decay
death
memories
of a noble yesteryear
a darkness
forever crying
from your soul
waiting for the steed
that will never come
cast into the Neverland
rider and
stallion
in eternal search.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shan Ellis

Out of the war he was birthed,
Steampunk stallion soldier
feared nothing for live ammo or radiation beams.

As synthetic melancholy
purged all beats of organic thought

he stood

and watched
enraptured by the rain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marsha Berry

You died once,
shot through the heart
by greed and anger,
eaten by gluttony,
buried with sloth,
resurrected
not on the third day
but the fourth
by pride;
unsated with lust
the charioteer
hitched your tired bones
and drove you once more
into the field of envy
over and over
again…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John Anstie

“The Battle”

Her gentle hand enwrapped his nose
and pulled it to her face.
Behind his nostril, where there is
the very softest place,
she kissed him tenderly and smelt
the scent of peerless blood
that coursed his veins and caused his mane
to tremble with a power
that came from generations of
highbred aristocracy.
This kind of power was visible,
it rippled like a lake
that caught a sudden gust of wind,
and shimmered, glistening.

He’d knightly strength for greater things
and so it proved to be.
A friend of friends, an officer,
had visited to see
and beamed at his magnificence
there was no doubt for him
that this beast was set to ride
for glorious history…

…until his inglorious return,
a sight that broke her heart.

His eyes had depth of understanding
she knew too well. Their look,
injected as they were with fear,
but not the normal kind
– the kind that came from healthy gallops
over his favourite fell.

No. This fear, its source was made
… what she saw then choked her eyes …
from inner visions of
an unspeakable kind of hell;
mud-filled craters’ stench of death,
through endless shock of shell, but
unshakeable loyalty to his charge
despite his spirit’s knell.

In time the empty frame that stood
motionless in the field,
with timeless care she tended him,
though never fully healed
the scars that stiffened weary spirit
that caused him so much pain,
but filled with love and trust once more
the noble steed regained
a hint of what he used to feel:
excitement for the day,
security in his domain,
where once he held full sway;
desire that burned in his dark eyes
to lead her in his way
back to the stable where he’d sink
his nose in soft sweet hay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To quote Shan’s words, I am astounded at how a single prompt can produce such an amazing response from an amazing bunch of people – Hail the GRPG!!

Please note that all copyright to the above works rests wholly with its respective owner.