One prompt for 12 poems in 12 months earlier this year was Ekphrastic.
No I didn’t know what it meant either until I looked it up.
Apparently it means talking about stuff to do with art. My poem is below. It started as blank verse but kind of strayed into rhyme.
(OK, it’s still a bit early for Christmas, but this print hangs behind our dining table all year round. It isn’t necessarily my favourite, but it was easy to write about and I could take a royalty-free photo of it.)
The Christmas Cracker
Muted browns and tans and greys: ambience of an earlier age. Foreground white attracts our gaze… Hero in the combat? There’s wildness in his rival’s hackles. The prize at stake, a Christmas cracker. Dogs the contenders; dogs the spectators And a small cat. Not like dogs playing pool or poker: canine card-sharps wearing clothing. These have fur that calls for stroking. And yet… Terriers, spaniels, and a cat all idly watch the tug-of-war. An open hearth, so not a barn, But rough. Befitting tooth and claw. Coarse wooden table, threadbare rug, Vast ash-strewn fireplace, wooden tub. Hunting dogs? A keeper’s lodge? Or below stairs, masters all above? My terriers love a tug-of-war, their four feet braced against the floor, all snort and spat. But these two hardly seem to care who wins the prize. Both sitting there, while no dog watching turns a hair, Nor does the cat. Much like early photography, it’s faithful in its imagery, but no life’s in it. Each loving brush stroke of the fur, Conveys the likeness of the cur but not the spirit.