Experience the Power of Art
Museum of Art - DeLand
600 N. Woodland Blvd., DeLand, FL 32720
Museum of Art - DeLand Downtown
100 N. Woodland Blvd., DeLand, FL 32720
MoArtDeLand.org ▪ 386.734.4371
Established in 1951, the Museum of Art - DeLand, Florida, is a vital and interactive non-profit community visual arts museum dedicated to the collecting, preservation, study, display and educational use of the fine arts. The Museum of Art - DeLand, Florida, is a 501(c)3 organization incorporated in the State of Florida and is a member of the American Alliance of Museums and the Florida Association of Museums.
Gallery Hours
Tuesday - Saturday 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Sunday 1 p.m. to 4 p.m.
Printed
E.O. Painter Printing Co. DeLeon Springs, FL
Museum of Art - DeLand
Preface
The connection between poetry and art has a long history. Like twins from different mothers both forms are born out of the desire to reexamine the familiar in order to experience it in a new and more intense way. The impact of visual art is immediately accessible and engaging where as a poem communicates through written words unfolding as you read along. Poets and artists create images that can imitate reality and ignite our imaginations. The poet’s word choice, point-of-view, purpose, theme and setting, correlate to the artist’s brushstrokes, medium, perspective, purpose, subject and setting. Both poetry and art share the traits of harmony, structure, rhythm and mood. Perhaps the quote by Leonardo da Vinci expresses this relationship best, “Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.”
There are many examples of poets who were inspired by a specific artist or work of art, as well as artists who created works in response to poets and poems. It was this connection and the desire to explore the intersection between the written and visual worlds of the poet and artist that served as the inspiration for the Poetic Visions Competition and Exhibition. It is not the proverbial “chicken or egg” query, but rather one of how the creative process of poetry and art interact and communicate with each other in order to instigate an engaging dialogue with the audience.
The Poetic Visions Competition was an open invitation for Florida poets to submit original ekphrasis poems (the detailed description of a work of visual art as a literary device) in response to a selection of art works from the Museum of Art DeLand’s Permanent Collection. From a great many poetry submissions, the thirty-four poems included in this anthology and exhibition were selected through a process involving judging, consultation, and curation.
Thanks are due to all the artists and writers whose submissions did not find their way into this publication and exhibition. Their works were all exceptional and we look forward to seeing their craft in the future.
Introduction
“Painting is silent poetry and poetry is painting that speaks.” - Plutarch
The ancient Greeks developed a style of original poetry and prose created in response to works of art – ekphrastic (Greek for description) writing. The Poetry Foundation states that “an ekphrastic poem is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the ‘action’ of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify and expand its meaning.” Although created by the Greeks, this style of writing was popularized by the Romans. Originally the intent of ekphrasis writing was to describe a work of art in such vivid detail so the reader or listener could envision the work as if it were physically present. Well known examples of ekphrastic poems include Homer’s “Iliad”, John Keats’ “Ode on a Grecian Urn”, and W. H. Auden’s “Musée des Beaux Arts”.
The traditionally strong connection in Western art between poetry and the visual arts has maintained the interest in ekphrastic poetry and contributed to a revival among contemporary authors. Modern ekphrastic poets usually move beyond mere description and extend their own thoughts on the work’s underlying story or significance by interpreting, inhabiting, confronting, and speaking to their subjects. American poet, Mary Jo Bang, describes her approach to ekphrastic poems: "I am taking an existing work of art and rewriting over it. I'm imposing a new narrative on it, one that is partially suggested by the artwork itself and partially by something that comes from within. Sometimes that thing is an autobiographical moment, sometimes it's a larger concern, social or political or intellectual."
There are numerous parallels between poetry and painting: they provide a creative means to express emotions. They provide a way for the poet and artist to explore and understand their personal journeys, challenges and successes. They help the creator to look back on works past and clearly comprehend the nexus.
The composition of poetry to that of painting is also similar. Both artist and poet start with an idea, a subject, a theme, or feeling. Then set their brush or pen, to blank canvas or page, and begin the transformative process of bringing that creative inkling into existence. The one work of art generates and interpolates the other creating a shared vision, perception, and insight of both the artist and poet to present a reality that might never be experienced in any other way.
Acknowledgments
The Poetic Visions Poetry Competition and Exhibition and this anthology are the result of a collaborative project between the Museum of Art - DeLand, and the Creative Happiness Institute, and MainStreet Art & Culture Slam of DeLand. The Museum wishes to recognize and give our sincere thanks to all of the people and organizations who contributed their time, energy and resources to make this collaboration a success.
Thank you to Kevin Campbell, Slam Coordinator. Kevin took on the enormous task of overseeing, coordinating and curating all of the poetry components of the project. It has been his vision, knowledge and countless hours of work that played a key role in making Poetic Visions a reality.
To our five esteemed judges: Dr. David B. Axelrod, Poet Laureate of Volusia County; Mr. Joseph Cavanaugh, Vice-President of The National Federation of State Poetry Societies; Mr. Al Rocheleau, President of the Florida State Poets Association; Dr. Rajni Shankar-Brown, Associate Professor at Stetson University; and Ms. Mary-Anne Westbrook, President of The Tomoka Poets Society, thank you. We appreciate your expertise and generous sharing of your time to review, judge and select the entries for inclusion in this anthology and exhibition.
We also want to acknowledge and thank Ms. Judith Thompson, former President of The Museum of Art – DeLand and Ms. Donna M. Gray-Banks, Director of The F.R.E.S.H. Book Festival, who served as consultants for the project.
Special thanks are in order for the following groups and organizations: Creative Happiness Institute, The Florida State Poets Association, The Florida Writers Association, The Sandcastle Storytellers of DeLand, Tomoka Poets, Poet’s Corner of New Smyrna Beach, and Orlando Area Poets. Their involvement is greatly appreciated.
Finally, thank you to all the writers who submitted poems for the competition and exhibition. For the thirty-four poets whose works are included in the project, congratulations. To those whose creations did not find their way into the exhibit, your works were all exceptional, and we look forward to your participation in future events.
Cartographic variations: The Road to the Pyramids, 1987 Handmade paper with mixed media
Shannon Adams
Labyrinth of Life
One way in one way out on the labyrinth of life. Many an adventure along the way people to see and places to go.
One way in one way out on the labyrinth of life.
At times I have lost my way gone down unexpected paths only to resurface once again.
One way in one way out on the labyrinth of life. Many a question, many an answer.
Chelsea Lynn Bate
M A G I C
Magic is being restored to the Earth. Prepare your heart to lift.
Keep your body clean.
Lay your thoughts out in the light daily. Stick close to your teachers. This won't hurt a bit, this homecoming, this short journey to the center.
Let the universe speak to you in tongues. You'll understand through invisible ears. You'll begin to hear feelings, see sound, taste color.
Your soul will talk to souls without mouths, without devices.
You'll become a servant of the sun.
Expect everyday miracles in your car, at the market, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
Realize that nothing is ever broken,
Witha Laquesta Kaleidoscope, No Date Watercolorthough some lines need rest. Move into your freedom.
Anticipate the unbelievable. Honor it as the norm.
Open all your windows to feel the flush of wings.
Make offerings to The One and all of its cosmic intelligence and wonder. Stabilize yourself with holy practicesa garden, a piano, long walks leading nowhere. Tack yourself to scripture - to its luminous backbone.
Understand its lineage comes to you from a crease in the future, present and past. And above all else, remember we are not going back to the dark days.
Gather your belongings.
Peel off the old times like a faded, tattered suit. Leave it on the floor and move forward into the Age of Light, where nothing is predictable and everyone is free.
Offerings
You ask what I’ve to offer
As if I am made up of words falling
Dancing down the spine of my body
When I bend will you
Break down again
Planets and boxes
Disintegrating their way through my Universe
It’s obvious you can’t see Blinded to my qualities
Ignorant of my contributions
It’s not about what you get
What I give is
Unwrapped
What I give is Intentional
What I give is
More than you can handle
Ian H. Williams
Diamonds are Forever
Happiness is a tawdry muse,
Whether she comes by genes or prozac.
Her cheap, serotoninergic perfume,
Reeks more of patchouli than truth.
Lying with her is easy and uncomplicated,
But the issue from such a liaison is a paltry thing.
Its mewling turns to soot in your mouth.
To bring forth truth you must sleep with misery
You must feel her bony hand grasp your throat
And pull your face to the page.
In that embrace, even the gods ask for quarter.
But the child of that fierce coupling, Will be manna for your soul
It will be a breakfast of diamonds, forever.
Les Slesnick
Julia Chan Cruz and her 6-weekold baby Jesus (5/100), 2000
Chromogenic print
Jerome Witkin
Alive Alive O, 1975 Oil
Deborah McShane
“Molly Girl”
Up and down serpentine streets, stopping when I spy a mark, wrapping ‘em up, my hands numb, wind bitter, but coins tinkling in my bag, stew on my mind, I’m calling far and wide“Fresh and juicy, firm and succulent!”
My cheeks rose gold, my voice throaty, hoarse, arms aching, cart too heavy.
“Alive, alive, oh!” around the next corner, more cockles and mussels, red fish, blue fish, almost home, done in for the day. Done, done, done.
Barry Dimick SUNDOWN
Who is this woman sitting in the bare-walled darkness of a small, humid room, with unconfined breasts drooping?
One arm drapes over the rough wooden chairback. The other rests on a small stand that also supports flowers with red blossoms that match the indistinct red blotches on the simple light-colored dress. Blood?
Walls with splotchy paint, devoid of decoration: a desolate refuge for a haunted senior citizen. Both hands hang limp from the light sweater. After a hard day in the field … exhausted … the dark featureless face worn to oblivion.
Larry Tobe
Ice Age, 2012
Acrylic
Sept. 28, 2022, 3:05 p.m., ET
Latitude: 26.6217
Longitude: -81.8406
Islands in the stream
Where homes once sheltered hope
Where laughter rang
On gentle breezes
Under steamy suns
Years lived out in certainty
That all that was would continue to be
Whipped-up winds thought otherwise
Ripping mangroves by their roots
Surging watery walls of misery
Over flower-potted front steps
Washing livelihoods away
And life itself
Bodies recovered, wide-eyed, bobbing
Or never found
Turning houses into sieves
Filling them with fish
Packing floodplains with matchbook sticks
Setting all in its path adrift
Destroying for so many
A life built upon a dream
Of warm, embracing winter days
Of sandy beaches full of shells
To put in clear green glass jars
On sun-drenched windowsills.
Some barrier the islands proved to be
Now the homes are the islands
Set upon and floating free.
Islands in the stream.
Purvis Young
Overtown Street, c. 1995
Mixed media/painting on found wood
Audra Jolliffe
Noise!
For the love of boisterous boys
Boys, noise, fast moving toys
Bam, pow, zoom, crash, and boom!
Birthday party for boys equals more noise
Skitter, scatter, yelp, eat, run here, run there, run everywhere!
Sing, shove, push, crash, tear, rip, then run some more.
Listen, laugh, really laugh to clutching your belly laughs, until you have tears running down your face.
The decade of the boys and their toys.
I really miss that boisterous noise.
Ummarid Eitharong
MIA Series XXX (Deathmask), 2001 Assemblage
Mary McCarthy
After the War
He came back strange with a face like a mask leathery and closed all the softness dissolved in the acids of the underworld. He came back changed like the long drowned rising to the surface bloodless and torn old wounds gaping open, raw and broken. He came back lonely as Lazarus pulled out of purgatory late guest at a meal he can’t eat
his tongue locked on darkness rising like mud, like tar like quicksand still there to swallow him.
William Entrekin
Troll in My Yard, 2006
Watercolor on paper
It’s late . . .
The autumn leaves have fallen The winter season approaches With its chilly wind that cuts Right to the bone.
The lengthy shadows of winter portray the long night and short day of Individual existence within the span of infinity,
Living in the shadows of our ancestors And future generations.
Connected by our roots to all living things Returning to terra firma as the life cycle continues.
Autumn leaves, Winter chills.
Our time is limited
As the grimme reaper comes calling, Out of the dark foreboding forest.
The mighty oak and the line of future generations
Protects the future fields of grain.
Looking towards the bright morning sun There is that ever-present light of succession But with an obscure distant view of the end for each of us.
Winter is knocking!
Reynier Llanes
Resurrection, 2017
Oil on canvas
Incoming
He envisioned a decade of peace and calm, Now havoc wrecks the early morn, A nation of hostages scorned, With little hope of safety home. Children of the sixties group again, Protesting the Red Aggressor, Banning nukes for energy, A generation gap, no longer.
Daily panic, a tapeworm of fear.
No faith in our leaders.
Returning to prayer.
Tony Garan
1000 Word Recording of the Painted Painters Story, 2008
Mixed Media
Elaine Person Doomed
Van Gogh flung yellow paint to a canvas as if his floor was a canyon, his brush, a slingshot which saved dollops from d o o m
The canvas–a wall that rescued his oils, soaked up the texture, the scent, and the color.
Yellow Van Gogh’s jealousy raged
Yellow his cowardice displayed
Yellow his envy screamed away
Yellow his anxiety stayed
It’s too bad his Sunflowers held all of those feelings when the world sees only beauty.
Reynier Llanes
Saturn Rings, 2017
Coffee on paper
Sonja Jean Craig
Caffeine Dream
Mirage of coffee pot satellites encircle a massive teapot of tears a meticulous collection of solitary celebrations recalls diluted outlooks.
Two-dimensional animation soaks caffeine stained probabilities satisfies a thirst for routine. Presumed gratified glory of endurance exercises on agitated treadmills.
Soiled handkerchief wipes away distress from a self imposed whip of duty fans a feel-good fantasy with every sip trip over the tongue. Comfortable cup cradles awakened dreams.
Barry Kite GREEN PAINT
You'relookingsomewhatflushedtoday
Notinanormalway,Imean.
Insteadofcastinareddishhue
You'redefinitelygreen.
I'msureitspeakstoyourhealthydiet.
Mostlygreens...infact,that'sit.
Itshowsinyourcomplexion, Andyourwardrobe aperfectfit.
Karl Zerbe Woman Eating a Bean, 1963 Acrylic CollageMaybecoolitonthebroccoli. Greenonions notforyou.
Alsospinach,parsleyandbrusselsprouts, Asparagus,lettuce,too.
Maybetrysomeredtomatoes. Strawberries,blueberriesfordesert.
Bananas,pineapplesandapplesauce.
Orangesandgrapefruitwouldn'thurt.
Tony Savoie
Prey For Us, 2007 Assemblage
Ann Magaha
Prey for Us
In reckless times I played with boys
I sat, and stayed, and heeled
But then I was conscripted
And issued a riot shield
I scarce remember the puppy days
Lolloping high and low
Through patriotic fields I ran
From man’s best friend to foe
Now I’m a black, mechanical dog
Groomed for glory and luck
And for the bang I give them, My groomers make the buck
Yes, I’m a Reckless Ranger
With ear cocked to the cause
I fight for the honor of country
And the beauty of applause
No yipping pup but a beast of a man
My toy ray gun really shoots
I have my tags and a uniform
And my feet are combat boots
A dog of war is a mixed-up breed
Both preying on and prey
“Forgive us for we know not...”
We’ve been taught to pray
“Here Ranger” makes me listen up
I’m cocked to enter the fray
Though the voice of command like commandeered
Is mired in bullet spray
Oh, the shooting range is a rainbow
A fest of red, green, and gold
A place of swirling freedom
Where heady rights are sold
But if you look carefully through the sight
In the dog is a ranger, too.
He’s smack in the heart of the bull’s eye
And he’s taking aim at you.
Bobby Baugh
Through a Glass Darkly
It could be, simply, a toxic haze. The dissipation of what was emitted from the tall smokestack.
A slow transformation. So slow you would not notice as it took place.
Smudge on the eyeglasses. Fog on the windshield.
Through the veil of a curtain window looking back to see only edges softly eroded into indistinct colors.
Seen through a glass darkly.
Or it could be it happened all at once.
On a detailed, sun-filled, sharp-edged day a meteor struck. Silt filed the air, swirled and stirred for centuries. When it settled the world looked like this. Hazy, roughly rendered.
The truth is there. The forms are real.
The stories unfolded. The people lived there. Something was inside.
Something – someone – went up in smoke.
The House With Ladders, No Date
Mixed media
Dawn
GonzalezDestiny
These ladders cross dimensions of space and time. Just behind the veil, we carry embers from the coal of our ancestors in souls grown weary.
Ladders to the past don’t matter. Or do they?
Messages conveyed on cave walls have fallen by the wayside, hieroglyphs scribed in megalithic monuments have shattered into cracked crevices, and Time has slipped through the hourglass of Past,
Present, Future.
These ladders shatter to mere sticks. Bricks of brittle bone atoning for sins have been thrown through glass houses time and time again; ceilings revealing skies highlighted by jaded shades of gold, orange ablaze. We climb out of the limiting beliefs passed down through centuries. We learn the gift of Now; the eternal present of presence is how alchemy is found. Lead feat upon the ground to the golden streets of Heaven above, we climb to futures laced with the hope our souls carry. We’ve fallen prey to the wait of the world, as the tapestry of destiny is weaved by the Fates. It’s a map guiding our way. Still, we carry the knowing growing in our hearts as we depart from all we’ve prayed to release from souls grown weary.
May peace find us just beyond the veil, where the portal outside time and space awaits our journey home.
Elisabeth Chapman
It’s A Mess
It’s a mess
A beautiful discombobulated scramble. The feeling as it penetrated, it completely consumed me in every sense of the word. My undying love for the rocketing to another dimension. You cannot unfeel it. It’s unlike anything else, and it is spectacular. The mess that is residually left behind is one that cannot be defined. It ruins everything that means anything. I cannot return to the disastrous life that nearly destroyed me. The release provided calls me back like a deadly whisper. Come back to me and forget
Sandra Stein
Visions my Way, No Date
Watercolor
your worries. Do not hesitate to let me flow through your bloodstream entering your consciousness. It is transcendence at its finest, yet it brings me to the depths of despair. You may lure me and I resist the subtle yet powerful urge. I flow back into the life on life’s terms mantra. This is the only way.
You Know What?
You are special. I love you.
You did the best you knew with what you didn’t know.
The internal scars are not your fault.
It’s not your fault that you’re a special lamb.
Let tears fall, let tears escape, let tears heal. You are special. I love you.
You are a good person, a really good person. The light inside you still shines outside you.
Let’s walk. Let’s talk. Let’s scream.
You are special. I love you.
You are a good friend, a really good friend. Your loyalty shows up when you are absent.
I’m here to listen now and every one of your days. You are special. I love you.
You are life in a place where you are meant to be. Let’s recharge our battery together, then imagine again.
Being scared is a summons to be brave. You are special. I love you.
You are peace, like moonlight to a restless ocean. You are light living inside a waterfall. You are the rainbow in your midnights. You are special. I love you.
You are my flame when I cannot burn. I am your flame when you cannot burn. Determine to save the life inside you and watch sunlight burn through the clouds.
You are special. I love you.
Timothy S. Deary
The Girl on the Steps
Imagine all the parts of a life that revolve around an old clapboard house, set on bricks, featuring a glass door that opens onto stone steps.
Think of how the earth travels around the sun and how the sun will throw different shadows onto the sides of the house.
All those moments add up to a lifetime.
Then there is the glass door, reflecting generations new and old. Moments, noticed and unnoticed, stories whose words are written into the smile of a young girl, dressed for summer, standing on the stone steps.
The smiling girl, braided hair, back to the glass door. Those inside, looking out.
She is confident in the future and fully connected to her past. (glass door, looking forward, and still able to see behind her.)
She is out in the world, ready to take the stone steps down, into the beyond, knowing that she will always be welcomed back to where she came from.
Those steps are the genesis of all that has been and all that is to come.
Untitled, No Date Acrylic
Melody Dean Dimick UNTETHERED
Alone adrift like Hemingway’s Santiago, faithful fisherman floating day after day unanchored in a murky, dismal, dark-blue funk.
Dreaming
Waiting, alone adrift in the dead of night without ties, inner demons emerge blurry visions from the blue-black sea.
Quarantined
No longer coping like the old man, my solitude’s unbearable alone, adrift, alienated in the aftermath of deadly coronavirus confinement.
Traumatized
My mind’s the enemy. Isolated alone adrift, trying to escape my dim sea. Loneliness, distorted nocturnal visions crack
Broken
Reduced to detached, separate, shattered shards Alone and adrift, I admit autonomy’s an artifice. I need the touch of a human hand.
Hope
Please grasp my extended hand and acquiesce admit after all we’ve weathered without others we’re untethered. If you take a chance on us, we won’t be debris alone adrift.
Marc Davidson DAWN
The air is quiet, a watchful stillness in anticipation of the day to come. The earth lies quiet there. Only an old factory with smoke flying upward from its chimney breaks the flat façade,
like a man relaxing in bed, smoking a first cigarette before he rises to meet whatever challenge lies in the day ahead.
It’s dark all around. Only the faint early glow of the dawn yet to come lights the far horizon, yet the factory is awake, smoking, clanging, already active with the requirements of the day. No night of rest settles on the factory.
Night and day it clamors keeping to some unknown need that must be met.
Cloudmaker
Oil on board encased in lead
If it doesn’t succeed maybe the dawn it heralds will never arrive and the world, with no need to face that lost challenge, could fall back to sleep again. Does a factory contemplate a peaceful, dream-filled night? Will it someday see a calm dawn and its dreams fulfilled? Might it lay down its clamor and relax?
Measuring Up
I never felt I filled that space that measures men in upper case; that measures men by what they lift; that measures men for running swift. I never felt I filled that space.
I always knew I wasn’t that the football hero, acrobat, the wrestler, or the tennis star, the fastest racer, business czar.
I always knew I wasn’t that,
O, how I longed to be approved and be a man not so removed; and be a man in Father’s eyes; and be a man that strong, that wise.
O, how I longed to be approved.
My Father’s gone, now I can see I am the man I’m meant to be.
I am the man who values thoughts.
I am the man who unties knots.
My Father’s gone, now I can see I am the man who measures me.
Elizabeth Engert Beautiful Chaos
Fred Staloff Lower Manhattan at Night, 1963 WatercolorWe grew up like siblings, Bffs for as long as I can remember. We had sleep overs and day trips. We had inside jokes about Steve, the straw, and his horrible luck. We laughed at how our friendship was so effortless. Maybe it WAS my fault. I was too blinded by the beauty of chaos to recognize the fallout.
Somewhere down the line you changed what you wanted. Your true intention hidden in shadows feeding a desperate need to fuel drama showing the lengths you would go to avoid a conversation. Cuz it was more important to know what you thought you knew rather than being a grown up and talking it through. Conclusion? You needed a villain more than you wanted a companion.
Just like that you ended a 15-year friendship. You threw it away like a gum wrapper. So I guess we were never soul sisters to begin with. And all of it gone. Over what?
Some lies they said and you so quick to believe it that you failed to understand their truth and reality are 2 totally separate things. But no amount of time spent staring at spilled ink would have made me foresee your treachery. It's crazy. Still so sad to think about. I wanted nothing more than your happiness and I still do. Despite the true cost all your chaos had.
Fred Messersmith
Eclipse, 1975
Watercolor
Robyn Weinbaum
Sunset on a Wheelbarrow
Dust road shimmer, another dry afternoon cloudburst just enough for runnels and rotting spilt grain a week’s worth of grain on the ground, near the coop but not enough for new corn growing or unshriveled beans.
She sends the children barrow tippers of grain now mixed with rotgut bottles in the knobbyshade tree roots to a neighbor, watches the chickens peck peck peck at precious scattered gold.
Yellow marks and cigarette ‘O’s on her arms, neck and thighs wait for new color.
There is no money to paint the house but soon she will be vivid as sunset.
For William Carlos Williams
Jeanne Schubert
Beehives, 1981
Watercolor
Michele LoManto
“Beekeepers”
Assault on Nature
Destruction of habitats
Species invading.
Rosy fields humming
Ultraviolet flowers
Grains of tiny gold.
Nectar and pollen
Varroa mite inhabits
Bees are extinguished.
Universe provides Keepers tending to their hives
Protect the future.
A WISH
My wish,
That you can feel your own incandescent light as clearly as you see mine
That you soar higher than you ever believed you would
That you unbind yourself from self-imposed limitations
Fears
That you break free to dream again
To be again
My wish,
That you allow challenges to meet you, Choices to beckon you,
New paths to unfold before you
That you realize the potential, power, promise in you
My wish,
That your world mirrors your infinite beauty
That you love
And are always loved, and loved, and loved
We have met before; and my wish is
That some day, some time, some life
We will meet again
Fear
Fear Is the Curtain That separates Life And Happiness from Reality.
Ummarid Eitharong
MIA Series (Batman), 2008
Assemblage
Christienne J. Tenerife
A Hidden Detail
The darkness conceals what's hidden
A Knight so dark yet true
Stands full of virtue
The Dark Knight roams in the shadows
To help those in need
Getting rid of those with a taste for greed
Standing tall yet staying low
Under the night’s glow
He remains hidden
For all that he knows
The city’s good riddance
Without him
Living Art
In a perpetual black night your pastel heart radiates light
You evoke such a vast array of colors in a world that has forgotten about art
And all the walls that separate us come tumbling down in a mere matter of seconds, we are no longer strangers because you are not afraid of the many dangers that come with being soft
In a world that wields shields and swords you wear no armor, but speak gently with your words
You are living proof
Les SlesnickTwo Bicycles and Boy on Bed Watching TV, 1997 Chromogenic Print
that it only takes one match to transform a forlorn night into an ethereal oasis with an abundance of light
All because of your pastel heart, and when I look at you all I see is a living, breathing work of art
Poetic Visions
Judges
Dr. David B. Axelrod
Mr. Joe Cavanaugh
Mr. Al Rocheleau
Dr. Rajni Shankar-Brown
Ms. Mary-Ann Westbrook
Poetic Visions Poetry Contest Curator
Kevin Campbell
Kevin W. Campbell (aka NoirJente) is a resident of DeLand and an accomplished writer, poet and spoken word artist. He has featured and performed poetry all over the country. His work has appeared in various anthologies, most notably The Journal for Human Advancement (2010) and Spoken Ink: Vol. 1 (2014). Mr. Campbell has served as Slam Coordinator of Mainstreet Art and Culture Slam of DeLand since 2014 and has served as Slam Coordinator of both the Florida State Poets Association and the Creative Happiness Institute since 2015. In 2022, Mr. Campbell joined the board of the National Federation of State Poetry Societies as its first ever Performance Poetry Advocate. Through his work in poetry, he has helped facilitate the dreams of countless poets and writers who have represented DeLand, Volusia County, Central Florida, and beyond in over scores of regional and national poetry competitions and festivals. Mr. Campbell is an activist and currently sits on the board of directors of the African American Museum of Arts of DeLand as its Vice-Chair.
Kevin Campbell Lord Air
On your knees! Give praise to Lord Air! Protect us, keep us safe from the terror and evil, so distant yet close.
Freedom bleeds red rocket rivers, where kids bathe, where moms weep; Our hero solves our worry without distinction…
…without trials, without evidence, the wrong place, the wrong time, Lord Air is omnipotent and without conscience. His brains reign from darkroom displays, leagues removed from his flight, Safely sheltered from the fight, push-button killer.
The truth screamed!
I was in danger! The bargain, the deal made?
A less free me for less them, and I could be safe.
I forgot to ask one question. Tell me this, Good Lord Air. Will automatic justice target me one day?
Rajni Shankar-Brown, Ph.D. (pronouns she/they), is a community-engaged Artivist (Artist + Activist), Professor, and the Jessie Ball duPont Chair of Social Justice Education at Stetson University and the President of the National Coalition for the Homeless Board. She is also the Executive Director of the Institute for Catalyzing Equity, Justice, and Social Change and serves as the Co-Chair of Equity and Justice for the International Society for Teacher Education. Dr. Shankar-Brown is a deeply committed Eco-Justice educator, cultural strategist, public policy advisor, civil and human rights activist, poet, and artist working to advance intersectional equity and justice. She has presented and published widely, including creating leading education and justice academic and creative works. Her globally celebrated collection of poetry Tuluminous (pronounced Too-Luminous) has been praised as “a marvelous and meaningful testimony of the power of language to heal and transform” by the Presidential Inaugural Poet, Richard Blanco. Her current education book series includes Bending the Arc Toward Justice: Equity- Focused Practices for Educational Leaders and Re-Envisioning Education: Affirming Diversity and Advancing Justice. In addition to being a passionate educator-scholar-artivist, she is a dedicated Amma (Mom) who loves sunflowers and masala chai.
Visions My Way, No Date Watercolor
Dr. Rajni Shankar-Brown
Street Festivals of Shared Humanity
Street festivals of shared humanity
The glorious euphoria of beloved community
Cradles and grows and liberates with love
Both effervescent muse and divine artist
Sangha dances in universal rapture
Magical fungi and tree roots whisper
Wisdoms through the Wood Wide Web
Expansive underground network
Mycelium holding dreams and secrets
Covering bustling sun-kissed streets
That glitter at midnight with stars
And in meandering alleyway shadows
Choreographed homemade jams and jazz
Farm fresh rainbows organically sing
The flesh of strangers meets without fear
As hands reach down for harvest
Purple beets peeking out of wooden crates
Tangy arugula and homegrown blackberries
Orchard crisp apples with a hint of honey
Earthy aromatic herbs and bursting citrus
Musical eruptions of dreamy melodies
Seamlessly float around bodies like silk scarves
Woven together into protracted stories
On sidewalk benches drenched in moonlight
Belly side up to ethereal clouds outlined in cobalt
Rhythm of heartbeats in complex syncopation
We wear genes and veils that nest our blood
History in the language of molecular codes
Circulating liters in motion and a fusion of bones
Made largely of water and wandering thirsty
Ancestors and children are sacred sherpas
We must never forget our connection
The collective journey we are poetically painting
Our stitching of words and actions that ripple
Sangha calls on revolutionary love daily
Our authentic souls bowing in Namaste
Beloved community no longer endangered
Removing empathy off the threatened species list
Equity and inclusion flourishing with joy
Birthing kaleidoscopic human parades
Cradling and growing and liberating
Both effervescent muse and divine artist
Street festivals of shared humanity
The glorious euphoria of beloved community
David B. Axelrod
As Volusia County Poet Laureate (2015-2023), Dr. David B. Axelrod offers a Young Poets Mentoring Program. His newest and 24 th book of poems is entitled GREAT SPIRIT (North Sea Poets Press, 2023). Dr. Axelrod has been published in hundreds of magazines and anthologies, and is the recipient of three Fulbright Awards including the first official Fulbright Poet-in- Residence in the People’s Republic of China. He is founder/director of the not-for-profit organization, Creative Happiness Institute, Inc., presenting programs in creative writing and alternative wellness (www.creativehappiness.org). He lives in Daytona Beach. His complete CV is available at: http://www.poetrydoctor.org/curriculum-vita/
Lot G1. St. Germaine De Prez, 2016 Acrylic, Re-purposed latex tiles, Polyurethane, Plexi and re-purposed wood
Dr. David B. Axelrod
DEPAUPERATED
Statistically, your kid won't get to buy a house. Such facts are abstract until your daughter moves back in with you, unemployed, bringing your adorable grandchild who is not yet toilet trained (costing you 50¢ per diaper).
Even if your daughter makes decent pay ($25/hour, net $21) a down payment for a modest house ($25,000, and a mortgage at what rate?) would be beyond reach.
A rental, even for a shack (let alone some cathedral), costs $1550.
Boomers married. A woman kept house or ventured out to work. Some people even paid off a mortgage. Now, if a kid stays married (5 in 20 don’t), they move (13% of the population change residence every year).
They say there were millions of Mayans until their soil grew poor. No food means no civilization. Spanish conquest? Now it’s landlords who buy up property solely for profit.
As if developers will leave room for your child to plant a garden.
Mr. Joe Cavanaugh, Contest Judge
Joe Cavanaugh began his career by accepting President Kennedy’s challenge to help build a better world by serving in the Peace Corps. He is the author of four poetry books, Poetry Jam with Toast and Tea, California Dreamin’, Love Happens A Target on my Chest, and Transcendental Targets, Searching for the Ecstatic in a Cloud of White Butterflies. He served as President of the Florida State Poets Association for four years and is currently a Vice President of the National Federation of State Poetry Societies. He is a 2016 recipient of the Creative Happiness Institute’s Community Service Award for his volunteer service to poetry and the greater community. He is the first and current Chairmen of the BlackBerry Peach Poetry Prizes. He lives in Ormond Beach, Florida, and is a member of the Daytona Live Poets.
Reynier Llanes
Resurrection, 2017
Oil on Canvas
Joe Cavanaugh CARETAKERSTHIS LAND IS YOUR LAND
THIS SACRED LAND BELONGS TO US WE ARE IT'S OWNERS AND CARETAKERS
WE TOOK IT FROM THE EARTH'S CRUST WE TOOK IT FROM IT'S FIRST OWNERS
THEY FOUGHT US HARD TO KEEP IT WE HAD TO NEARLY KILL THEM ALL
CHIEF JOSEPH LOOKS ON IN SILENT TESTIMONY HIS PEOPLE HAD TAKEN GREAT CARE OF THIS LAND
WHEN THEY OWNED THIS LAND THEY GUARDED IT AND LOVED IT
THE TREES, THE BIRDS, THE RIVERS THE VALLEYS, THE FISH AND THE DEER,
THEIR CHILDREN WOULD LIVE HUNT AND FISH ON THIS LAND
CAREFULL CARETAKERS THINKING AHEAD SEVEN GENERATIONS
WE CALLED THEM THE NEZ PIERCE WHEN WE FIRST MET THEM
WE WANTED THIER LAND WE TRICKED THEM BY TREATIES
WE MADE WAR ON THEM ONLY A HANDFUL SURVIVED
WE TOOK THIS LAND AS OUR OWN AFTER WE KILLED AND CONQUERED THEM
CHIEF JOSEPH FINALLY TOLD US WHAT WE WANTED TO HEAR
"FROM WHERE THE SUN NOW STANDS, I WILL FIGHT NO MORE FOREVER"
WE OWN THIS LAND NOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT?
SUPREME COMMANDER OF THE ALLIED FORCES GENERAL DWIGHT EISENHOWER
STANDS QUITELY WATCHING, WONDERING
WHY WAS HIS WARNING AND ADVICE
NOT LISTENED TO AND ACTED UPON BY POLITICIANS
WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS CAREFULLY CRAFTED WORDS?
WHY WAS THIS LETHAL WEAPON A DEADLY ROCKET BURIED IN
A CONCRETE BUNKER ON THIS SACRED LAND?
SOMEHOW OUR DEMOCRACY HAD BOWED TO
OUR POWERFUL MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX
THEY BECAME THE NEW OWNERS AND CARETAKERS
IT WAS OUR LAND TO CARE FOR FROM CALIFORNIA TO THE NEW YORK ISLANDS
BUT NOW, WE CONTROL OUR FEAR BY BUILDING COSTLY WEAPON SYSTEMS
PROTECTED BY GUIDED MISSLE WEAPONS AIMED AT THE HEART OF OUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS
ACROSS THE OCEANS WHO ARE ALSO BUSY TRYING TO CARETAKE THEIR SACRED LAND
SOMEHOW WE CHANGED THE DEPT OF WAR TO THE BIG NEW DEPT OF DEFENSE
THE MILITAIRY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX SPENDS BILLIONS ON NEW WEAPONS
TELLING US THESE WEAPONS WILL KEEP THE PEACE
WE HAVE NAMED THIS ROCKET A PEACE KEEPER
NOW AIMED BETWEEN THE LEGS OF THE BUSINESS MAN WHO INSPECTS
THIS COSTLY CREATION AT A SAFE DISTANCE FULLY
AWARE THAT IT COULD KILL
THOUSANDS OF OUR ENEMIES
IF IT WORKED AS PLANNED OR THOUSANDS OF US IF NOT
HE IS NOT CONCERNED HE IS NOT THE CARETAKER
HIS JOB IS TO BE SURE IT LOOKS GOOD AND IT DOES THE JOB IF NEEDED
BECAUSE HE HAS A FAMILY TO FEED, EDUCATE
A FAT PAY CHECK FEEDS HIS DESIRES FOR MORE
MAYBE WE COULD HAVE THE WAR IN ANOTHER COUNTRY
JUST SEND THE WEAPONS AND NOT HAVE TO WORRY
THIS SACRED LAND, IS OUR LAND WE ARE THE CARETAKERS
WE HAVE OUR PHONES AND COMPUTERS CAREFULLY CARETAKING US
FROM THE REDWOOD FORESTS TO THE GULF STREAM WATERS
THIS LAND WAS MADE FOR YOU AND ME
Mr. Al Rocheleau, Contest Judge
President, Florida State Poets Association (FSPA); Founder and Director, The Twelve Chairs Advanced Poetry Course (180 Hours) and The Twelve Chairs Short Course (12 Hours), both accredited by FSPA; lecturer, University of Massachusetts-Dartmouth; Emerson College; University of Florida-Oak Hammock; Florida State Poets Association; Florida Writers Association; has published more than 200 poems and translations in more than a hundred national and international publications; recipient, Thomas Burnett Swann Award (2004); nominee, Forward Poetry Prize (U.K.) (2018); author, On Writing Poetry (2009), listed as #15 in bookauthority.org’s “75 Best Poetry Writing Books of All Time”; and Falling River: Collected Poems, 1976-2016 (2017).
Mary-Ann Westbrook is President of Tomoka Poets Society in Ormond Beach, has served as Secretary and President of Florida state Poets Association and is Vice President of Creative Happiness Institute which sponsors all the Arts. She has written and performed poetry for Sister Cities of Volusia County events, Halifax Historical Society and Museum, City of Port Orange's Annual Celebration of Freemanville, Flagler County Library's Poetry Month event and Seaquills Writing Group of Flagler County Poetry Month readings. She has had poetry displayed at the Ormond Beach Library, Ormond Beach Museum of Art, Flagler County Art League in Palm Coast and will have at The Art of Poetry, Sculpture and Poetry Show at The Art League of Daytona Beach. Mary-Ann has read poetry on WELE Radio Station in Ormond Beach, emceed and featured area poets on the Atticus Black Show. She has acted as judge for local poetry contests, several States Poetry Societies contests as well as the National Federation of State Poetry Societies annual contest. She has been published in the newspaper as well as many anthologies and reads poetry at open mics in the area.
Shannon Adams
Shannon has been writing poetry since she was a little girl. She found her passion as a singersongwriter a few years ago. She joined the Poet’s Corner group of New Smyrna Beach several years ago in hopes of writing better songs.
Chelsea Lynn La Bate
Chelsea Lynn La Bate is a poet, songwriter, painter, book binder, surfer and yogi warrior. Her songs are award winning and she has played thousands of shows for the global community, including performances for elders.
She lives a simple life by the sea, helping others with her words and making her art.
Bobbi Baugh
Bobbi Baugh is a full-time studio artist who lives and works in DeLand, Florida. She retired in 2015 from a career of thirty+ years in commercial printing and stationery design. She received her BA and Master’s from Stetson University in DeLand, studying studio art, speech communication and education.
Bobbi is an enthusiastic community volunteer. She volunteers her time doing website and graphic design for several local non-profits, assists kids as a kindergarten classroom helper, and participates in her Rotary Club.
Bobbi enjoys reading and writing poetry.
Elisabeth Chapman
Elisabeth Chapman is a 41 year old from Orlando and has lived and backpacked all around the United States and world. She has a background in Psychology and Neuroscience. She is a Certified Addiction Specialist and is in recovery.
Sonja Jean Craig
Notable poet and creative, Sonja Jean Craig, works daily to promote random acts of beauty. Her poetry can be found in various anthologies, including, but not limited to, FWA’s Footprints (top ten poem), Cadence, Poetic Visions and The Isolation Challenge. She created a deck of guidance cards, A Love Affaire with Life, using her poetic perspective and photography skills.
Sonja Jean is an Arts and Wellness Ambassador for Atlantic Center for the Arts where she facilitates various workshops. She is a proud member of Tomoka Poets, FWA and is Secretary for the Florida State Poets Association. She resides in beautiful New Smyrna Beach where she enjoys the artistry, poetry and magic of life.
Marc Davidson
Marc Davidson is a retired newspaperman, a retired rare coin dealer, a retired art dealer, and a retired insurance salesman. He’s enjoying his life of traveling, cooking, reading all sorts of things, and writing Poetry. He’s just published his fourth book.
Timothy S. Deary
I am a husband, father, poet, and teacher. I draw on all aspects of my life for inspiration and often use photographs and remembered conversations for inspiration. I have been in a classroom for seventeen years and attended the Museum’s Teacher’s Institute for several years.
Melody Dean Dimick
Melody Dean Dimick is a published poet, retired teacher, and former president of the Florida Writers Foundation. She and her husband, Barry, live in Citrus County.
Barry Dimick
Barry Dimick grew up in northeast Vermont. He served in Vietnam and graduated from the State University of New York at Plattsburgh. Barry has been published in numerous short story and poetry volumes.
Elizabeth Engert
I'm a poet/photographer from upstate New York that spends most of my time in Orlando Florida. I am part of Just Poets and Ops (Orlando poetry slam). Most of my pieces deal with loss and trauma in hopes that sharing them with the world will become a beacon of light and hope for others who may be going through much of the same things. We are all connected which means we are never alone. Despite all the times we may feel we are
Dawn Gonzalez
Dawn Gonzalez is a mom of two teens and a second-grade teacher with Volusia County Schools. Her first collection of poetry entitled Star Gazing; Rebellion of Stars was published in November 2021, and Dawn is currently working on a second collection entitled Ascension. Her poem “Guilt,” was published online through Ancient Paths Literary Magazine. In addition, her poem “Gods & Dragons” was included in the 2020 Poetic Visions Anthology, having been submitted alongside the painting Favorite Things by Purvis Young in that competition. Poetry has been a passion of Dawn’s since she was a young girl and it brings her so much joy to share it with others.
Everett Ray Johnson
Retired architect with a passion for photography and art. Initiated a program to bring street sculpture to downtown DeLand, developed the Utility Box Art program, large scale monarch butterfly mural, placed two pianos on the street for public entertainment, concept for the miniature art project, the Adirondack chair project, and various other projects. Volunteer Museum of Art DeLand and several city functions including non-profit organizations.
Lance Johnson
LANCE JOHNSON is a writer and sculptor. He is a journalist with nearly 40 years’ experience, first reporting and then leading newsrooms. He was editor and designer of The Society of News Design’s international book, The Best of News Design. He and his wife, Clara Montesi, reside in DeLand with their two greyhounds, Tizzy and Tilly.
Audra Jolliffe
Audra Jolliffe is an audacious adventurous soul. DeLand has for been her home sweet home for the past 19 years. She is an ultrarunner, reader, reminiscer, rambler and sometimes even writes poetry. Audra is working on a children’s book and hopes that this creative writing kickstarts this new venture. Audra loves to volunteer at the Athens Theatre and the Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts where she can immerse herself and enjoy the culture that surrounds her.
Barry Kite
Barry Kite is an artist, poet, actor and owner/main artist of the Aberrant Art Gallery in downtown Daytona Beach.
Ann Magaha
Ann Magaha lives in DeLand, Florida. She writes plays, short stories, novels, and occasionally the purest form of literature: poetry. Her latest publication, a novel called Aldrich, Mo. Pop. 199, came out last year. More about it and her other interests may be found at annmagaha.com
Gisele Marasca– Vargas
Gisele Marasca-Vargas is a contributing writer, blog writer and poet; she’s also a hypno-coach, instructor, graphic designer/publisher and cat rescuer. Gisele contributed 7 poems to the book Poets Unleashed: An Anthology (2001, complied by Ron Cross), in addition to designing the book cover and book illustrations.
Mary McCarthy
Mary McCarthy’s work has appeared in many anthologies and journals, including “The Ekphrastic World,” edited by Lorette Luzajic, “The Plague Papers,” edited by Robbi Nester, and recent issues of 3rd Wednesday, Earth’s Daughters, Verse Virtual and Caustic Frolic. She is a Pushcart and Best of the Net Nominee.
Deborah McShane
Writer, actor, director and designer, Deborah McShane brings over 40 years of creative experience to Central Florida. She is a retired English and drama teacher who worked in the wilds of North Idaho, as well as postings in Guatemala, Turkey, and Syria. Ms. McShane currently serves on the board of the Guild of the Museum of Art- DeLand, the Fall Festival for the Arts, and is president of the West Volusia Historical Society. She writes scripts and performs with the DeLand House Players, the WVHS reenactors’ troupe that brings historical figures to life in various scenarios, directs shows for Shoestring Theatre, and is passionate about learning and sharing women’s history to further civic engagement and promote an enlightened citizenry.
Elaine Person
Elaine/Lainie Person, writer/instructor/editor/speaker/performer/photographer has a parody of King Arthur in Random House’s A Century of College Humor, is published in many Florida Writers Association’s Collections, The Florida Writer magazine, Sandhill Review, Not Your Mother’s Book, Poets of Central Florida, Haikuniverse.com, The Five-Two, NFSPS’s Encore, FSPA’s Cadence (which she co-curates and co-edits), The Isolation Challenge, Fresh Fish, Of Poets and Poetry, and Poetic Visions for the Museum of Art Deland exhibit and anthology, 2020.
Marguerite Phillips
As an artist, poet and a short story writer it is great fun to expand my message with an illustration. My interpretation of the world around us may not be what your eye sees, but what my mind interprets. Abstract and fine art often inspire me to write. One of the reasons I live in Deland is the access to the museum and street festivals.
Mary Rogers-Grantham
Mary Rogers-Grantham adores teaching, loves nature and enjoys writing. Her poetry is published in The Florida Writer, Cadence, Sky Island Journal, Of Poets and Poetry, Cultural Daily and elsewhere. Her poetry collections include Under a Daylight Moon and When the Sun Sails.
Mark Andrew James Terry
Mark Andrew James Terry lives in Orlando, Florida, with his wife Jane. They have two grown children, George and Jillian. Currently, he serves as editor of the Florida State Poets Association publication, Of Poets & Poetry, and is a vice president of that organization. After a 45year career in the competitive world of advertising, he has finally “semi” retired and focused on writing. Mark has a passion for all things aesthetic including poetry, art, and music. He is a graduate of Rhodes College, and has published a memoir in prose and poetry titled Magnolia’s Bloom, available on Amazon.com.
Robyn Weinbaum
Robyn has been writing poetry since she could hold a crayon. When she isn’t writing poetry, flash fiction, travel articles, or penalty abatement letters to the IRS, she is riding her bicycle, while making notes on future pieces. Robyn is currently working on a collection of poetry, an anthology of intertwined short stories, and co-writing an alphabet medley with her children. She has won numerous awards for poetry, and for her fiction. When she grows up, she will have purple hair. Or blue. Or teal. Or none.
Ian H. Williams
Ian Williams was born in England and emigrated to the United States in 1979. He is trained as a scientist. In 2007 he received an MFA in literature from Bennington College, VT. and left science to become a writer and sculptor. He has written two books: Riding in Africa and A Brit’s Bestiary.
Irina Wolff
Irina Wolff is a Mi’kmaq writer and traveler from Orlando, Florida. She studied fine art at the Institute of American Indian Arts and creative writing at National University. When not working or writing, she travels and lives for random adventures.
Reese Lieberman
I am Reese Lieberman, a sophomore in high school, and poetry has been a growing passion of mine since I was eleven years old. I try to find and share the beauty of the world through my poetry, whether drawing inspiration from artwork, conversations, books, or the ocean. And though I am only sixteen years old, I know that I want to continue writing poetry for the rest of my life as a means of expressing myself and connecting with people in an accessible way.
Anthem Maxwell
Anthem Maxwell is a twelve year old who recently moved back to central Florida after spending most of his life growing up in Denver, Colorado. He loves baseball, Jesus, funny movies, his family, reading, writng, social equity, and playing card games.
Christienne J. Tenerife
I love doing anything that’s artistic including writing poems. I like making art, so I thought this contest would be fun.
