Ekphrastic Poetry Challenge: Fireplaces The Society September 23, 2022 Ekphrastic, Poetry, Poetry Challenge, Poetry Contests 23 Comments . This photo comes to us from Joshua C. Frank of Texas. Write an ekphrastic poem based on it and post it in the comments section below. . . NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Trending now: 23 Responses Joshua C. Frank September 23, 2022 My Uncle’s Fireplace My uncle has 4K TV Above his stony fireplace— More pixels than the eye can see In one square yard of TV space. The scenery channel broadcasts views Of desert night or rippling lake— A window you just can’t refuse To stare at like a hungry snake. When his heart gives him desire To sit with family and friends Before a crackling, roaring fire, How do you think this story ends? Does he burn logs by stony wall And shut the glass to keep it clean, Or pick up the remote control And watch the fire upon the screen? (Note: The photo really is of my uncle’s fireplace.) Reply Joshua C. Frank October 10, 2022 One more stanza: With pixels flickering red and gold, “Ah, toasty warm!” my uncle jokes. Meanwhile, the hearth below is cold And never crackles, never smokes. Then, with his phone, he snaps a pic Of his wall, its telling scene, And texts a link for us to click And see the view upon a screen. Reply Stephen Dickey September 23, 2022 A stone hearth idles, swept, closed up and cold. But just above it pixels are all lit. Such sanitation helps get houses sold, Bland chic sells more than we care to admit. And so do photos posted on a lark. There are those who will compliment such kitsch Like cheap oils of an old, abandoned barque. And someone somewhere hopes to strike it rich. The fool’s reflection’s captured in the glass. His camera took what photons all dish out. He looks a little like a clever ass That doubted he would ever get found out. His sidekick just seems to have left him to it. What does she care—who’s harder to make out? If he won’t, someone else will aways do it, And some ekphrastic bastard leaves no doubt. I guess this will come off as mischievous since the photographer has confessed, but it was composed without that knowledge. Reply Joshua C. Frank September 23, 2022 Actually, my uncle took the photo and sent it to us. (I look like him, though.) Either way, it’s funny. Reply Joseph S. Salemi September 23, 2022 The modern world is ersatz through and through — Fake substitutes for what is real and true. No butter — only margarine to spread Upon your pseudo-wheat-grain phony bread; No sex with ladies — get a blow-up doll To be your bedmate (whether wife or moll); Almond milk instead of stuff from dugs — Saccharine in place of sugar plugs; In Japan you do not need a mutt — A robot dog will buzz around your hut; And here we have false fire on a screen While underneath a real hearth’s cold. Obscene. Reply Patricia Allred April 1, 2023 Joseph~Each line exposes the world and the folly we live in. For me, key strokes on a screen cannot replace being in the presence of another, nor a phone call. People are experiencing loneliness as they spend hours online. The latest! Eating ground insects instead of meat? Oh. please! Patricia Reply Joshua C. Frank June 7, 2024 Hi Joe, it just occurred to me that I should let you know: your poem here was part of the inspiration for my poem “If You Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.” Reply Joseph S. Salemi June 7, 2024 Joshua, I’m glad it was an inspiration for you. Angel L Villanueva September 23, 2022 The flames beckon, as would light to a moth; The wood burns with faux crackling, sans the smoke. Its fragile shell remains cool to the touch And grants no warmth despite the burning oak. But modern life is made of this, a box From which all entertainment glows and flows. It even replaces that which thwarts the Shiver of wintry nights or frozen toes. Its owner now sits to bask in its light; Below it rests a pit no longer seen, The old fireplace, cold and barren of wood. Instead, he stares at flames on a flat screen. Reply Mike Bryant September 23, 2022 In Deep South Texas, heat is not a treat, So air conditioning is de rigueur. Flames in living rooms may seem offbeat But roaring fires do have their own allure. So set the AC down to sixty-four, We’ll watch the pixels blazing like the sun. We’ll have some cocoa, hear the crackling roar In digital surround sound 5.1 And next time for the perfect winter date I’ll put the screen atop the fireplace grate. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant September 23, 2022 Smokescreen Long gone, the days we reveled in the flame – That passion for the blush and rush of heat That greets the one who never yearns to tame The feral flare – that tiger of a treat. Long gone, the searing kiss on winter skin – The magic melt of Hestia’s joyous thaw – That hearth side hug that radiates within In crimson bursts of wonderment and awe. Long gone, the sensual glow of hot delight – Those luscious licks and flickers blazing true, As limbs entwine and lovers bask all night In scarlet hues without a tinge of blue. Today lost eras fade in flashy scenes On frigid fifty-five-inch HD screens. Reply Mia September 24, 2022 Set with a surround of solid grey stone, It was once the hearth of the home, Its heaving heart, a magnet for young and old, Gifting all with wondrous life and warmth. How many tales it must have heard, that hearth, As it warmed occupants that sat, chatting Or cracking jokes, warming their hands and toes! Now it sits, an empty sepulchre, Dark, cold and morose, obscured from view Behind a forlorn screen to keep out The dust, for a more convenient fire has taken Centre stage. Placed right overhead, securely Fixed atop the stone, casting long fiery Shadows on the walls. But alas, whilst it can beam and beam it remains a villain, Devoid of heat and heart, for some of its other offerings Are often chilling, leaving icy hands clinging To a remote control and feet and toes chilled to the bone. Yet young and old are now mesmerised with The flickering screen, sullenly lulled, sat still and trapped By a deceptive fire that zaps all zeal and fries the will. Reply Mary Gardner September 24, 2022 That cold, old, gray stone fireplace was here Back when we bought the house in ‘ninety-eight. Why one in homes in Florida? It’s queer That logs and holder, tongs and pokers, grate Would be a selling-point (so says the realtor). We’ve just three months of wintry Southern cold That Northern visitors call “sweater weather.” But since we want the house to be resold AND neighbors to feel at home in our place, We’ll keep the stony, pristine, unused hearth, But make our room to welcome and embrace With screen depicting liveliness and warmth. Reply Mia September 25, 2022 Curiouser and curiouser Thought Alice; how can it be, A fire on top of the mantlepiece? The Cheshire Cat grinned On top of the tree, as if it knew A thing or two and Alice half Expected to see a giant white Rabbit exiting in a frightful flurry. It’s a rabbit warren, she thought, Or a dream for here there is Nothing to see. Now more than Ever convinced that in such a Marvellous place nothing Is at all what it seems. Reply Roy E. Peterson September 25, 2022 VIRTUAL REALITY IS A WOEFUL WASTE OF SPACE Virtual reality is a woeful waste of space. I saw a fire burning, but not in the fireplace. When I saw it, I was frightened, since it was on the wall. I ran to the telephone to make a 9-1-1 call. I shouted to the owner that your place is set on fire. Save yourself and save your kids the situation’s dire. He began to laugh and say it was not reality. You can have your virtual, but it’s not the thing for me. Reply Mary Gardner September 25, 2022 Bravo, Roy! Reply Jack DesBois September 25, 2022 Out of the frying pan… This old fireplace is messy, And it belches CO2– But the flames are warm and dressy So I know just what I’ll do: Mount the screen, set up the WiFi, Press a button, and voila! Crickle-cracklings in HiFi, Cozy warmth you never saw. No more logs to lug and grumble At when first flames flicker out. No more tongs to curse and fumble, No more sparks to cause a shout, And what’s more, my carbon footprint Is no more, my conscience clean As my hearth, where not a soot-print haunts my home with sights obscene. So reality is conquered And the world from evil saved. One more step to peace and concord! (One more step toward the grave.) Reply James A. Tweedie October 5, 2022 Jack London wrote, “To Build a Fire”— A life gone up in (lack of) flames. These days, it seems, we seldom tire Of playing frigid AI games. This HD fire must take the cake When screened above an empty grate. The stones, no doubt, are also fake. Wood fires, alas, are out-of-date. Reply J.G. Simiński November 6, 2022 The view before me makes the ideal fire The flames are perfect down to the last digital byte It’s the safety a screen allows near a raging pyre Though without comforting warmth, but with adjustable light Holding cocoa in hand and thick socks covering my feet I close my eyes to imagine what’s before me is really what I desire Trying hard to recreate that feeling of a snowy mountain retreat But alas, I give in, put some logs on, watch the movie, Chariots of Fire. Reply Larry Coltin November 13, 2022 Burning wood for heat Is antediluvian But it warms my hearth Reply Mark C Watney December 10, 2022 Upon a stack of stones is put a plug-in-fire in memory of the Baal who would not light one up despite his prophet’s slitted wrists Old Baal now nightly sits before his picture-fire and frets and frits away his time in memory of those who slit and bled and died for zip of prophets who slit their wrists to get old Baal to light a picture-fire in memory of the bleeding seers of old who slit their wrists to get their Baal to beat Jehovah’s roaring blaze by prophets who slit in honor of the seers by prophets who slit their wrists and cried to Baal to light whose prophets slit their wrists to Reply eman ozair December 17, 2022 Shades of Fireplace 20 years have passed in pain They still think I can be tamed Have they not seen me losing? Or do they just want to see me in vain? Your the only one that’s insane Still not leaving me, still living in a dream Shades of the fireplace, in my living room, Burning the woods, burning your heart. I’m afraid that you might find the truth At last, leave me too when you find that I love you too Cause lets are honest, we lost our worth When they see we want them to. You presented your heart, I ruined your soul, You gave me peace, I gave only destruction. Warm moments in cold winter, Ruined your dreams, ruined your thoughts, Trying to save myself, Sacrificing you in the shades of the fireplace. Reply Paul A. Freeman June 8, 2024 Summer Rental Limerick One summer I thought I would hire a house, and inside was a pyre ablaze on a screen, and CO2 clean, so I reached up and turned off the fire? Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. 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Joshua C. Frank September 23, 2022 My Uncle’s Fireplace My uncle has 4K TV Above his stony fireplace— More pixels than the eye can see In one square yard of TV space. The scenery channel broadcasts views Of desert night or rippling lake— A window you just can’t refuse To stare at like a hungry snake. When his heart gives him desire To sit with family and friends Before a crackling, roaring fire, How do you think this story ends? Does he burn logs by stony wall And shut the glass to keep it clean, Or pick up the remote control And watch the fire upon the screen? (Note: The photo really is of my uncle’s fireplace.) Reply
Joshua C. Frank October 10, 2022 One more stanza: With pixels flickering red and gold, “Ah, toasty warm!” my uncle jokes. Meanwhile, the hearth below is cold And never crackles, never smokes. Then, with his phone, he snaps a pic Of his wall, its telling scene, And texts a link for us to click And see the view upon a screen. Reply
Stephen Dickey September 23, 2022 A stone hearth idles, swept, closed up and cold. But just above it pixels are all lit. Such sanitation helps get houses sold, Bland chic sells more than we care to admit. And so do photos posted on a lark. There are those who will compliment such kitsch Like cheap oils of an old, abandoned barque. And someone somewhere hopes to strike it rich. The fool’s reflection’s captured in the glass. His camera took what photons all dish out. He looks a little like a clever ass That doubted he would ever get found out. His sidekick just seems to have left him to it. What does she care—who’s harder to make out? If he won’t, someone else will aways do it, And some ekphrastic bastard leaves no doubt. I guess this will come off as mischievous since the photographer has confessed, but it was composed without that knowledge. Reply
Joshua C. Frank September 23, 2022 Actually, my uncle took the photo and sent it to us. (I look like him, though.) Either way, it’s funny. Reply
Joseph S. Salemi September 23, 2022 The modern world is ersatz through and through — Fake substitutes for what is real and true. No butter — only margarine to spread Upon your pseudo-wheat-grain phony bread; No sex with ladies — get a blow-up doll To be your bedmate (whether wife or moll); Almond milk instead of stuff from dugs — Saccharine in place of sugar plugs; In Japan you do not need a mutt — A robot dog will buzz around your hut; And here we have false fire on a screen While underneath a real hearth’s cold. Obscene. Reply
Patricia Allred April 1, 2023 Joseph~Each line exposes the world and the folly we live in. For me, key strokes on a screen cannot replace being in the presence of another, nor a phone call. People are experiencing loneliness as they spend hours online. The latest! Eating ground insects instead of meat? Oh. please! Patricia Reply
Joshua C. Frank June 7, 2024 Hi Joe, it just occurred to me that I should let you know: your poem here was part of the inspiration for my poem “If You Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.” Reply
Angel L Villanueva September 23, 2022 The flames beckon, as would light to a moth; The wood burns with faux crackling, sans the smoke. Its fragile shell remains cool to the touch And grants no warmth despite the burning oak. But modern life is made of this, a box From which all entertainment glows and flows. It even replaces that which thwarts the Shiver of wintry nights or frozen toes. Its owner now sits to bask in its light; Below it rests a pit no longer seen, The old fireplace, cold and barren of wood. Instead, he stares at flames on a flat screen. Reply
Mike Bryant September 23, 2022 In Deep South Texas, heat is not a treat, So air conditioning is de rigueur. Flames in living rooms may seem offbeat But roaring fires do have their own allure. So set the AC down to sixty-four, We’ll watch the pixels blazing like the sun. We’ll have some cocoa, hear the crackling roar In digital surround sound 5.1 And next time for the perfect winter date I’ll put the screen atop the fireplace grate. Reply
Susan Jarvis Bryant September 23, 2022 Smokescreen Long gone, the days we reveled in the flame – That passion for the blush and rush of heat That greets the one who never yearns to tame The feral flare – that tiger of a treat. Long gone, the searing kiss on winter skin – The magic melt of Hestia’s joyous thaw – That hearth side hug that radiates within In crimson bursts of wonderment and awe. Long gone, the sensual glow of hot delight – Those luscious licks and flickers blazing true, As limbs entwine and lovers bask all night In scarlet hues without a tinge of blue. Today lost eras fade in flashy scenes On frigid fifty-five-inch HD screens. Reply
Mia September 24, 2022 Set with a surround of solid grey stone, It was once the hearth of the home, Its heaving heart, a magnet for young and old, Gifting all with wondrous life and warmth. How many tales it must have heard, that hearth, As it warmed occupants that sat, chatting Or cracking jokes, warming their hands and toes! Now it sits, an empty sepulchre, Dark, cold and morose, obscured from view Behind a forlorn screen to keep out The dust, for a more convenient fire has taken Centre stage. Placed right overhead, securely Fixed atop the stone, casting long fiery Shadows on the walls. But alas, whilst it can beam and beam it remains a villain, Devoid of heat and heart, for some of its other offerings Are often chilling, leaving icy hands clinging To a remote control and feet and toes chilled to the bone. Yet young and old are now mesmerised with The flickering screen, sullenly lulled, sat still and trapped By a deceptive fire that zaps all zeal and fries the will. Reply
Mary Gardner September 24, 2022 That cold, old, gray stone fireplace was here Back when we bought the house in ‘ninety-eight. Why one in homes in Florida? It’s queer That logs and holder, tongs and pokers, grate Would be a selling-point (so says the realtor). We’ve just three months of wintry Southern cold That Northern visitors call “sweater weather.” But since we want the house to be resold AND neighbors to feel at home in our place, We’ll keep the stony, pristine, unused hearth, But make our room to welcome and embrace With screen depicting liveliness and warmth. Reply
Mia September 25, 2022 Curiouser and curiouser Thought Alice; how can it be, A fire on top of the mantlepiece? The Cheshire Cat grinned On top of the tree, as if it knew A thing or two and Alice half Expected to see a giant white Rabbit exiting in a frightful flurry. It’s a rabbit warren, she thought, Or a dream for here there is Nothing to see. Now more than Ever convinced that in such a Marvellous place nothing Is at all what it seems. Reply
Roy E. Peterson September 25, 2022 VIRTUAL REALITY IS A WOEFUL WASTE OF SPACE Virtual reality is a woeful waste of space. I saw a fire burning, but not in the fireplace. When I saw it, I was frightened, since it was on the wall. I ran to the telephone to make a 9-1-1 call. I shouted to the owner that your place is set on fire. Save yourself and save your kids the situation’s dire. He began to laugh and say it was not reality. You can have your virtual, but it’s not the thing for me. Reply
Jack DesBois September 25, 2022 Out of the frying pan… This old fireplace is messy, And it belches CO2– But the flames are warm and dressy So I know just what I’ll do: Mount the screen, set up the WiFi, Press a button, and voila! Crickle-cracklings in HiFi, Cozy warmth you never saw. No more logs to lug and grumble At when first flames flicker out. No more tongs to curse and fumble, No more sparks to cause a shout, And what’s more, my carbon footprint Is no more, my conscience clean As my hearth, where not a soot-print haunts my home with sights obscene. So reality is conquered And the world from evil saved. One more step to peace and concord! (One more step toward the grave.) Reply
James A. Tweedie October 5, 2022 Jack London wrote, “To Build a Fire”— A life gone up in (lack of) flames. These days, it seems, we seldom tire Of playing frigid AI games. This HD fire must take the cake When screened above an empty grate. The stones, no doubt, are also fake. Wood fires, alas, are out-of-date. Reply
J.G. Simiński November 6, 2022 The view before me makes the ideal fire The flames are perfect down to the last digital byte It’s the safety a screen allows near a raging pyre Though without comforting warmth, but with adjustable light Holding cocoa in hand and thick socks covering my feet I close my eyes to imagine what’s before me is really what I desire Trying hard to recreate that feeling of a snowy mountain retreat But alas, I give in, put some logs on, watch the movie, Chariots of Fire. Reply
Mark C Watney December 10, 2022 Upon a stack of stones is put a plug-in-fire in memory of the Baal who would not light one up despite his prophet’s slitted wrists Old Baal now nightly sits before his picture-fire and frets and frits away his time in memory of those who slit and bled and died for zip of prophets who slit their wrists to get old Baal to light a picture-fire in memory of the bleeding seers of old who slit their wrists to get their Baal to beat Jehovah’s roaring blaze by prophets who slit in honor of the seers by prophets who slit their wrists and cried to Baal to light whose prophets slit their wrists to Reply
eman ozair December 17, 2022 Shades of Fireplace 20 years have passed in pain They still think I can be tamed Have they not seen me losing? Or do they just want to see me in vain? Your the only one that’s insane Still not leaving me, still living in a dream Shades of the fireplace, in my living room, Burning the woods, burning your heart. I’m afraid that you might find the truth At last, leave me too when you find that I love you too Cause lets are honest, we lost our worth When they see we want them to. You presented your heart, I ruined your soul, You gave me peace, I gave only destruction. Warm moments in cold winter, Ruined your dreams, ruined your thoughts, Trying to save myself, Sacrificing you in the shades of the fireplace. Reply
Paul A. Freeman June 8, 2024 Summer Rental Limerick One summer I thought I would hire a house, and inside was a pyre ablaze on a screen, and CO2 clean, so I reached up and turned off the fire? Reply
