Arts Alive San Antonio

As part of National Poetry Months, a group of San Antonio poets joined forces for the second year in a row to organize an ekphrastic poetry contest for both youth and adults. For those who are not familiar with the term, “ekphrastic poetry” is poetry inspired by other works of art, in this case visual arts works, selected for the occasion by San Antonio’s five museums: San Antonio Museum of Art, the McNay Art Museum, Ruby City, the Briscoe Western Art Museum, and the Witte.

The winners in both categories have just been announced. We will publish the winning entries of both adults and youth that were inspired by the same artwork, starting with today and continuing through four more Mondays.

Poems inspired by the Briscoe Western Art Museum’s painting “With No roof but a Resistol” by Bruce Green.

Adult Winners:

                                                      Prairie Madness
                                                      By Jonathan Fletcher

A sickness persists in the Plains, spins the clouds like cotton candy
stains them dark gray and purple, swallows the pink-tinged wedge
of light, sometimes a cowboy or two. Not these tough cowhands,
though, who look on yet refuse to flinch or flee as the puffy pall
approaches. So, too, their equally hardy horses: a stoic Appaloosa,
a partially obscured chestnut. In such harsh conditions, biped and
quadruped must act alike. Still, there are those who assume these
cowboys, each stirruped yet unstirred, are not brave by reckless,
maybe even mad. Yet do ill or careless cowhands wear Western
shirts and weathered chaps, cowhide cuffs and rawhide gloves?
Or bring and don their dusters? Perhaps the coreopsis that gently
bends with the tallgrass knows: such wear, though thick and ruff,
isn’t meant for more than the body. It’s instead the cowboys who
toughen themselves. A Resistol protects the head, not the mind.

                                                      These Old Bones
                                                      By Diane Gonzales Bertrand

Feel the storm before I open my eyes
twisting in my backbone,
cracking in my knees.
Tell the boy over coffee
we wear canvas long-coats today.
He pulls aside the checkered curtain
squints at the sun, laughs.

With his coat shoved under his saddle.
he rides beside me, admiring his own shadow.
As we reach the herd nuzzling yellow weeds,
the clouds distill as purple mist.
steady drops rap against our hats.
Rolling thunder muffles his cursing
at these old bones he refuses to trust.

Youth Winner:

                                                      The Rising Sun 
                                                      By Katherine Porter

As I look down the barrel of my Winchester, I see the rising sun
I wear my boots and leggings and spurs, but the battle is far from won
The cattle are behind us, against the rising sun
As I look out across the field, my mind goes to that day
When I rode with my pa, to see the rising sun
The rain had stopped and stayed away, scared to show its face
The cattle were hungry but we knew what to do
So, we prayed and prayed, but the sweet small I knew never came
The day we rounded up to sell, there in the wind it blew
The beautiful small of rain hit my nose
As we rode up that day, so then, I started to say
The rain has come to save us pa, he stopped me dead and said
No, son God gave us one more day
One more day to thank him, one more day to see
The backs of our precious cattle, against his rising sun