Inkphrastica: Wood on Water by Andy N (Words) Mark Sheeky (Oil Painting)

Wood on Water
(by Andy N)

Over the edge of the cliff
I can see twirling
around in the sea
like a panic-stricken monster
A piece of wood
Swaying across the waves
Desperately trying to keep itself afloat
Underneath the fading Autumn sun
Etching out tension
Next to the nearby pier
Almost like it was a shipwreck
Now frozen in a watery suspension
Like it had been pulled up
From the bottom of the ocean,
Building a makeshift bridge
Upright against the wind
Salt crusting the mood
Curling just a little too close to my heart
Changing the colour of the sky
Instead of a hazy blue
To a stark blood red orange in panic.

Mark Sheeky’s Oil Painting: A Tower of Bees Hit by Forces Beyond Their Control (available for purchase)

Inkphrastica: We Crackle in Flame by Deborah Edgeley (Words) Mark Sheeky (Watercolour)

We Crackle In Flame
(by Deborah Edgeley)

We stand on sky roots
hair tickles
wood-smoke air

Our conscious lies in wind splayed crunch
dazed earth
cinder fingers

We crackle in flame
in the same shade of glow

Barrel chested wind gusts ruffle
lost branches hidden
in the field that was

Golden Flesh Networks
mirror Orb For All
We are the same shade of glow


Dig down to hell
Carve greed from our flesh

We crackle in flame
in the same shade of glow

Smear earth on cheek
disguising tears conjured

Mark Sheeky’s Watercolour: The Chimney Sweeper 2 (available for purchase)

Inkphrastica: Beneath The Tree by Nicola Hulme (Words) Mark Sheeky (Watercolour)

Beneath The Tree
(by Nicola Hulme)

Beneath the tree I climbed as a child
daisies grew, bright and wild,
a sunlit meadow where flowers bloomed.

Buttercups trampled, earth torn asunder
a church erected in hail and thunder,
childhood dreams destroyed too soon.

My heart wept to see so clear
in chains a boy of tender years,
where now there stands a chapel room.

Rome planted bodies of guilt-ridden men
beneath the weight of sacrament,
amongst darkened sods of wrathful gloom.

Mark Sheeky’s Watercolour: The Garden of Love (available for purchase)

Inkphrastica: Her World by Andy Cash (Words) Mark Sheeky (Oil Painting)

Her World
(by Andy Cash)

She had shown him a new world
Feral, sensual and wild in beauty
Flying free, a forever butterfly, in a new Eden
Yet he was now a lost soul
A new Adam alone with femininity
It was her empire to roost
Lust left him in an abstraction of paradise
To age in shameful silence

Mark Sheek’s Oil Painting: The Paranoid Schizophrenia Of Richard Dadd (available for sale)

Inkphrastica: Siren Song by Martin Elder (Words) Mark Sheeky (Oil Painting)

Siren Song
(by Martin Elder)

She sang the siren song
Until she could sing the song no more
And the song was drowned
The words lost
The trees burned
In the fire of another’s love
Of reckless gain
And her hair falls
In layered strands
Remnants of the finesse of what once was
To strew the land
What’s left of hope has become
A tired empty tear down one side of her face
Whilst the other stares
In vacant disbelief
Trees now denuded of paradise
Stalagmite stumps of make believe
Her lips full and pursed with pregnant words
She cannot sing or speak
Because the words have gone
Not even enough for a lament
All that’s left a final scream
A dying swan
A sound which can never be heard
By those left to walk the land
Heads buried in coats of despair
Because nobody listened
No one really cared
But for her the memory is still there
The memory will always be there

Mark Sheeky’s Oil Panting: The Passion Of Anna: Part One of an Ingmar Bergman Triptych (available for purchase)

Inkphrastica: Wax by Nicola Hulme & Just So Greek by John F. Keane: Inspired by Mark Sheeky’s Oil Painting

(by Nicola Hulme)

Life melts , slips away,
pooling slowly, before cascading
over the edge into decline.
Cooling, hardening, leaving a path,
too soon traced and overlaid
by the next generation.

Once illuminating,
bursting with energy,
flaring and flickering, finding
cupped hands of protection
against the breeze,
spluttering and guttering.

The light now fades,
a naked flame chars
a crumpled wick,
sending up a plume of silvered smoke.
The candle shortening, descends
into oblivion, extinguished.

Is it an endless sleep, oceans deep?
In Karma, do we rise again?
Or, when flame is dowsed
and all is black
does death defeat us?
Darkness and nothing more?

Death welcomes us all; unbiased and inclusive,
Inevitable mortality holds no prejudice.
Some rush towards him,
giving the Grim Reaper a hand.
Others run from him
on supplement and vitamin fuelled treadmills.

The indiscriminate scythe offers strange comfort;
levelling the playing field.
You cannot take my life,
barter or buy it to lengthen your own.
My spark burns until the day I’m snuffed out.
I am grateful for every second.

Just So Greek
(by John F. Keane)

Cassandra’s fractured face seeps into hollowed rock
Quick bow-spray spatters white across spectral seas
Cool effigies dream of thespian victories
Winged artistry, brave hands and tragic sorrows;
Mimetic marble strives at dawn to recollect
Ecstatic festivals and nights of wanton dance

While colours leap from distance, filling us with spring
And pallid plastic dreamscapes with primeval song;
Uncounted species and genera of lost loves
Rise tall and stalk like phobic shadows of dismay
Through trembling phonic moments on forgotten strands
While our new Muse awakens, thumbs sand from her eyes

Takes morning ship to Corinth, eying spindrift waves
Occluding Thracian smiles and foreign faces
Unheeded on her long and voiceless voyage
Towards a distant shore of endless origins;
A few more lines weave Phidian visions taut
With drowning lovers and heroic inference.

Mark Sheeky’s Oil Painting: Wax Cataclysm Of Phoenixes And Unphoenixes (available for purchase)

Inkphrastica: She’s Cold by Dorinda McDowell & Ever Changing by Nigel Astell: Inspired by Mark Sheeky’s Watercolour

She’s Cold
(by Dorinda McDowell)

She’s cold.
She’s almost drowned out the sun with
her tears; they did not stop for days:
see that sun almost falling from the sky!

The black menace in the corner is
a frightening reminder of her
desperate journey.
The sea was cold.


It is still the same sun
and it hasn’t fallen from the sky.

And she sees the flowers
and she loves their vibrancy.

They are from the earth and she
is on that same earth, and
not on the leaky boat now.

She takes the mug of tea
from the kind lady.

She is safe.

Part of her aches for happier

Her youthful, aged heart sighs and
begins its crippled recovery
towards a slowly blossoming
new hope…

Ever Changing
(by Nigel Astell)

Blue sky rider
signal flower red
traffic light hill

Standing upright defiant
history remains black
against life itself

Cycle of demands
our turbulent earth
ever changing world.

Mark Sheeky’s Watercolour: The Schoolboy (available for purchase)

Inkphrastica: The Textured Mistress by Nigel Astell (Words) Mark Sheeky (Oil Painting)

The Textured Mistress
(by Nigel Astell)

Underneath black flowing undertones
a cloudy mystic eye
appearing not to see
sexual wanting, watchful other
your not-knowing stares
staying hidden within painting
Textured Mistress reveals nothing.

Mark Sheeky’s Oil Painting: The Resurrection Sonata: Awakening: Part 3 of a Triptych (available for purchase)