Geelong Writers Ekphrastic Challenge No. 11, December 2024 – January 2025
[Submissions of up to 300 words closed on Sunday 12 January 2025.]
Fireworks (image: Quinlivan)
Congratulations to those who submitted to the Geelong Writers final Ekphrastic Challenge for 2024. The image ‘Fireworks’ (by Quinlivan) gave rise to original contributions on the theme of explosive light. Emerging themes were to do with community, belonging, tradition, as well as opportunities for change – development and new beginnings!
We proudly publish the writings of the following thirteen writers:
Ian Stewart David Bridge Deb Lucas Amanda Maloney
Geoffrey Gaskill Allan Barden Dulara J. Adam Stone
John Heritage John Margetts Daphne Delores Winter
Steve Gray Gail Griffin
Explosions
In life there are moments of explosive experience, illuminated by or producing a sudden fireworks-like moment. Some we remember, some we don’t. Others we would prefer to forget.
Perhaps the first the moment of birth. Think of the mother’s flash of pain as the head emerges. Unremembered is the sudden blinding light and the experience of air on the skin and in the lungs that blasts into the mind of the newborn.
You fall and hit your head. Did you see stars; was there a sudden flash, an explosion of pain as you met the earth? Something like the array of exploding fireworks?
What about the moment you first fall in love? You are a thing of sweet sixteen. Your vision is filled with the beauty of the about-to-be beloved. Another fireworks experience? It was for me. I recall the flash as if it were yesterday.
Fire – maybe a benign thing that heats your house and lights your hearth. But also a monster of destruction, eating up everything in its path as it consumes and destroys, giving a blinding flash of light before the blackened trail is revealed.
Before the ban we had bonfire nights with fireworks. ‘Cracker Night’ we called it. All those catherine wheels, and skyrockets, exploding at height with a blaze of light and colour. Memories of childhood past.
As the New Year approaches we are reminded that its birth will be recognised and celebrated, world-wide, with brilliant displays of coloured sky illuminations. Remember the purpose of fireworks to the traditional Chinese. The warding-off of evil spirits. Is that what we’re doing on New Year’s Eve? They abound, so perhaps we need those fireworks.
– by Ian Stewart
Son et lumière
As Wei’s hand hovered waiting to ignite the fuse, he remembered his excitement as a child when the young bamboo caught alight and disintegrated in pops and bangs. Ming, the pretty merchant’s daughter, watched closely, as she had since he’d agreed to her risky proposal.
Wei was Master Liang’s chosen successor, trained in grinding and mixing the powders that made up the appropriate colours and explosions for each effect. Last week it was the Lord’s birthday, yesterday the Mayor’s daughter’s wedding, and next week the Tao Temple’s Spring celebration. Each required slightly different combinations of coloured lights exploding in showers, illuminating scores of awestruck upturned faces. Yet years of repetition had dimmed his excitement; he saw opportunities for improvement but his Master was frustratingly conservative. Wei had risked no custom builds of his own. Until now.
Ming had encouraged him to project their business emblem, the famous five-pointed yellow stars, across the heavens. He had received an advance payment but he had other hopes based on Ming’s encouraging smiles. Normally, he would not have discussed his methods so openly, but keeping her close was intoxicating and women were seldom technically minded.
The paper-bound shells burned skyward detonating in sequence. Ming clapped as the stars spread amidst much popping and crackling. “Congratulations Wei, you have accomplished your task well. Father will be pleased.”
He laid his hand on her arm. “Perhaps we could become more than business partners.”
She shrugged herself free. “Partners? You have performed the service we wanted. I have memorised the formula and method we paid for. Do you think my father would trust a man who failed to guard his own secrets!” Her eyes and voice reflected their own light and sound show, and Wei realised, try as he might, he had nothing to match it.
– by David Bridge
Fake
Such a fake, man-made fireworks in the sky
Potassium nitrate, sulfur and charcoal
Other parts including: black powder, timed fuse
Burst charge to ignite stars, of small pellets of chemicals
A flash of aluminium mixed with potassium
To produce the loud BANG
And the mortar for lift off, and sparklers of a fuel
Of oxidiser, steel powder, colourant and binder
Calcium burns orange, sodium burns yellow
Strontium burns red, barium burns green
Copper burns blue
Magnesium, aluminium and titanium burn white
WHY
Sure, it looks pretty with moments of awe
But all of the funding for such a shortcoming
Resources better spent, on forests and fresh air
WHY
How selfish are we? That we hurt our best friends
Who hear things much more, their own frequency
And the scent of the danger hangs on in the air
WHY
The sky is already magnificent and full,
Of the history of all things
Past present and beyond
HERE
Glimmering glow worms, lightening bugs, fireflies
There’s lichen that glows in caves and on stone
Or nature’s night light, the ghostly mushroom
Given some oxygen, and energy together
They will dance a green light
Phosphorescence in water as you wade gently through
Whilst the big moon rises in awe of the shore
Or the auroras colours on the coast where I live
All the adults came out and brought all of their kids
Fireworks BLAH
As fake as Christmas
Yes, maybe the Grinch of cynical green
But, it’s all about seeing what is there
but unseen
– by Deb Lucas
Ocean of Wishes
By the still and calming ocean break,
The stars above began to wake.
Families gather, with hearts alight,
To meet the magic of the night.
A hush fell over the crowd all a natter,
Changing momentum from the loud chatter,
A clock strike heralds the bursting light,
The water ripples with red/gold bright.
A firework soared from a spark-filled beam,
Bursting wide a golden dream.
Ribbons danced across the velvet night,
Lighting up in fiery flight.
Two brothers stood by, to watch the glow,
First time to witness the magic show.
Each flash and swirl, each fiery flare,
Inpsires the imagination to dare.
I wish to dream, so big and bright,
And let my hopes take gentle flight!
I wish for kindness in every heart,
So we can share love from the start!
The fireworks dimmed, the whispers stilled,
The sea lay quiet, softly filled.
With hearts aglow and dreams held tight,
The brothers knew their wishes soared that night.
– by Amanda Moloney
Helios and Ash
It was New Year’s Eve. Again.
Above him, the pyrotechnics exploded and lit up that beautiful Sydney foreshore. If it hadn’t been for Ash, those fireworks would have left him cold.
‘It’s magic,’ she said, her smile and eyes iridescent in the glow.
‘Till midnight,’ Helios replied, his smile sad.
‘Don’t say that,’ she said looking up into his eyes. ‘Enjoy the moment.’ She kissed him on the nose.
He smiled. Those few short hours when she’d squeeze his hand and kiss him, he felt the magic as she did. They were worth all the rest of the night put together.
They’d been coming to this exact spot since they were kids when their parents first brought them to enjoy the display. ‘Let’s make it an annual pilgrimage,’ she’d said.
And they had despite the one time he had tried to talk her into meeting elsewhere. ‘Fewer people, and less manufactured enjoyment.’
She laughed. It was the day she’d kissed his nose for the first time. ‘No,’ she declared. ‘This is perfect.’
So, they met each year. Helios didn’t want to recall a time, pre-Ash, when they hadn’t spent New Year’s Eve here. Together.
As far as he was concerned, those few hours he spent on the shore of the harbour with Ash was the only thing that made the year bearable.
But he knew that on the stroke of midnight, as the fireworks above them climaxed in an orgy of colour and sound, she’d already be packing ready to return to her husband in the suburbs.
When she kissed him on the nose and walked away it was over for another year.
He watched as the darkness swallowed her and he felt the ache.
A whole year …
He wanted to cry.
– by Geoffrey Gaskill
Bonfires and firecrackers
In the early 1960s during winter, the small town where I grew up always buzzed with anticipation as the 7th of June approached. I was not yet into my teenage years, but I remember every detail like it was yesterday. The town’s night air would be heavy with the smell and sound of firecrackers being set off in backyards leading up to the finale of the community bonfire.
The best part was when my mother would give me extra pocket money to allow me to buy crackers from one of the three shops in the town that sold an array of exciting and colourful packages of firecrackers, including my favourite penny bangers and those long, whistling sky rockets. Firecrackers both fascinated and intrigued me, especially the large penny bangers which friends and I used to light and watch explode in a shower of light on the local beach in the days preceding bonfire night.
The community bonfire was a spectacle and always held in one of the paddocks of Charlie Shaw, a local sheep farmer. It was built high, stacked with old branches, logs and fence posts, and as night fell, the flames would waltz in the dark. Families gathered around, sitting on blankets or folding chairs, sharing various drinks and food goodies. As the bonfire blazed, someone would light the first sparkler, and the gathered throng would erupt in cheers.
Those winters, with the crackle of fireworks and the heat of a bonfire against my skin, were simpler times; a time when I felt like part of something bigger than myself, bound by tradition and the closeness of a community as one, sharing in the spectacle of an incandescent night. It was a time of childhood innocence that is now a chapter in my life’s book.
– by Allan Barden
Falling Star
No adrenaline rush,
just that tight, glittering feeling in my chest
building and building and building
looking over the edge,
I’m not afraid
even as I plummet through the endless void
glittering shards of crystals shatter
falling around me, twinkling, sparkling dust
shimmering on my skin,
making me glow like I am a star,
a Falling Star,
Destined To Descend…
I hear my own footsteps sound
pounding on mere air
in tandem with my breath, cold and hot
tastes like glitter
like crushed diamonds and powdered stardust
moonlight in my mouth,
rays of color pierce the velvety black,
weaving around me
blinded by darkness and light
ribbons of light thread through my hair
and hot little sparks dance around,
settling upon my skin,
melding
with my flesh,
I become a human firefly
flying aflame, a dying star, going down
in a blaze of glory
and time seems to slow,
until I can run my fingers through it like honey,
a golden river I sail past,
tangled in wisps of smoke and threads of light
and as I tumble endlessly
from the sky,
I become a Fallen Star.
– by Dulara J.
Fireworks
When Katie sings, baby, you’re a firework, Ben doesn’t think she’s referring to his brother-in-law, Pete. But she could be. Baby, you’re a firework. Just add alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Enough for ten men. Sailors’ quantity.
There comes a time in the evening when a switch is flicked, a fuse lit. Suddenly it’s all bang snaps and pop pops. Little grenades randomly served out to family members. And then Pete doubles down. Doubles in size. He’s a waterfall, cascading to new depths of repugnance. Then a fountain, spewing forth his verbal tirade. There’s no stopping him. Now he morphs into a Roman candle, shooting all manner of noise and colour into the night. Spectacular really. How one person can get so many people offside so quickly. There’s some skill in that.
The crescendo is rather anti-climactic – it’s Pharaoh’s serpent. The sparks have faded, the sound has lost its vigor.
And so the night fizzles out. That’s a wrap.
In the morning, head hung low, there’s ashen acknowledgement from Pete, but more than a flicker of forgiveness from Ben. He’s seen it all before, though it never ceases to amaze.
A combustible brother-in-law. ‘Good to see you, mate’ offers Ben. ‘Merry Christmas. See you next year.’
– by Adam Stone
Highlight
l
h i
g g
i h
h fireworks t
my
2025
spiritual journey
colours ignite
the night sky
to unlock
power and meaning
in my soul
red
guides me
with
strength to control
and
wisdom to use it wisely
i will now see lorikeets in a new light
– by John Heritage
Brief Candle
“Hello Dad”, she smiles at me.
“At least you’re here. I just don’t see
that man of mine no more
he used to wait outside my door.”
“He’d sit just there and smile at me,
we’d talk of how it used to be
But he’s long gone- he left me flat.
To think I knitted him a hat.”
She held the hat for me to see
I praised her work so patiently
I hide my feelings deep and sad.
For I’m her husband not her Dad.
It’s just a hat, my ears stick out,
One for the handle, one for the spout
Not much of a hat but it’s all I’ve got
of darling Shirl, she’s lost the plot.
“I’m sure he’ll come, my dear,” I say.
“Something big keeps him away.
I know he loves you, sure of it.
Just bide your time, just wait a bit.”
We natter on, it’s a good day
until at length she looks away,
looks again her eyes so blue
“I’m sorry love, but who are you?”
“Perhaps a sleep will do me good.
I’d stay awake, if I just could.
But next time leave that hat at home.
You look just like a garden gnome.”
She’s lost the plot has my dear Shirl.
and wanders in a hazy world
of turbid greyness, shore to shore.
Ah, would that I could come no more!
– by John Margetts
Time for a reset
If God is behind all Creation
And humans ate fruit from that tree,
Why can’t we see all God can see?
If today saw a staged reenactment,
It would be called entrapment.
We are owed some divine explanation.
Sentenced to death and expulsion,
Adam’s sons learnt all about slaughter
While Eve’s daughters still labour in pain;
Found tainted, deserving revulsion.
But if God made the apple and knew what would happen,
Why was Eve the one weighted with shame?
Although God punished both men and women,
Adam singled out Eve to blame.
It is doctrines of men that endure
Underwriting all history and law.
All women damned by Eve’s so-called deception.
So now it is men who determine what’s pure;
It’s men who decide to wage war;
(Cleopatra the most famous exception!)
Time-honoured teachings opine,
Humankind can’t comprehend the divine;
Because of Eve’s disgrace
Women must be put in their place.
“It’s just the way that things are.”
Woman’s place is predestined
And cannot be questioned;
So many years, yet we’ve not travelled far.
In consequence, undeclared war persists
The male coerces, and the female resists
Using any plea or means she can.
The foregone winner is always the man.
Even couples who find a respect mutually shared
Remain subject to norms about how they are paired.
Women are no longer possessions of men
In the way that they were in the past;
‘Independent’ women can now feel proud.
But are women free if time and again
They are treated as lower caste?
If Woman’s safety remains in doubt?
When control over her own body is still not allowed?
And the tv shows Married at first sight?
As the century makes its quarter turn,
And midnight sky ignites,
It’s high time we all aggressively learn
To promote equal human rights.
– by Daphne Delores Winter
In the Light of Redemption
The air was electric as fireworks lit the sky, bursts of red and gold cutting through the moody twilight. Allen watched the display from the edge of the old pier, his face bathed in fleeting light. It was a striking image, his profile etched against the darkness—a man seeking redemption, standing on the brink of his own fears.
Behind him, Helen leaned on the railing, her fingers trembling despite the warmth of the summer evening. Michael and Danny stood nearby, silent and uneasy. The brothers had always been opposites, Michael calm and contemplative, Danny brash and restless, but tonight, even Danny’s usual bravado had dimmed.
The small town’s celebration felt surreal, its joy clashing with the somberness that gripped their group. The reason they were here was not for festivities but for something deeper, something darker. Allen took a deep breath, his voice low but steady. “’We have to do this. We can’t keep running.”
Helen nodded, though her eyes shimmered with doubt. “It’s been years, Allen. What if it’s too late?”
“It’s never too late to make amends,” Michael said quietly, his words resolute.
The past hung heavy, a shadow that had followed them all here. It was a tale of mistakes, of lives shattered, of a darkness that evolved in the spaces between their silences. They had become numb to the pain, burying it deep, but tonight, it was impossible to ignore.
As the fireworks faded, leaving the sky dark and still, Allen turned to face them. “We have to hold true. This is our chance to let go, to pass on the guilt that’s chained us.”
And though the night was thick with tension, as they stepped forward into the unknown, there was hope. Hope that, at last, they could begin anew.
– by Steve Gray
Timeworn Tradition
An incoming new year and a time for community
Gathering to view the farewell to 2024 spectacle
A global euphoria and overdose of excitement
Soon to be punctuated by explosive sounds
And familiar gunpowder residue smells
But none of these celebrations are free of hazards
When lit, fireworks’ highly toxic gases are hazards
Causing pollution of air, water and soil within a community
Fear in animals. Asthma attacks. Triggered by noises, smells
Despite the pyrotechnicians’ precise execution of the spectacle
Enriched with the accompaniment of orchestral sounds
That gain momentum and add to soaring excitement
For some, a chance to play out their excitement
Embrace risks with abandon and create their own hazards
Wild imbibing and unsafe practices yield sirens and sounds
Requiring responses, from uniformed ranks, to protect community
Unaware, vulnerable, attention focused upon the spectacle
At first hint of charcoal smoke and wafting of sulphur smells
Noses twitch at strong, sharp, acrid smells
Ooohs, aaahs, gasps and sighs–expressions of excitement
Wide-eyed wonder and raised heads view the spectacle
Oblivious to resultant paper, wire and plastic debris hazards
Being discarded in the process, littering the community
As all thoughts are dominated by whistling and exploding sounds
Boom! Hiss! Squeal! Crackle! Sizzle! A cacophony of sounds
Noses crinkle in the aftermath of the crescendo of smells
The countdown begins within the attendant community
10, 9, 8… their faces portray their collective excitement
’Happy New Year!’ they chorus, amid the environmental hazards
That dominate the landscape where they’re enjoying the spectacle
Same time? Same place? Next New Year’s Eve spectacle
Everyone present agrees, making commitment sounds
Happy to return home and avoid any major hazards
Smiling at the memories associated with lingering smells
That permeate their clothing along with excitement
Brought about by just being in a gathering of community
– by Gail Griffin
https://www.vecteezy.com/free-vector/line-break
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