Best Edvard Poems


Premium Member 'separation' - the Art of Edvard Munch

When love is torn asunder and there is nothing left but dissent,
a lover's heart will be shattered, mortally wounded and rent.
In a relationship that was once held as sacred and eternal,
sorrow takes a heavy toll on the one left behind, and infernal
flames of grief scorch the lonely heart so that it must dwell,
suffering in what seems like the fiery abyss of emotional hell.

Forlorn the man when his once-upon-a-time love went astray,
and became a wraith without a face. She refused to stay.
Dressed in bridal gown, perhaps she seeks a new marriage mate,
a man who will please her instead of treating her like a roommate.
She looks forward to a brighter future than one she's left behind,
wondering why she married him. How could she have been so blind?

Could it be there's another side to the separation of two lovers?
In death she was buried in a white shroud. Sorrowfully, he hovers.
A bouquet of crimson flowers he's brought to leave at her grave
but he cannot bear to look at the tomb. Today, he's not that brave.
Ghostlike she appears to him, a wispy figure, floating in the mist.
He's haunted by memories of the lips he'd passionately kissed.
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: edvard, lost love,
Form: Ekphrasis

Premium Member Ashes - Edvard Munch

Inspired by Edvard Munch's oil on canvas painting - Ashes (1894) 


The fire of passion between us has burned itself out, 
These woods taunt us with their vibrant whispers, 
I am tired of listening to the leaves laughing
and the trees teasing us, 
Oh! What have we done? 
My whole life has come undone! 
Shame squeezes my soul, 
Despair clings tenaciously to my being, 
Frustration at having fallen into this hopeless pit! 
Look at me and answer -
Is there any redemption left? 
Any way to go back to life as it were before? 
Why has Fate tempted us thus? 
My heart aches for all that is lost between us... 
How have we succumbed to the lust of the flesh! 
Beyond repair, beyond rectification! 
My wild hair is testament to how I feel! 
I stare blankly at my bleak future
(if there's any left!) 
You hide your face now! 
Why didn't you think of the consequences
before doing the deed? 
Why did you lure me into your lustful trap? 
Ah, Me! I know I am equally to blame! 
What I thought was 'love' completely blinded me! 
Now I am left to mourn... 
No! now WE are left to mourn
this 'blazing' passion that has burned us, 
this 'fire' that has consumed us, 
this useless heap of 'ashes' left behind!
Categories: edvard, art, inspiration,
Form: Ekphrasis

Premium Member Munch On This - 'Love and Pain' 1895

At first glance ...
Amid turbulent strokes
and vivid hues,
eyes mesmerized by
maiden's molten-red mane—
Love and Pain

Gently kissing
her lover's nape
in tender embrace,
while Pain's
lurking specter
overshadows their
intimate space,
threatening Love's
fragile grace

Second glance ...
Gent's deathlike pallor
portrays a chilling
alternative motif.
Is love really her goal, or
is she nosferatu feasting
on a submissive soul?
Dark eyes reflect the
lurking specter's desire—
Vampire
© Mark Toney  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: edvard, art, love, pain, perspective,
Form: Ekphrasis

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Premium Member The Death of Merat

I leave the auction sick, my mettle frayed
A ghost, I fear, in oil clutched near my side
No doubt, a ghost for which I've dearly paid!
How best to next proceed, I must decide

The painting I have bought portrays a man
laid out upon a bed as if he sleeps
A woman stands beside the low divan
Offhand, I'd guess a mistress that he keeps

I recognize the bloke who's laying prone
A classless dog and local alley cat
His past and family folk remain unknown
but those with whom he spoke called him "Merat"

I peer more closely at the racy scene;
Beside Merat, a pool of crimson red
The woman's face is cool, if not serene,
quite out of place, considering the bed!

I take my time in staring at the girl,
and make an observation I can't bear
my hands begin to shake, the air to swirl,
for that's my naked wife who's painted there!

As I trudge home, it's hell that fills my head
and passing by a doorsill with a bin,
I tell myself it's I who will be dead
if I don't shove the dreadful painting in

My mind is blank as I bypass the stairs
and free from fear of my assassin wife,
I steer my thoughts past murder and affairs,
then pull her near and thank her for my life
Categories: edvard, dark, death,
Form: Ekphrasis

Premium Member The Scream - Ekphrasis On An Edvard Munch Piece of Art

Oblong outlines of a soul
Stretched in elliptical misery
Redefines the perfect circle
To a breakable volatile tautness

Loosely cloaked in sheaths of epitonic blue
Draped upon the shrinking body to hide a terrified world 
Dressed in swirling ominous patterns of anonymity
To be lost within the deepest abyss of fatal fear

Planted like a tenuous girder of iron truth 
On a bridge of no return
There is no departure from excruciating fear
From this wicked self-imposed poltergeist

An unseen force deliberates death
Smothering with tremulous trepidation
Annihilating the essence of existence
With no bond found on common ground

There lies the secret
Within the mystery of a soul’s distress
The exorcism of human strength
As fear brings the will of life to a standstill

7-12-2023
Categories: edvard, fear,
Form: Ekphrasis

Premium Member Red House and Spruce By Edvard Munch

Red House and Spruce by Edvard Munch

Snug, in a blue bunting of hibernation,
Red cottage 
In a clearing of indigo and ice spruce 
That form ribs of protection from
From hues of ill winds, 
As a leafless birch backbone
Spreads a protective circle,
Sentinels of secrets 
Behind the hidden crimson door
When eventide’s crystal constellations 
Of fallen cerulean white snows
Sleep in solitude
As Aurora lingers above ash and aspen 
In glowing neon passion values
Sheltered scarlet hearth and heart
Slumbers in tones of a Nordic cradle song
And winsome memories of a mountain king 
In snowfall’s language of winter
Of painted cobalt shadows
Surrounding a red house.
Categories: edvard, blue, house, red, snow,
Form: Ekphrasis


Zilch

"Vi træffes der, min Ven!" Solvejgs sang*

once after eons
we'll meet there again my friend -
time's zilch for lovers 

9/3/2019
Maureen McGreavy’s Sing Me A Senryu Poetry Contest
Favorite song: Solveig's Song by Edvard Grieg 
https://youtu.be/n3SyreMN7y8

* (nor.) "We'll meet there again, my friend!" Solveig's Song
Categories: edvard, love, time,
Form: Senryu

Self Portrait With Cigarette- Edvard Munch Painting

Who have I painted this for
This reflection of my core
My introspection wonders back

An injection of epiphany
It drifts from me like smoke
Suddenly aware I see
Nothing that looks like clarity
In the shadows I am pondering
A stillness caught by candlelight

If I stop watching you paint me
Will myself in frame then cease to be
The quiet trickles down like falling ash
From a cigarette only just lit
As my eyes play tricks
And test my wits
I ask myself which side I'm on
And who is watching who
Categories: edvard, self,
Form: Ekphrasis

Premium Member Celebration of Art Contest - Edvard Munch

The scream By Edvard Munch

A blood red sunset radiates warmth; yet I feel chilled to my core
The alien like androgynous figure transfixes me
Dressed entirely in black, head clutched in tormented agony
Mouth open emitting a silent scream
This cannot be heard audibly yet resonates in waves across the canvas
A ravaging river of anguish grey, black and blue
Angry swirls depicting mental torture.
I stand and stare at the picture and pray I never feel this way



Celebration of Art Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues

05~14~17
Categories: edvard, mental illness,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member The Sick Child-Edvard Munch

THE SICK CHILD-EDVARD MUNCH

Ghostly downpour upon not the sick,
but the sick at heart - a child’s mother.
Bittersweet tangle of red - patient’s hair,
dresser, caretaker’s hands. Bedside
manner, sorrowful to the point of death,
but the woman is not literally dying,
her daughter is. Steadfast bravery
warm blanket hue of hunter-green,
orange and blue. The girl’s mother
already draped in a dreary raven habit.
The sick room is passionate - lucky girl
is blessed. She is not alone until
her soul departs. Her mother will live
with a solitary soul-sucking pit, deep
inside of her residual days, memories
tucked away from all her friends, for
she will dread the fire of life - the source
that lit her lamp with strawberry hair,
freckled windsong, a swinging pendulum.
The sick child, already in the light;
despair has a screaming voice,
perceived in claustrophobic space.
One is lightened by breathlessness;
the other is lightened by a broken heart.
Categories: edvard, art,
Form: Ekphrasis

Premium Member Scream - Painting of Edvard Munch

At twilight time, a man surrounded by
some colors yellow and an orange red
which seem to swirl above him in the sky
stands on a bridge with both hands on his head
as if he wants to cover up his ears.
This scene depicts a vision of this man
who lived with such anxiety and fears.
Oh what could even be more fearsome than
a world gone crazy? Man with nature screams!
The bridge the man is standing on stays strong.
Mankind progresses (or at least it seems).
Can we succeed with so much going wrong?
We still relate to Edvard’s “Scream” today.
The terror it imparts us still holds sway.
Categories: edvard, art,
Form: Ekphrasis

Premium Member The Sick Child - Art By Edvard Munch

Inspired by “The Sick Child” painting by Edvard Munch

A pale face, all happiness drained out! 
green and auburn lines - vertical and horizontal, 
swirl around her in abundance,
except her face... devoid of any colour!
A drooping dried flower almost ready to fall,
             return to the soil!

Feeble and declining - from exhaustion,
ailing and haunted - her expression! 
A young girl of fifteen…bedridden for many months!
disease has crippled her, lying in bed she hopelessly 
gazing towards an ominous white curtain... 
             a symbol of death!
clutching hands of a woman for comfort,
who can not look at her knowing it's all futile.

Her eyes have lost the lustre and hope they once possessed,
chestnut russet hair encircling the fatigued face of a maiden, 
who once was a bubbling cheerful child,
Disease ravaged a budding flower!
          The final moment has come!

                    PLACED FIFTH


All colours of lustre and hope drained from a young face, 
She wears green....
Green and auburn lines playfully swirl around her…but,
Disease has crippled her for many months, 
She clutches hands of her mother, when her eyes are vacant, 
Chestnut russet hair encircling the fatigued face of a fifteen year old!

Final moment has come…
A white ominous curtain is all she gazes at…
A drooping flower, ready to fall!
Categories: edvard, girl, heartbroken,
Form: Ekphrasis

Self-Portrait With Cigarette By Edvard Munch

The snow falls white in Norway
just like anywhere else in the world.

The snow falls white in Norway
like the smoke from a cigarette.

The blue mists lap at coat tails
only in a self-portrait in Norway.

Pale brown eyes shine, surprised to see you
only in a self-portrait in Norway.

One hand holding time itself, slipping.
One hand held firmly in the void.

I can see myself alive in him,
as the snow falls white in Norway.
© C.W. Bryan  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: edvard, art,
Form: Ekphrasis

Mystery of the Starry Night By Edvard Munch

the unheard-of starry night
subdued in colors
no bright
swirls
no blaze of fire
but a mist of mysterious night
reflected stars in flight
textured strokes
dark land
uncertain shapes
essence of the night
broken by dots of white
broken by line of fence
fence broken by a
shadow
who could it be?
who goes there in the night
that can’t be right
a trick
of the eye
no not here
the unheard-of starry night
Categories: edvard, appreciation, art, image, mystery,
Form: Ekphrasis

Premium Member Edvard Munch, Jealousy

Edvard Munch
 An Ekphrasis Stylized Poem of Jealousy 

Oh, ancient Oden!  
I summon your primitive hand.
Take this oiled brush I hold,
and order my strokes with your command.

With deep red, spilling like blood across the land,
she appears as the object of my affection,
nude and reaching toward a tree
as if to lure my enemy, with want and lust-filled attention.
Is there reason, lord, why my foe is portrayed in Crayola-like imperfection?
Is he to be, Newfoundland, and she as Norway with Viking confiscation?
And are the greens not depicting my envy, 
a reprieve from the harsh white lands of Greenland?

And now you insist… I portray myself, or maybe Leif, 
or perhaps a Christian King!
Why do you torment me so?
Why can’t I just let this brush go, before a Berserker I become,
to seal my fate through fires run,
across my own pire I’ve tried to overcome,
and on success blazoned before the cross, to be succumbed?

Once filled with hedonistic jealousy, in my exhaustion, 
I am finally outrun,
back into the green Norse woods I retreat, weak and numb…
to mend my wounds, and lust for your power hence come,
to paint another day.


by Martin Braun
July 11, 2023
Categories: edvard, art, jealousy,
Form: Ekphrasis
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