Best Edvard Munch Poems
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.
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!
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
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
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.
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
Gloom pervades, an empty stillness hovers,
No sound, except the echo of faint sighs,
Rising from a frail chest.
Popped upon white pillows, a small girl reclines
On her sick bed, incapable of sitting up.
Her body down the waist, is wrapped
In a thick blanket to douse the chills of fever.
Consumption has eaten away her vitality
Her sick lungs gasps for breath
Her face, a white paper- pale and bland
Her golden hair lies disheveled.
A curtain hangs dull, half drawn
Waiting for the final pull.
The lady, her aunt who has been with the child
Through her tortuous journey,
Bends down clasping her frail hand
Unable to face the girl’s blank stare.
A yellowing leaf is about to take its downward spiral.
An unseen guest waits for the final embrace.
The faint stirring of life will soon desert her.
Yet love remains, a whiff of cool breeze,
Fanning her fears away with a gentle clasp.
In a critical moment of suffering and helplessness,
No medicine, but love alone serves as balm.
Each blurred stroke unravels the silence,
Of art that speaks for itself~
Man’s vulnerability and hovering sorrow,
Of a life so enigmatic, cast in gloom’s shroud.
Let my ribs and the trees cage me in
I'm too afraid to speak
balance is too hard to fathom
like the word "unwanted" is on ribbon I've swallowed
choking me
as
it
melds
to
my
lungs.
Stay quiet
wait until you're wanted...
But what will it do to me?
time passes around me
birds fly
days rise and fall
I empty my mind
hold on -
stay paused.
Can you be achingly afraid?
scared to be my own demise
simply by existence.
I'll hold my tongue.
My heart is broken
too afraid to voice -
how it feels
to be quiet.
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
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.
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.
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!
Turpentine waters of paranoia
ripple beneath an opaque surface,
merging with the burnt umber sun,
ravenously setting
over the savage distance.
Did the earth just crack open within its core...?
An ungovernable fear
hastens—
up my spine
tracing each vertebra
meticulously,
as the flavor of iron
and
burnt charcoal
plates my tongue—
leaching into
semi-paralyzed bronchi.
Each breath
of stained oxygen
gets harder
to inhale—
Hypoxia,
smiling mechanically,
rears
its ugly head...
and the tips of my fingers
turn from
porcelain
to
ultramarine.
Trying to scream—
yet silence
is all
that escapes.
A plethora of thoughts
buzz—
like a horde of bees
within
my mind.
If the earth did crack open,
then
why is everyone acting
so nonchalant?
Conspiracy theories
ruminate;
paranoia-fueled
delirium
takes full control.
Consumed
by panic,
abdication of rationality
unfurls—
amongst the
receding world.
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.
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