Alma and Oskar, Oskar Kokoschka (1913)
Alma and Oskar
There is not a tree with forbidden fruit,
Nor compelling compact we have to sign.
There will be no Satyr playing a flute,
Nor a reason for having to repine.
Just you and I in this our paradise.
Freely bending to the other’s desire,
Without thought of making a sacrifice,
While quenching a burning internal fire.
Stripped of all our frail human modesty,
We explore each other with boundless lust.
We bind together ever so brashly.
Such pleasure without being larcenist.
Our thirst for each other being so vast,
We ask these wondrous feelings always last.
The Tempest, Oskar Kokoschka (c.1914)
In the cruel bleak darkness of the night,
I engaged her in a loving embrace.
Hearing a deadly sound causing great fright,
My troubled tense heart did achingly race.
The wind howls with a mean temperament,
Devouring everything within its sight.
To ensnare us the wind would not relent,
Consuming our bodies with vicious spite.
Holding her tightly as we whirled around,
Dreading I may soon lose her to the wind.
She was motionless not making a sound,
While the eye of the tempest meanly grinned.
Awakening in a feverish sweat,
Not even hearing a single whisper.
Seeing a sight I shall never forget,
Alone in bed without a trace of her.
To My Quiet Place I Go
Diamond dust sits upon the sleeping grass,
Soon to be a sight of this morning’s past.
On the pond lies a thin layer of glass,
Like the sparkling dust it too will not last,
For I see the sun peering through the trees.
Its gentle warmth meeting my morning face.
As if in a game providing a tease,
Darting about as I walk to my place,
Where I go to find my internal peace.
I travel far in my very short walk.
Tensions burning inside soon to release.
So quiet I am not required to talk.
The only sound I am able to hear,
Is the rustling of leaves beneath my feet.
To my special spot I am getting near.
Isolated, there is no one to greet.
Sitting in deep silence I start to write,
A wild river of thoughts runs in my head,
Bringing on a smile so vividly bright.
Here it’d be wonderful to make my bed.
In nature’s stillness is such great reward,
Its scent of pure earthiness clears the mind.
Without bell or light offers such delight,
Does not portend of a dark daily grind.
Oh! So happy to accept its invite.
Two Human Beings, Edvard Munch (1896)
Love or Loneliness
Which am I to choose?
Each providing great rewards.
Either way I lose!
If love be my fate,
I must share with another.
All else needs to wait!
If art is my life,
My mind free to ever roam.
Loneliness is rife!
Both have equal urge.
Love and art can’t coexist.
One I must now purge!
Art to be my choice.
Love can be ephemeral,
While art gives me voice!
A Vow to Love, Jean-Honoré Fragonard (c. 1780)
A Vow to Love
Like the wave that crashes against the rock,
Shattered in uncountable directions,
My heart is destroyed by the crushing shock.
Motionless and dark as ocean canyons.
Questioning how this could really be,
This painful loneliness that churns inside,
Has unmercifully enveloped me.
All feelings fled with the outgoing tide.
My heart is floating on the endless sea,
Being tossed about by the ceaseless wind.
A bottle that is lifeless and empty,
Savagely from a love it is exscind.
Will I and my lost heart soon reunite,
Pumping blood at such a furious pace,
Feeding the roaring fire that did ignite,
And to help me, loneliness to erase.
A vow to love I shall willingly make,
Never again to follow foolish pride,
That can only cause another heartache.
It is but love that I want at my side.
Inger by the Window, Edvard Munch (1892)
By the Window
Breathe deeply so you can hear it enter.
Soft invigorating wind on its way.
A mixture of sweet grass and salt water,
Twisting and turning, dancing a ballet.
Precious in scent as it comes in but May,
With calm winds coming off the bright blue sea,
And the frolicking grass yet become hay.
Come quickly! From this window we must flee.
Naked toes shall mix in the grass and sand.
Collecting shells as proof of memories.
Now slowly walking back with hand in hand,
With enormous grins each other’s we squeeze.
Oh, the simply joys we visit in life
Giving us special moments from its strife.
The Girl by the Window, Edvard Munch (1893)
The Girl by the Window
The full moon is high in the sky.
There is calm at this time of night,
Yet I’m not, I am sure the why.
For my body is wrought with fear!
Was told that fear I must control,
My life as is brings early death.
For reason I can’t meet my goal,
Will I soon take my final breath?
In the earth will that be the end?
May be better than current fate.
If soon my life I cannot mend,
When exactly is it too late?
Shall I just crawl back to my bed,
To simply wait for death to come?
But if there’s truth I have a soul,
Better I kneel, begin to pray,
To gain faith I’m willing to toil,
That time ’till end I can delay.
Is it correct for what I ask?
Not knowing what is best for me,
Is truly life’s most daunting task.
What ought to be done to be free?