We’ve all seen that painting of the strange looking human with his (her?) hands on her (his?) face. It’s called “The Scream” by Edvard Munch. This poetry nite is different than the others, though while I normally write poetry based off of something, this is my first one written about a painting.
See, when Munch painted “The Scream,” he was basing it all off the sky he’d seen as he watched the sun set from a bridge. It was red, fierce, so bloody that it looked like it was screaming across the horizon. Thus, well, you know the rest…
“The Sound of Sunset”
Screaming in the sky,
Loud streaks of red bleed above…
Swallowing the urgent sky
Which welcomes the easy night.
The sky, the nature that surrounds us all, inspires artists of all kind. Painters paint. Musicians compose. Actors act. And writers write.