Attending to My Love, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

abrahambocc

Attending to My Love, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Rose early this day to spend time with you,
To see you, touch you, do what yet to do.
There can be but one first time, must be true.
Be gentle put aside male bravado.

Arriving quiet at your bed of white,
So kid soft yet lonely with only you.
Knelt gently, getting as close as I might
Reaching but stopped, not wanting to imbrue.

The sun peering in, you opened to meet.
No resisting now, I touched your nectar.
I placed it upon my tongue, it was sweet.
Looking about that had my simitar.

Leaning forward I kissed your velvetiness,
With skill I did cut your stem with swiftness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The painting above is entitled A Still Life of Flowers laid on a Table  by Abraham Bosschaert.   The flowers are of course are tulips and the poem is not what you thought it was about.  It is about a greedy person going out to clip a prize tulip.  It is about tulip-mania in the 17th century.  There is also a movie be released soon that relates to it so rather than me cutting and pasting here are a couple of links.  No I am not a dirty old man, just an old man who loves to play with words.

Tulip Fever

Tulip Mania

 

 

 

 

Young Woman Weaving a Wreath of Flowers, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Corot-youngwomanweaving wreath of flowers

Young Woman Weaving a Wreath of Flowers, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Angry cannons in the hills spit their fire
Seeking to destroy the love of my life.
Morning time brings carts laden with much dire,
Around each cart swirling anguish is rife.

In my womb with husband’s very first child,
Given no notice, fear of distraction.
As such great notice, he would be beguiled.
My secret, ’til his return from action.

Each day is weaving a wreath of flowers.
For the father of our child safe return.
Giv’n it to Virgin with heaven’s powers,
For him to see his child I truly yearn.

Should upon the cart one day see his face,
He will wear the wreath to heavenly grace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have been spending some time getting to know Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot through this paintings, one of which is used to write the above poem of the same name. It appears to me that the sweet round young face captured in the painting is Emma Dobigny. Could not find any actual source given credit to her for the sitting. However, as a point of interest she sat for more painting by Corot than any other model. There were rumors about late visits by her to his studio long after good painting light had ceased. The same was said about Emma and Degas.   Soon I use an Corot painting for another poem and Emma again is the model.  The mood is quite a bit different.

I was moved by the painting’s softness. Not only in color but mood.  In examining painting I search for symbols here there is but one. The symbolism of eternal love in the wreath she is making. From that I let my heart fly.

Man on the Corner, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Thomas-Ginger-Man on the Corner

Man on the Corner, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Rose on this day, many smiles in my head.
Got ev’n better, hearing from special friends.
To the store is a must, task with much dread.
Can’t find what’s needed, what does this protend?

Enter to the world of shadows and pain.
Tis far beyond noon and the pains rattle.
It’s possible for one to remain sane,
Or is this the day to lose the battle?

Sleep is comfort but sleep remains wanting,
For dreams so horrific give comfort not.
Modest confusion in the mind did sting,
And tied the brain as a Gordian knot.

Approach to any corner needs a yield,
If a shadow be there my sword must wield.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many people live a full live and never suffer from mental health issues.  Unfortunately I am not one of them.  The above poem is just a day in my life.  I thought it was going to be a great day.  Got out in the sunshine after making a phone call a great buddy and  texting with a dear friend.  All I needed at the store was some lights bulbs and milled straw.  I got confused frightened.  Had to fight back the tears.  The head was pounding.  Don’t know if the doctors will ever figure this one out.  We are not crazies. We are people with health issues.

 

 

 

 

 

Lovers at the Beach, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Lovers at the beach

Lovers at the Beach, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Lovers embrace at the altar of love.
A milieu of millions came before them.
Each smiles at Apollo’s glow from above.
Here to praise Venus from whence she has come.

The mist in the air does their love anoint.
Their wetness becomes symbol of union.
At the crash of the wave to it they point,
Such thunder won’t destroy their communion.

Remiss would they be, not to read each wave,
For the lovers, they are moments they share.
With understanding, a love they can save.
Their eyes held with magical force; they stare

Their love for each other is the reason,
They shall be togeth’r whatever season.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What is it about the Oceans that draws so many people.  The tides have been coming in and going out for millions of years.  There have been little waves and real big waves.  There was a time when people believed that there was a god of the sea.  The Greeks had Poseidon and the Romans had Neptune that would protect them while at sea.  Water is a symbol of rebirth.  There is purification in being touched by special water.  Just as we would read tea leaves or lines in our hand we can read the waves and what they portend.   It is all a mystery just like love is.

The painting was commission by a couple to celebrate their engagement and I down loaded it from here

 

 

 

 

 

 

Office at Night, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Hopper-office-at-night_c

Office at Night, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Nev’r before are we alone together.
Nights on my back, with but him in my thought.
Opportunity knocks, shant be for aught.
If required, to my bed I will tether
Cunomaglus. But me be not nether.
All will go as I planned, nothing unsought.
To the peak of desire I will be brought.
If required I will take out the leather.

Will this be the night our bodies ignite?
My question is now answered by the clue.
Pick up the paper quickly. Start the night.
Gets to the paper, he hears drop of shoe.
He smiles moving to her. Out goes the light.
Phone rings and rings. Color of night is blue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For those of you who may not know it Edward Hopper is one of my favorite painters. The painting Office at Night was called by one critic as the most erotic painting ever done by Hopper. I cannot tell you how many time I’ve looked at this painting and that that it can’t be a real Hopper. But it is, as I have seen the workup charcoals before he put it to canvas.  In his last draft he put the piece of paper on the floor.  What was in Hopper’s head?  Well as you can see I took the bait and ran with it.

 

 

 

 

 

A Game of Ninepins, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Pieter_de_Hooch,_A_Game_of_Ninepins,_c._1665_at_Waddesdon_Manor

A Game of Ninepins, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

My dear sir, the way you examine me,
It appears you are prepared for nine pins.
If able to win your choice will be free.
Lose and you’ll be forced to pay for your sins.

Dear sir just a warning, I am quite good.
If hand steady roll when you are ready.
More than a game to be misunderstood.
Relax in your approach, you are heady.

Dear sir remain cautious, you can still win.
Wearing my new perfume, what do you think?
You are in trouble, I can see the grin.
It’s time for you to stop, and have a drink.

If time for trade of sexual favors,
Beware women come in many flavors.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This painting is by Pieter de Hooch in 1665.  Pieter painted life as he saw it, plain and simple.  His colors were deep and authentic.  Vermeer studied under him for awhile. However, Pieter never made it big.  He died a pauper.  He went mad, died and left seven young children.  Although he was with issue he left no papers about his work so he leaves us guessing.  Unlike Vermeer de Hooch did not use many clues in his painting. But this painting did draw my attention because of the variance in costumes of the peoples.  Various classes being brought together by a common game.  But did all share a common meaning for the game?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Top of the Hill, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Top of the Hill

The Top of the Hill, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

There is a certain feeling that you get,
When you cast your eyes everywhere and think,
With a tight broad smile this is now private.
The fence will be rugged made with chained link.

Your summer retreat, a place to protect.
Each day you walk to the top of the hill.
Wonder where best to start the huge project.
Season is done and no decision still.

Warmth, song bird, friends and you have all returned.
Up the hill, you stop at the old tired gate.
About the fence, you will not be concerned.
If there is to be one, it’ll have to wait.

The top of the hill is meant to be free,
So all the great beauty there all can see.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This painting was done by Frank Vincent DuMond while in Old Lyme Connecticut.  Attempted research the painting but there is a paucity of information so I had to climb into Mr. DuMond’s mind and capture his thoughts.  Let me make a point why museums are so important.  They give access to the public, people like you and me, to great works of art.  If only the rich had the art locked up in their estates only a choice few would ever get to see these treasures of the past and that of course is the theme of my poem.  When I walked up to Mr DuMond’s The Top of the Hill I said, “There is a poem here,” to my wife.  I was correct for it is here.

The Florence Griswold Museum    is a great place to spend a sunny afternoon as you can enjoy the grounds as well as the art inside the museum and boarding house.  Part of this poem was thought out sitting in the Adirondack chairs placed by the Lieutenant River,