At the River’s Edge, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

At the River's EdgeThe Banks of the Seine at Argenteuil, Edouard Manet (1874)

At the River’s Edge

Need of an escape on this summer’s day
Seeking joy by the river relaxing
Far away from the tiring hectic quay
To lay upon the grass is not taxing

Bobbing boats responding to river’s call
Breeze makes countless ripples on the water
The sun places sequins upon them all
Water now appearing even brighter

Watching the many people come and go
Never to know what they’re seeking or feel
Noticing some alone and some with beau
The right place a quiet moment to steal

Dazzling blueness creates a peace inside
Providing venue your soul to renew
In this solemnness place you may decide
There’ll be an effort for a better you


Listening, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

ListeningThe Red Canoe, Winslow Homer (1889)


The sun made its entry on this spring day
Could hear the winged choir in the brackish marsh
No idea what they’re sending my way
For sure it wasn’t the weather being harsh

Mist floated off the refreshing mirror
Eye high to me sitting in the canoe
Fish had an appointment with this angler
Want to introduce my pan to a few

Mist is now history, not a nibble
Not a concern, canned tuna on the shelf
Idleness a chance my future to mull
Realizing world is more than myself

Nice to get away from problems that weigh
Listen what the inner self has to say


The Tender Kiss, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Tender KissImage manipulated by author

The Tender Kiss

She’s before me with impeccable smile
Her red lips softer than gossamer wings
Since touching their softness has been awhile
Just the sight of them pull at my heartstrings

With every inch moving closer to her
My heart pounds as if it’s a timpani
Each and every drop of blood starts to stir
Reaching intensity of a coulee

We are so close can feel the other’s heat
Our eyes now closing, creating darkness
Preparing for two pairs of lips to meet
An expression of love which is ceaseless

Weightlessness of touch our joined lips linger
We yield, I wish moment could be longer


Woman in the Garden, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Woman in the GardenMujer en el jardín, Pierre-Auguste Renior (1872)

Woman in the Garden

Emeralds, Sapphires, Topazes, Rubies
Filling my garden this sunny June day
Come walk, feeling the gentle warming breeze
See bees here and there dancing their ballet

Stop to wonder a greater sight to see
Profusion of color before my eyes
Drinking without pause all of its beauty
All on display under a clear blue sky

No need for the gardens of Babylon
Or Cimetière du Père Lachaise
Forget manicured gardens of Fairlawn
For me to be, there is no other place

Each little gem I consider a friend
This is where I shall my many hours spend


Thirsting, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

ThirstingBoy with Pitcher, Edouard Manet (1872)


In my body a desire to express
If left undone surely I will explode
Is your great beauty eager to possess
It is in my heart shall be your abode

To hold you intimately in my hands
Drinking of your young love with eagerness
With every sip my love for you expands
Oh to fully bathe in your tenderness

Your skin softer than the world’s finest silk
Touching mine makes me want you even more
This feeling of love for you will not wilt
As I never felt this anguish before

Quietly we can go to river’s edge
There together shall take the lover’s pledge


It is You, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

It is YouBerthe Morisot, Edouard Manet (1869)

It is You

Why is it that love has become a chore
It is you I give myself evermore
It is you only that I do adore
It is you I could not love any more

It is you who truly make my life bright
It is you I desire to hold so tight
It is you I want always in my sight
It is you I hunger for every night

It is you who now give an awful fright
It is you who I fear may soon take flight
It is you whose heart I must reignite
It is you my loving heart that I plight

If it be that your love I can’t restore
Shall quickly quit this life forevermore

The Sleepwalker, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The SleepwalkerThe Sleepwalker, Maximillian Pirner (1878)

The Sleepwalker

A love to steal, who she thinks is real
Pondering over him both day and night
Her deep anguish she attempts to conceal
Searching the darkness without any fright

In the secret of her mind he’s divine
She claims his perfect love never to spurn
Eager to have their hot bodies entwine
Before daylight she finds a safe return

She knows one day of finding her lover
That she would soon share the warmth of his bed
Then one deep dark night she did discover
The exact place where he did lay his head

On the narrow ledge, not taking a breath
Wind came along, now falling to her death