Thomas Cole, Evening in Arcadia (1843)
Evening in Arcadia, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The tired sun is setting but we are just,
Beginning to feel warmth of each other,
To create a bond that we feel we must,
As the arch’s sides without any pother.
Come close, touch me, for your music has reached,
In my heart creating the want of bliss.
You being closer desire is unleashed,
Hold me tight, deposit your searing kiss.
Lay me ev’r gently on our earthen bed.
From this point forward nothing to be said.
Your touch I seek on this night we be wed.
All your love for me you shall soon embed.
Our loving life as one is aborning,
And shall be bright as a summer morning.
Giovanni Boldini, Cleo de Merode (1907)
Cleo de Merode, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Cleo Merode ballerina prima,
You are most of all a beautiful flirt,
Putting hearts of many in a coma.
Oh! The power your dancing does exert!
A king you have brought to his royal knees,
With gentle smiles and those daring brown eyes.
Captivating and ensnaring with ease,
On the stage with that tantalizing guise.
You move from place to place with utmost grace,
Stealing men’s weakened hearts along the way.
They dream of touching your beautiful face,
And into their waiting arms you will sway.
Is it the very moves within your dance?
Or your raw beauty which creates the trance?
Jean Beraud, After the Misdeed (c. 1885)
Past and Future Joined, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Yesterday is just that, it won’t return,
No matter how many tears I let fly.
For its return, yes certainly I yearn,
To right my many wrongs before I die.
Time has no handle on the exit door,
There but the future for me to explore.
Becoming friends with people I abhor,
Laying on kisses to those I adore.
Life is too short to have fear of the past,
But if I have sinned against another,
Must make loving peace that will ever last.
Giving love shall always be the clincher.
The length of the journey we do not know,
Therefore share your love oft before you go.
Thomas Moran, Forest Scene (1870)
Finding Heaven, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Standing among the subtly gold and green,
In a playground so wondrously serene.
Pausing, then vacuuming air so clean,
A trespasser in a place so pristine.
Harboring a weird sense that I’ve been seen.
Looked about everywhere with eyes so keen.
Showing my intention not to be mean,
Be transparent in this idyllic scene.
Kneeling at the water filled my canteen,
Calming, as if served a shot of morphine,
For my heart it provides such a cuisine.
With its Maker my meeting to convene
When asked to vacate, was not unforeseen,
As Heaven is for souls not to be wean.
Charles Sims, Butterflies (1904)
Chasing a Butterfly, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Why thou so ev’r eager to capture me?
Only to put pin through my quiet heart?
Shall I be but a mere trophy for thee?
Tis bett’r to be still for romance to start.
Sit ever still and I will come to thee,
To light on thy bosom thou heart to feel.
Such precious time a place for me to be,
My wish only more of it we could steal.
The beat of thy heart makes my wings flutter.
Wonder if on thy lips sweet nectar lay?
Me on thy lips no sound will thee utter,
Here for a moment I will want to stay.
If many hearts thou continue to slay,
Thy promising love will soon stay away.
John Watson Dawson, Woman with Fan (1871)
Woman with Fan, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Diligently studied the manual,
Using obtained skills I think to be good.
Results being a disappointing null,
At this point I qualify for sainthood.
Carrying it open in the left hand,
Signal for any eligible man,
The holder is without a wedding band,
Lonely heart for the taking if you can.
Next to a man of your choice let it drop
Sure to stoop and return with smile to you.
No heart gained with this foolish prop,
Shall find better way to a heart so true.
In the first trash can was its proper place,
As I turned my heart was filled with his grace.
A.A. Mills, Man Strolling in a Wooded Landscape (c. 1850)
Man Strolling in a Wooded Landscape, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Life as in Death is forev’r waiting to see,
Nev’r really knowing what is to be.
Stopping to think is this really me,
Will there ev’r be an answer to my plea?
Am I living a dream within a dream?
Being honestly knowing what things seem?
Staring, wondering, is my life beseem,
Is it possible my soul to redeem?
Were I a mere ant scurrying onward,
Never able to speak a single word,
My inner most thoughts never to be heard,
Would I some sort of penalty incurred?
Shall my worth be measured by word or deed?
If deed, from this body I must be freed.