Toxophilites, William Powell Frith (1872)
An Arrow for a Rake, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Spent, a straight arrow is swift and silent,
When properly placed upon hickory.
With effort soon be master of the hunt,
Able to flick the wings off of a flea.
My prime target should be an easy chore,
Though it moves ever stealthy in the night.
Often found at another’s bedroom door,
Will not be hard to get it in my sight.
The object is an arrow in its heart,
For the deep aching pain it has caused me.
Some will say my actions not very smart,
But will have joy, tho hanging from a tree.
There be nothing worse than my vengeful scorn,
That awful rake shall regret he was born.
Jozsef Rippi-Ronai, Pensive Woman with Vase of Flowers (1896)
Feelings, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Take my dare and climb inside, read my mind.
Be forewarned there will be no lexicon,
No claim will be made that you are purblind,
Yet there is no ready catholicon.
Feelings cannot be tucked away from view,
No image be drawn of happy or sad,
Words or images are not in a queue,
Therefore no need for a pencil and pad.
Close your eyes tightly and attempt to see,
A feeling inside that currently be.
Is dark as darkest night you will agree,
Until you conjure up a memory.
And what feeling when the image be me?
My fondest hope is I make you happy!
Charles Napier Hemy, Waiting (1895)
Waiting to See, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Stretching the eye as far as it could watch,
Where the sea and the sky meld into none,
And all to be seen is a mere gray blotch,
Then comes the end of the earth; it is gone.
Waiting, impossible for heart to task,
Still there is demanding work to be done.
Smile to be worn is but a flimsy mask,
Fearful of the solemn bell to beckon.
The shadows run long, time to be ready.
Six days a week this is the constant drill.
Shortly to learn, the nerves must be steady,
For it is now we are told of God’s will.
Stress has left my chest with the boat in sight,
Though the sun will soon set my heart is bright.
Johann Christian Dahl, A Cloud and Landscape Study by Moonlight (1822)
Clandestine Affair, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Above their heads the moon offered a smirk.
The fall wind an ugly message did send.
Assured are they in their clandestine work,
Sliding closer and closer at each bend.
The language of love both very fluent.
As the solid oak door was opened wide,
Coats carelessly flung off in an instant.
Now for magical moments here inside.
Fireplace and they were about to compete.
Her head tossed back caught the glorious light,
Here on in actions will be indiscreet.
Thank heaven for this libidinous night.
In their completeness they sat by the fire,
After having consumed all their desire.
Wintry Landscape with Frozen Water and Figure Statues, Johann Jungblut (c. 1900)
Winters Past, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
The glittering glow of winter’s first snow,
It is that time of year of so much cheer,
When Jack Frost puts on his seasonal show,
A time when we wish our love ones be near.
Is not a time to bundle up and hide.
Lights in each window to beckon with bliss.
Come in and sit awhile by the fireside,
Search for the mistletoe to get a kiss.
Turkey and toys, memories full of joy,
Sledding and skating for all of the day.
This is what I remember as a boy,
Now I see it in a different way.
Stress from hunger and pain are in full view.
Was it the same then I just never knew?
Golden Autumn, Slobodka, Isaac Levitan (1889)
Golden Autumn, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Here I sit on the hill silent and still,
Peering off to the end with mind spawning.
Autumn, the soft wind gives its gentle chill,
Time not move this day for this I’m yearning.
Relive this year impossible I fear,
Yet many memories forever be.
No doubt this has been a wonderful year,
Having those I love so much, near to me.
The darkness of winter shall soon be here,
With many memories shant shed a tear.
Plentiful laughs and giggles fill my ear,
Held so close to my heart with much revere.
In autumn some work to collect the leaves,
For me it is time to store memories.
Frederick Childe Hassam, Late Afternoon, New York Winter (1900)
Late Afternoon, New York Winter, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The frozen aimless dust of pearly white,
Stings my naked face then quickly vanished.
Straining, squinting; trying to keep my sight.
My skin shines as if it has been varnished.
My numb dew-beaters now no longer known,
Departed somewhere near Twentieth Street.
Now these cat-sticks of mine begin to moan.
What I’d willingly give to feel some heat!
Those who think this is a beautiful sight,
Are under cover; each in their taxi,
With no compassion for my nasty plight.
For me this winter night there’ll be no glee!
Pray tell, when will the crocus start to grow?
Not soon enough to get rid of this snow!