City Dance, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Music they play is as soft as your hair
If there are others I am unaware.
We dance ever so close I breathe your air
Excuse my eyes for their fixated stare.
Your waist toward me I gentle direct
So the pace of my rushing heart you feel
And surely my body shows no neglect.
This night to reveal my love is real.
These horrible gloves I wear with disdain
Same comment I make of the gloves you wear
As from your flawless skin I must abstain
To touch every inch of you without fear.
This night of lovely music will have ceased,
Encumbered passions finally released.
I have always been moved by the use of white in a painting, it is a magnet for the eye. Here it is no different. But after studying the dress lacks motion. But study the guy. He shows plenty of motion. His hair is messed up. The front looks like a circular saw blade. Study his hands, the deftness of them. They are definitely not those of a gorilla. Gently he coaxes her toward him. Were he a gorilla his had would be flatter demonstrating more force. The young ladies hand sits on his left hand. He does not grasp it. Giving a sense of guiding and not leading. His coattails also show motion. Either that or he likes heavy on the starch. My guess is she is in love on the love cloud. Study her expression. It that or she is a student of Arthur Murray and is counting steps.
The Love Potion, Evelyn De Morgan, 1903
The Love Potion
It is good what I seek from your potion
My love is now estranged from our shared bed
Displays no desire of true emotions
No matter tears or words of promise said
But if my folly to think such be true
All that is needed is a modest fee
Sip thy magic brew and we start anew
To once again be filled with endless glee
If thy alchemy in great quantity
be given to all who travel the earth
Would it not return greater sanctity
With human love having total rebirth
If thee not a clever charlatan be
Mix thy magic brew set the people free
Venus and Mars
Sisyphus my name, makes me work long days.
Being not myself is my mortal sin.
It has denied me of my desired ways.
Is there any way for a new begin?
Succubus, it’s treacherous you again,
To manipulate a weak heart this night.
It’s not love that you bring but darken pain.
Out! For soon I embrace Aphrodite.
Without plan my eyes cast upon a Nereid,
Of such great beauty, my sound was for naught.
Her eyes enter mine to steal a heart she did.
For a life time this is the love I’ve sought.
That the golden flaxen hair of her head,
Shall soon sleep so softly upon my bed.
This poem may appear familiar to some and it has been posted on my Face Book page before. I felt that I needed to give it a new title and add some additional explanation as to my thoughts. First on the painting itself. To the left is Venus or Aphrodite her Greek name and the sleeping Mars. The theme of the painting is love conquers war. But having read a little about the painter and the model my poem taps into the dream of Mars. The faces in the painting are none other than Simonetta Vespucci referred to the most beautiful woman of Florence in her short life time and Sandro Botticelli the painter. The speaker in the poem is Botticelli who compares himself to Sisyphus, the god who pushes the boulder up the hill all day only to have it roll down and has to start all over the next day. He feels his work is never done. In the painting we see him sleeping. He sees Succubus after him to make love. I have no evidence but it is my thinking that this is how the Greeks and Romans explained a male’s wet dream. As dreams would go he would be saved by one of 50 beautiful nereids one of which who would have the face of Simonetta. So eventually he does awaken and sees her. However in real life she is married. This leads me to why I choose the original title of this poem: Penitence – the action of feeling or showing sorrow and regret for having done wrong; repentance. Simonetta died young and yet Sandro carried a love for her until his death. At his own death he requested that he be buried at her feet. It was granted. Soon I will have a poem with a similar story that involves DaVinci
A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
She said buy my orange for five hundred
Demimonde without smile stands before me
Richly dressed but with a stark face of dread
Roundness of voice she says what will it be
Picked up cognac handed twenty shifted
Location, more of her wanted to see
People nearby want their spirits lifted
While she has a look of wanting to flee
Folies-Bergère where all life is pretend
Love is purchased for what wallet will bare
Nod the head to the bedroom will transcend
Flesh to flesh do whatever act you care
Orange in hand was man of current style
Quickly put on the demimonde a smile
The Soul of the Rose, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
My mortal body lies beyond this wall
Yet my spirit of heart remains with thee
As wind carries thy scented roses’ call
Whilst each breath thou taketh sets my heart free.
Thy pure hand touches cool gray wall hither.
Was choice which was not for me to maketh
Heart with thee would have chosen to wither
‘Til the moment whence final breath we taketh
Ever so gently cup thy silken hand
To caress my forever loving heart.
Forever your tender kiss I’ve been banned
As thou holds this rose we shall never part.
Should thy flame for me soon start to flutter
I will understand go to another.
Continue reading The Soul of the Rose, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Generations of Faith, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Oh to you darling tender sweet daughter
Let me share with you the love in my life.
Cast your eyes about and think of laughter
and the two before me too have been wife.
Love is not as much getting as giving
Simple as life is, it has been complete
Each generation adds sweetening
That you the youngest daughter are so sweet
Our husbands all have given love to us
Not just to wife but mother daughter too
So that singles become family thus
In not many years add another two
Love is wonderful of man and woman
But the role of family was God’s plan.
The artist of this painting is Pino Daeni who I would consider a contemporary do died young (1939 – 2010). He was an Italian artist, whose art and canvases elicit the feelings of warmth, nostalgia, love and family. To me family is the key word having spent most of my life in Italian households (seeing that I married an Italian our household could be classified as Italian at least by dietary rules). I use the name of the painting as the name of my poem. Attempting the read the body language of who I think to believe to be the mother of the young lady, it appears to me that she is trying to win her confidence to a way of life. That it is a good way where generations stay together caring for both young and old not because of necessity but rather because of love and to be able to share that love without interruption. I remember the old neighborhoods with their triple-deckers. When my wife and I first got married we lived on the third floor of one. When one of the sons got married we were told to leave to make room for family. That’s the way it was done.