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.
Carolus-Duran, The Kiss (1868)
Wedding Night, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
My aching heart quivers when you are near,
Feelings euphoric of such I nev’r knew.
There is a great passion for you. I fear
My love ev’r present is only for you.
Your lips of red velvet I ache to kiss.
That touch, electricity do I feel,
Sending me into a frenzy of bliss.
Undeniable, this heart you did steal.
Kiss me deep to touch my heart, kiss me strong,
For in your heart I forever belong.
Kiss me sweet as sweet can be, kiss me long,
so I can feel the tend’r touch of our song.
No sensation greater except for one,
To be felt b’fore this night of love is done.
Carolus-Duran did this self-portrait to celebrate his new marriage so I thought it fitting to write a poem about their fist night as husband and wife.
Frederic Church, Twilight in the Wilderness (1860)
Clouds, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Clouds of many shades of gray rushing by,
To neither church nor meeting do they fly.
They look so sad wonder if soon they’ll cry.
Should I care if they cover my blue sky?
Peering seeing faces that I once knew,
Passing silently by, all in a queue.
Why at this moment I have not a clue,
Are they all with thoughts attempting to spew?
First lightening then the thunder did come.
Then heavy down pouring of tears from some.
Wet by their many tears, I stood there numb,
Do they portend of what I may become?
Warnings of life every day we receive,
The challenge remains of which to believe.
William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The Innocence (1873)
The Lamb, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
My first Lamb is so soft so innocent,
Will have Him constantly within my sight.
From any danger will move Him distant,
Shall forever love Him with all my might.
Now He has grown to be one to behold,
Many travel far for it is He they seek.
He is the real one I have been told,
It is hard to believe for Him so meek.
They have come and taken Him in the night.
No can’t be, they’ve removed Him to slaughter.
Oh my heart aches, as I grieve for His fright.
His body and blood lay on the altar.
He has been dead three days. Now all to be awed.
My Son you are truly, the Lamb of God.
Praise to the Stately Tree, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
From my windows the wonders I do see,
Giving to pause the reason of its cause.
The majestic pow’r of the stately tree,
To its Maker I give humble applause.
This giant silent friend much does it send.
No matt’r the weather it toils in the soil.
Creating the things I so much depend.
Easing my life and reducing turmoil.
Leaves of the tree provide so I may breathe,
At summer’s end fall nourishing the ground.
In its shade from the sun I take my leave,
To eat its fruit in which trees now abound.
Should the removing of the trees persist,
Life as we now know it shall not exist.
Painting by George Vicat Cole, At Arundel, Sussex, 1887.
The Green Apple, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Green apple in my hand don’t understand.
Do I bite you and taste your bitterness?
Or do simply to hold it in my hand,
And its power will provide me aegis?
Oh to be no more than a butterfly,
Tho its life be short it is ever free.
Darting brightly against the clear blue sky,
As for me a new day I may nev’r see.
No choice for me as I am what I am.
Current state is not my desired pleasure,
For only a fool would not give a damn,
Yet I shall not now disclose my anger.
Now to bite the green apple with remorse,
Knowing that life has but only one course.
Painting by: Charles Conder, ‘A Summer Afternoon: The Green Apple 1894