Tag Archives: Claude Monet

My Every Sense, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

WaterliliesWaterlilies, Claude Monet (1919)

My Every Sense

In the soft morning light I thirst for you
Neither food nor drink do I now desire
But to experience my every sense

To cast my eyes upon your nakedness
As you lie there motionless by my side
More beautiful than the goddess Venus

To get closer so to inhale your scent
An essence softer than heavenly clouds
That sets within me thoughts of you only

To wake you so that your voice I may hear
Sounds falling as feathers upon my ears
Stirring in me exciting sensations

To pass my tongue over your moistened lips
Gathering your nectar along the way
Hoarding it for it’s more precious than myrrh

O but to touch your warm velvety skin
To know that you are more than a mere dream
And able to take my heart to new heights

Ice, the Time Capsule, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

WAG 6133_BTBreak-up of the ice on the Seine, near Bennecourt, Claude Monet (1893)

Ice, the Time Capsule, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Winter’s chill has made the river e’er still,
The lives just prior are now locked inside.
Imprisoned is the wheel of the grist mill.
Waters no longer able to confide.

Many struggle not knowing what to do,
Times pull them forward in uncertain sway.
Some by fear are in want to start anew,
Others already made their getaway.

Starting to be warmed the old ice breaks free,
Tries to flow away as fast as could be.
Ever eager to be downed in the sea,
So ugly sins held others may not see.

For all sins that arose in the spring mist,
It is best their forgiveness to enlist.

The Station, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Monet-la gare Saint-Lazare

Claude Monet, The Gare Saint-Lazare (1877)

The Station, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

With suitcase in hand I step from the train.
It is the beginning of a new life.
A new soul and conscience without a stain.
Between you and me no longer be strife.

With anger in its wheels train departed.
Leaving behind a trail of billowed steam.
Have a feeling of being fainthearted.
Now no longer constant in what I deem.

With consternation did look whence I came.
Should the same questions be asked once again?
Would responses be exactly the same?
If so would it be done myself to feign?

The tracks offer the answer, they’d nev’r meet.
Like the tracks, you and I would nev’r accrete.