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.
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.
Jo, the Beautiful Irish Girl, Gustave Courbet (1866)
Muse or Odalisque, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The mirror shows the color of my hair,
But silent on my internal despair.
O but wishing this piece of glass could care,
As my quandary has been a nightmare.
With two so distinct can my love I share?
What I ask is it a request so rare?
Understanding it be an odd affair,
Yet to cast aside one would be unfair.
To make a choice of one my heart I’d tear.
A love of both no issues to declare.
Am able to withstand the wretched stare.
When Whistler or Courbet call I’ll be there.
Such arrangements are not so very quare.
Is it novel to have wife and affair?