The Lovers, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz


The Lovers, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Selene glowing from her throne above
Helios’s chariot now past the gate
Venus has sent to us a turtle dove
Cupid with his arrow has sealed our fate

All our inhibitions do we dispose
Coming together with such tender touch
Like two feathers we glide into repose
Each other’s flesh do we lovingly clutch

Softness of thy goddess body I tour
Finding your wetness I look at your eyes
They tell me thou are desirous of more
To caress me between thy silken thighs

Our bodies now united as just one
To be enraptured until morning sun


The Last Kiss, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

z-Allason, Silvio-Kiss Through the Gate

Silvio Allason, Il Bacio (c. 1900)


The Last Kiss, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Without your tender touch I’m in prison.
Deafened not hearing your dulcet voice.
Absent your beauty I have no vision.
My life without you death would be the choice.

Rules are made to deter such love as ours.
Explaining why they can’t give good reason,
Excuses why numerous as the stars.
Our deep love is tantamount to treason.

Cannot be without you another day.
Bells striking eight I shall be at the gate.
To touch your loving lips to God I pray.
My torn heart shall falter if you be late.

Our last loving kiss will be my farewell,
In this world there is no desire to dwell.

Italian Osteria, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Marstrand Wilhelm-Italian_Osteria_Scene

Wilhelm Marstrand, Italian Osteria Scene (c. 1860)


Italian Osteria, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Will I be safe to sit at this table?
For it appears that I am out numbered.
Such beauty is there anything to mull?
With love potential need not be badgered.

Due belle donne, what an impossible choice,
Of different beauty yet both appeal.
It is possible I will have no voice,
All a matter of who my heart does steal.

Darting eyes tells me to be in good stead,
Orthrus is there protecting what I seek.
One illicit move I’d be torn to shred.
Deep pain for the blood of my groin be pique.

Cursed am I for being filled with desire,
Today only a smile will I acquire.




A Reverie during the Ball, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz


Rogelio de Egusquiza, A reverie during the ball (1879)


A Reverie during the Ball, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Oh! I swoon from his ever gentle touch,
His soft words of love met no resistance.
My melting heart in his hand he did clutch.
He pulled me close so close in every dance.

Now musing of all the words that he said,
Is this real or infatuation.
Will he be the one that I choose to wed?
On my finger his ring I emblazon?

The stardust before me impedes my view,
As I am eager to have him touch me,
In carnal ways this body never knew,
To quell this desire set no boundary.

A firestorm is burning within me now,
But in the morn will love we reavow?





The Abduction of Psyche, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Bouguereau-The Abdution of Psyche

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The Abduction of Psyche (1895)


The Abduction of Psyche, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Cupid, with thee arrow strike yonder male,
Seal the fate of Psyche so young so frail.
Mother, if thy command I will not fail,
Yet did I, now with wound of no avail.

Psyche my love for thee shall be proven,
As thee see our lives be interwoven.
Will be tested by mightiest coven,
With arm around thee shall fly to heaven.

Gently I place thee upon the clover,
Bed so soft for a beautiful lover.
Looking at thee I move my lips lower,
To kiss thy lips. Seal our love forever.

No doubt, love can last an eternity,
Even between mortals like you and me.




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.




















In the Loge, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Cassatt-In the loge

Mary Cassatt, In the Loge (1878)


In the Loge, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Rue de Richelieu is a pleasant walk,
When attending Comedie Français.
Attendance and attire will be the talk,
As around the loge, glasses peer their way.

This game quasi-gentleman like to play,
They’re on safari looking for a prize.
For man’s trophy are willing to betray,
Long friendships with multitude of lies.

I feel the voyeur’s eyes upon my neck,
Though covered myself fully head to toe.
In public woman can’t expect respect,
This is not to say that all men are foe.

A Man who by love alone will be joined,
Always chosen over marriage purloined.