Minds, incredible things inside our heads,
Able to respond with lightening speeds.
Plenty of space acting as storage sheds,
Sometimes apt to conjure up nasty deeds.
What goes on inside your mind I’m intrigued,
As you have ability to read mine.
To understand yours, my mind gets fatigued,
Asking if it’s a problem of design.
Why is it in a game of cat and mouse,
You easily capture, then you release.
What’s going on in your little playhouse.
Trying to find answers shall never cease.
Appears to be a possibility,
Of a woman’s superiority!
On the Boardwalk
She stands there staring motionless,
As a mannequin in the store.
The wind blowing against her dress,
Her hair like waves against the shore.
Her neck is fully stretched upward,
With her softness shown to the sun,
While her lips formed to say a word,
An expression without burden.
Wondering if she is aware,
That I stare at her pensively,
Or maybe she does but doesn’t care,
That I’m drinking in her beauty.
More intoxicating than wine,
Making my mind begin to sway.
Deep in dreams that she could be mine,
But she smiles, turns and walks away.
Such a gutless buffoon am I!
Nothing but a straw filled lion,
Lacking courage to even try.
This is why my life’s so barren!
Woman in an Armchair, Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1874)
Woman in an Armchair
Emerald eyes darting from the armchair
With strong resolute not to give an inch
Obvious hers not a casual stare
Holding her steady refusing to flinch
Arms stiffly crossed as if they were sabers
Head cocked showing her pistol is loaded
Ready to attack like barroom brawlers
Flowery words she hears makes her acrid
Might try to forgive if were words of truth
But what she fears is more duplicity
She does not need be the world’s greatest sleuth
To grasp the result of this travesty
A woman can always trust her own nose
Scent of another on her lover’s clothes
Portrait of a Woman, Sarah Mariam Peale (n.d)
Arrived rather early for the gala
Brick structure looked to be Monticello
Quickly pulled in by a woman’s aura
This beautiful lady I do not know
With her posture straight sitting quite stately
Neither a soft smile nor frown did she wear
Her emotions to be held privately
From a distance all I could do is stare
Moved closer to see in a better light
Did not blink, my eyes were affixed with glue
Now moved into her perfect line of sight
Her eyes were the color of perfect blue
She is more than a painting on the wall
For my weakened heart is in her thrall
Viewed the above painting at the Washington County Museum of Fine Arts. Sorry for the lack of quality in the image. Her eyes are truly blue.
Washington County Museum of Fine Arts
The Woman in White, Frederick Walker (1871)
Woman in White
Woman in white soon to enter the night
Be fear or desire why she’s at the door
Barefooted to silence her daring flight
With deftness appears she’s done this before
Stepping into land of a million stars
The fresh clear air aids her erotic rush
For she is Venus and he is her Mars
There he is hiding in the nearby brush
Their pace plenty fast down the moon lit path
Talking with their eyes, no words do they share
Sharing love with little time that they hath
Mars holds Venus, white dress she does not wear
Angry shots felt, passions quickly regress
Not a drop of blood fell on the white dress