Silence, a thought of Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

After posting 524 poems to my blog, I will be going silent.  It is not for the lack of desire to write, but the painful misery inside my head.  For days I have tried to compose. Previously I have found that at times I could fight through the pain.  At this moment it is no longer possible. I hope the hiatus will be brief.

Cornfield, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Cornfields and Crows, Vincent Van Gogh (1890)

                           Cornfield

The rolling, cooling air was moving in
Bringing with it grey cotton in the sky.
My body showing its October skin
Freckled, speckled sand and extremely dry.

Standing before me they command their ground
Soldiers by the thousand within my view.
Flaying and wailing cried a morbid sound
Be but one victor when the day is through.

Aggressively attacked the left, it’s war!
Superior power, mowing them down.
No, but before me appeared countless more.
Was steadfast, mowing down those stalks of brown.

Cleaned the tractor and all its cutting gear,
The cornfield now sleeps ’til early next year.

Anguish to Overcome, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Anguish to Overcome

Years of solid misery has expired,
Not giving final wish that was desired.
My many thoughts continued to be mired,
Crashing in my mind from being cross fired.

Nightmares into my mind insist to creep,
Denying me of beneficial sleep.
Resulting in times of chaotic weep,
Killing any creative thought may reap.

There is a feeling that keeps me going,
Everyday so eager to be sowing.
Into every heart that I am touching,
Is my love that is constantly flowing.

This unceasing love in its total sum,
Provides the strength, anguish to overcome.

Evening, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

EveningEvening, Edvard Munch (1888)

Evening

A time between the bright heat of the sun
And the cool darkened shadows of the moon
A time to consider what has been done
And what’s to be accomplished very soon

It is not a time for melancholy
Nor to be consumed by fanciful dreams
As both will lead to dangerous folly
Creating vicious pain from mental screams

Evening is not a time to hesitate
For the eyes will begin to get heavy
The mind soon unable to contemplate
Important to plan the future wisely

Besotted, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

BesottedDouble portrait, Oskar Kokoschka (c. 1912)

Besotted

She moves her body with hypnotic grace.
Euphonious words does she softly sing.
A smitten smile she wears upon her face.
My heart has been struck by scorpion sting.

Turning to me, offers her silken hand,
Kissed, looking into her ravenous eyes,
Of my every thought she took full command.
Her Siren’s song firmly sealed my demise.

As butter on a sunny window sill,
With her every carnal touch I did melt.
Thinking, it is me she shall surely kill.
Yet, better I have never before felt.

Many a friend claims that I besotted,
Was when I met her that this all started.

Alma and Oskar, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Alma and Oskar-GrayAlma and Oskar, Oskar Kokoschka (1913)

Alma and Oskar

There is not a tree with forbidden fruit,
Nor compelling compact we have to sign.
There will be no Satyr playing a flute,
Nor a reason for having to repine.

Just you and I in this our paradise.
Freely bending to the other’s desire,
Without thought of making a sacrifice,
While quenching a burning internal fire.

Stripped of all our frail human modesty,
We explore each other with boundless lust.
We bind together ever so brashly.
Such pleasure without being larcenist.

Our thirst for each other being so vast,
We ask these wondrous feelings always last.

The Tempest, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The TempestThe Tempest, Oskar Kokoschka (c.1914)

The Tempest

In the cruel bleak darkness of the night,
I engaged her in a loving embrace.
Hearing a deadly sound causing great fright,
My troubled tense heart did achingly race.

The wind howls with a mean temperament,
Devouring everything within its sight.
To ensnare us the wind would not relent,
Consuming our bodies with vicious spite.

Holding her tightly as we whirled around,
Dreading I may soon lose her to the wind.
She was motionless not making a sound,
While the eye of the tempest meanly grinned.

Awakening in a feverish sweat,
Not even hearing a single whisper.
Seeing a sight I shall never forget,
Alone in bed without a trace of her.