Jakub Schikaneder, A Street Corner in Prague (1924) A Street Corner in Prague, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
What is it of the fire behind the door?
This building for centuries stood its ground, Daring not a passersby to explore, Forcing everyone to walking around. About this old building stories they tell, Making wary others shake in wonder, When told inside is the stairs down to hell. Going to close their souls it will plunder. Walkers of the street bow in reverence, Daring not to look into its dark eyes, Causing them to do their dire penitence. Not willing to become the devil’s prize. There once was a brave one who went inside, Not to be seen again guessing he died.
Swooning Because of You, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Those steaming magical moments with you
Daring was I for one who was so shy Such a gentleman to help tie your shoe Just a scheme to feel your soft inner thigh
But of course by seeing your grin I knew
You had a touch of devil in your eye Eager was I to see the full menu Ending with special requests you’ll comply
Like a Boy Scout rubbing two wooden sticks
Made a roaring fire to last through the night Choosing ala carte provides many picks There was tasty delight in every bite
With these torrid thoughts I begin to swoon
Remembering yesterday afternoon
The Desert Flower, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The desert flower
Waits for the needed water Which may never come An oasis in the sand Wish to offer her a hand
Her pain is not shown
Why must she be all alone With no one to care Battered by the endless wind Punished as if she has sinned
Signs of being flayed
Moved closer to give her shade Want to give relief It is quite hard to explain But I understand her pain
Theodore Robinson – La débâcle (1892) The Debacale, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
A bridge so small yet we are worlds apart
What the differences be, I know not Was love for me when I gave you my heart For you were gentle to me at the start
Surrendering quickly, am I the fool
To resist I’d no knowledge of a tool Or in the game of love of any rule Which required one be vicious and cruel
I am more than willing to bear the scar
For it is true love just the way you are You shall ever be my celestial star Will not make a difference near or far
There is no happiness in how I feel
Want to assure you, my love was real
Passion in the Stars, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
My breath stolen by what is before me
Twirling like a prima ballerina So every part of her I’m able see Sending my heart to the upper strata
With a devilish smile moving ever
So close. To her eager embrace I’m drawn With wild loose passion. Oh how I want her Smothering in her dress of blue chiffon
My heart quickens with head between her breasts
Held helpless by the flowers of the field In her spell my every thought she arrests This fiery desire cannot be concealed
Her apple she places upon my lips
While I feel heated passion from her hips
Emilio Longoni, Sola! (Alone!) (1900) Alone!, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
All alone overcome with nothingness
With paralysis of heart and body For God did not answer her begging plea Feeling all days forward to be worthless Gone is a love she thought to be endless His warmth she would feel for eternity He was all she needed to be happy His ensuring embrace was her fortress Can there be more than just her memories A comforting from the morning bird’s song Finding joy as the little children play Like him gone will be the scent of lilies While she remains there’s a need to be strong To live every day as it comes her way
Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Lunch at the Restaurant Fournaise (1879)
Feeling in my stomach gives me a hunch.
Sun’s position tells me it’s time for lunch. Ever so eager for something to munch, But more important have friends in a bunch.
We gather together to tell tall tales,
Some so farfetched they are bigger than whales. Not in a hurry so we eat like snails, With much chagrin the time really sails.
We joke but much comes from within the heart,
None to the others attempt to outsmart. Regrettably we all must soon depart, All rushing one more story to impart.
It is time each to have a final say,
For planning lunch for next earliest day.
Edgar Degas, Les danseuses roses, Avant le ballet (1884) Dancers in Pink
They have clipped our wings, we will soar no more.
Magic that feeds us now deathly silent, Until maestro’s baton starts the next score. Oh quickly, we have energy not spent.
The rustling of the audience ceases,
We all hear tout suit and a cane tapping. Orchestra prepares to play its pieces, All dashing for proper positioning.
Plie, releve, saulte, each with grace of a dove.
The Maestro called for the strings, time to spin. Ah, Pirouette always done with much love. Being a dancer is love for certain.
Our hearts start racing when we touch the stage,
To be a ballerina at any age.
Thankful Tears, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
White blanket as far as the eye can see
Coming in the darkness as the soil slept At day light displaying its soft beauty But by this day’s end the snow will have wept
Its many tears will sink into the soil
Relieving some of soil’s tired parchedness It must be ready for spring’s human toil Plying their planting skills in its softness
Winter is young they will watch for more white
To see it piled high coming to their knees With no preference be it day or night Their eyes will watch ready to make their pleas
Soon the snow of winter turns to spring’s rain
Soil drinks its sweet tears and does not complain
Ophelia’s Bath, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The lavender scented candles flicker
Creating an almost mystical glow The water enters as a waterfall Frothing the milk which sits waiting below Today her bath shall be like no other In its warmth she seeks eternal comfort To wash away her torturing weakness Desiring baptism for her weighting sins Covering herself with dried rose petals To be washed away as will be her sins Below the water she enters a dream As slowly each petal rises to the top
Ron Hicks, Cafe Couple (not dated) Café Couple, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
There was a young vixen some time ago
Created such a stir within my heart Without effort quadrupled my blood flow Causing strain and awful pain from the start
Made repeated attempts to have her near
To breathe the scent of lavish lavender Time after time thought my intentions clear To the point of being a poor beggar
Dangerously with finger swirled her hair
Was this a sign we would be moving on Not a blink while at her beauty I stare She is a magnet to which I am drawn
My mouth was open awaiting her tongue
Any desires of passion are far-flung
John William Alexander, Repose (1895) You Intoxicate Me, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Let me drink the sweetness of your beauty
Let me breathe fully the air you exhale Let me feel the heat of your excitement Let my tongue collect the salt on your skin
You are a volcano that quakes my earth
You are the nightmare that keeps me awake You are the sun so bright must close my eyes You are the moon that makes the waves of love
Great fear captures me when you are not near
Held by disquiet unable to breathe As if downing in an ocean of tears Twisting and turning alone in my bed
May there never again be such a night
Where I’m not held by your romantic scent As your soft silken hair falls upon mine And your dark deep eyes intoxicate me
Joshua Shaw, Seven Hills: An American Landscape (1818) The Beauty of this Earth, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The velvety coolness of tall green grass
Offers some relief from a red hot sun Which slithers slowly into the crevasse The transfer from day to night nearly done
In amber stillness I wait for the moon
Full it will be, shinning like polished brass Looking like a yellow birthday balloon Will make the blue water appear like glass
Before its arrival time will stand still
While dots of popcorn fill the blackened sky Frozen by a feeling that’s surreal I am weightless in the place where I lie
Astounding is the beauty of this earth
In this stillness I’ve feelings of rebirth
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIVRPEnOi9I My Soul, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
At moment of birth was given a soul
to be mine, the rest of eternity, longer than my body shall ever be, with soul returning to heaven my goal. From my mouth this deep desire I extol, but I have failed caused by human frailty. Falling to pleasures that made me guilty: ever yielding to my desires’ control.
I am weak from a human perspective!
Shall my soul be punished for weakened deeds? If be true: body and soul are as one together for a long as I may live then soul now complicit to human needs How can a place in heaven now be won?
The Joys of the Past, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The joys of the past,
I reckoned they’d always last. Loving memories! Beginning vividly strong, Thinking how could I be wrong.
Thoughts like grains of sand,
Passing slowly through the hand. Lost without intent! Falling not making a sound, Never again to be found.
At the airplane’s gate,
For no cause I hesitate. If frozen in time! The first thought that comes to mind, What it is I’ve left behind.
All logic has ceased,
Confused is to say the least. No understanding! Just my imagination, Of desired expectation.
Plane is in the sky,
With regret it is goodbye. Without seeing you! Thought friendship not to end, Am I wrong my dearest friend?
Vojtěch Hynai, Girl with Azalea (1915) Girl with Azalea, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Your new found love should be put in a pot.
Tend to its every need right from the start. It is fragile, best to forget it not. Let that pot be made of your very heart.
Love between the two be equally true,
Then it shall in no time fully blossom, The graces of love to both will accrue. Attend with great care shall never succumb.
Through the years there will be many a tear,
Will be real love that helps conquer fear, And to make the sunny days reappear, With the desire to remain ever near.
For heart to grow love is its basic food,
That tingle of long past was its prelude.
Vine and Tree, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Tree stood majestic in the open field,
Offering respite from the summer sun, On its many branches birds it did shield, For climbing children provided much fun.
Early spring a vine sprouted from the ground,
Being friendly giving hugs to the tree. Growing fast, going around and around, Soon the tree realized was no longer free.
Now the vine stole the tree’s much needed light,
Vine’s many leaves were now the greatest height. Like a serpent choking with all its might, Causing within the tree a deadly freight.
Spring is now here the tree did not awake.
Tolerating the vine was its mistake.
Ivan Aivazovsky, Moon Night (1885) Moon Night, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The wind like a sweeping broom
Wish, swish, rattling every dish Providing sounds of looming doom Clouds so fearful begin to weep What object to overcome such gloom? Every given answer is “Not I.” Even the voices from the tomb Yield for fear to be exhumed Through the day all stayed at bay Allowing the wind to have its way Finally comes the end of day Now above their many heads They take notice of the full moon Gleaming bright with a silly grin Taking control of what’s below Giving an eye to the nasty wind Which falls softly as a lamb All is quiet in this night It is now time under the covers That all heads shall be out of sight
The Chain I Carry, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Around this neck I wear an iron chain.
Of its number of links is still unknown. It exists only to make me insane, For a love that will never be my own.
From its crushing weight I often descend,
Prostrated upon the dark frozen ground. Tormented by what it is I offend. There will be no tears, nor a single sound.
In my mind she shall be eternally,
As if her vision has been carved in stone. From this love I shall never to be free. Without her my choice is to be alone.
Another link for every thought of her.
No matter the weight I shall not deter.
Ivan Aivazovsky, Among waves (1898) Among the Waves, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Sitting idly with the sea,
Listening to the smooth rhythm, Of the rolling white capped waves, Making sounds like a heartbeat, As each settles at the shore. The sea is everlasting. Boundless energy it holds. There are times when it’s calming, And there are times when it scolds. Looking far as I can see, Thinking of its mightiness, Devouring ships at its will, Or so still letting all pass With the least of its effort, It could swallow tiny me, Sent to the darkness below. To the sea I shall listen, For it’s my loving Father.
Eager to be With Her, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Every time that I
Hear “I love you,” there’s a sigh My heart skips a beat Each and every time we kiss My life is never amiss
The sound of her voice
Reason for me to rejoice That she’s very close I’m ready to be consumed My rocket will have had zoomed
On being with her
It’s not I who’s the captor My love compels me I’m a ring on her finger Not a moment to linger
Anders Zorn, In the Woods (1893) In the Woods, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
We’re in our private Garden of Eden
Our most favorite place to be alone Of others this woods is wholly barren It’s in this magic place our love has grown
There is a soft sweetness that fills the air
While the breeze sings moving among the trees We escape into our grass laden lair Our naked bodies to do as they please
The electrifying touch she offers
With her unblemished flesh on top of mine All the passion that I possess is hers As we embrace like branches of a vine
Exchanging wild sensations with our lips
Responding excitedly with our grips
Need to Change, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Lying in the shadow of your body
Thinking of the countless deeds you have done Where I’ve been sole beneficiary Regrettably your efforts go unsung
Total ignorance on my part I fear
If my actions caused sorrow on your part Shedding the heavy invisible tear And carrying alone your heavy heart
There needs to be many more like today
Where your time is consumed in idleness Many less hours at work and more of play Your time now be filled with more happiness
Just my loving you cannot be enough
There is need to change though it will be tough
Final Act of Love, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The water is darker than a squid’s ink.
Looking to its cold bottom was useless. Jumping in did not know how far I’d sink, Drifting down it felt to be bottomless.
Crushing aching pain brought me here today.
An eternal love wasn’t ever to be, From the moment your heart began to stray. For me there could be but one destiny.
The water takes me to my resting place,
Going willingly without any fear. My final vision will be of your face, Wondering if your eye will shed a tear.
In the end giving you all that I could.
My love for you was never understood.
Peder Severin Kroye, Fishermen on Skagens Beach (1884) Fishermen on Skagens Beach, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The lighthouse guided them back to the beach
With their nets holding a bountiful catch All avoiding but necessary speech Knowing they’re to meet their physical match
Out of the beached vessel on to the shore
Flexing sandpaper hands they grab the lines Tugging and grunting till couldn’t anymore Feeling muscular pain run down their spines
Into baskets were tossed the slippy fish
To market all being carted away But for a moment of rest is their wish Thanking God it’s the end of a work day
Focused on aiding their muscles to mend
Knowing this tiring work will never end
Dreams Unwanted, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Begging of you don’t come into my dream
As pleasurable and daunting it be Dreams are all lifeless and not what they seem When my eyes open you rapidly flee
In my wanting dream you have no softness
Nor can I breathe the sweetness of your scent While dreaming air is all I can caress There is nothing for which I must repent
Come to me passionately while awake
Let me feel you to know this is real No longer a dream the love that we make Amazing how real love can make you feel
Awakened in the night there is no scare
In the dark there is brightness everywhere For I am no longer caressing air Knowing that for my earnest love you care
Heimkehr, Robert Haug (1893) Desire Path
The field now matured, with bright golden wheat.
All but a narrow path, of shoulders width, Made by two lovers, to a glade of birch.
Each day when the sun is no longer high,
She now starts from the east, he from the west, Would come and these two vines would intertwine.
Both are filled with tempestuous desire,
A hunger their hearts yet to satiate, There is no want, the roaring fire to squelch.
An island of refuge from any want.
Here they feel so unadulterated, Ready to fulfill the other’s wishes.
In their bed of myrtle they contemplate,
The test of their love when the ground is white, Are their feelings but a mere summer love?
Clay, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
I’m on barren ground
Walking, not making a sound The path is not straight Where it leads me I don’t know My speed shall be very slow
Eyes toward the sky
Deep thoughts of wondering why The darkness above An omen of what’s to come My life’s tale ad nauseam
Yet I’ll carry on
If heavily rained upon As there’s no reason I should be eager to stay For I am but simple clay
New England Scenery, Thomas Cole (1839) Bridge to Happiness, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Walking within a sea of solid green
The whispering winds calling me forward Where the picture before me is serene Yet feeling that I’m solidly anchored
Suddenly nails are lifted from my feet
There’s a sense of gentle warmth in my hand A guiding spirit has made me complete My heart able to follow its command
Before me the path is narrow but straight
Leading to a glowing transparent bridge Not hampered by any obstructive gate My constant doubt now replaced with courage
Being over the bridge of happiness
I’m in a place where there is no darkness
Born to Run, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
There is eagerness in this spindly colt
Thinking of the excitement at the downs At the sound of a bell ready to bolt A mere seven weeks old dreaming of crowns
A sure winner, look how he holds his head
Each ear standing up like a mountain peak Listening to every word that is said Every shrilling neigh says he is not meek
Look how he runs hugging the inner rail
Attempting boldly to pass his own nose Traveling so fast his tail is a sail Another race that is not even close
The day is now over I bed him down
As I leave making room for his first crown
Winslow Homer, Boy Fishing (1892) Before there was You, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
I was a fisherman, trolling each night.
Casting my fine line wherever I may, Sometimes a nibble and sometimes a bite. There where nights when I felt an angry gray.
Rain or shine I continued in the game.
Wondered if I needed to change approach, All too often the results were the same. There were thoughts of hiring a special coach.
Then came that evening with its change of fate,
I was blindsided by a beauty sight. Roles reversed, I took the sweet tasty bait. O my heart danced in great delight that night.
Now gathering dust is my rod and reel,
For I had found a love that is real.
A Picture of Your Soul, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Have you ever viewed the life of your soul?
It is visible any night you choose, By going to a nearby grassy knoll, Decumbent yourself and brace for enthuse. What you say, nothing more than a mere scam. Anger not for it is a digital, Presentation form of a scattergram. Becalm your mind, do not be critical. Steady, stretching your eyes upon the sky, Capture the total events of your soul. With what now is seen you will soon descry, The blacks and the brights comprising the whole. The blacks are the easiest to explain, As they are events assigned no import. Brights take judicious evaluation, Beginning with the most glowing of sort. To brights attach your memories until A lack of brights causes consternation. Lucky are you to be at a standstill Needful to seek a new constellation. Those of us who cannot assign all brights, It takes more visits to this grassy knoll. Take a friend for some support on those nights, As these nights may just be brights in your soul.
To Be Free, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Without warning came a sinister scream
The kettle is filled with violent rage Out of control spewing out scalding steam More savage than a lion in its cage Is injustice it’s trying to redeem With its unruly billowing rampage
Like the caged lion it is the water
That has the fervent desire to be free No external force its form to alter No want to be used for a cup of tea But there would be joy in being bigger To be free as the water of the sea
Walter Ernest Webster, Rhapsody (c.1930) Rhapsody, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
From the near piano the strokes of keys
Are footsteps to days distantly gone by Each goes deeper into my memories To resist the intrusion I don’t try
The song brings on a soft melancholy
A smile but yet there is a hurt inside Those thoughts always to be a part of me Not erased no matter how hard I tried
To soon did our love reach a crescendo
Parting ways to destinations unknown In our eager youth little did we know Ageing we took on a different tone
Thinking deeply how my life would have been
The song has stopped with me wearing a grin
The Wish, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The wind is silent and the sun is bright
There is happiness in your company Looking out over the beautiful sight Of swaying palm trees and the dancing sea
What’s the magic that brings us together
As there was no personal interview Nor an arrow causing instant ardor Or an active plan for me to pursue
But freely admit a feeling so strange
When you enter to the range of my eyes Or mention of your name causes a change A thought of you causes natural highs
If it is by love I have been captured
I fear to push you to the next level Only to be told that love is absurd Shoveled off rapidly to the devil
William Henry Margetson, The Seashore (1900) At the Seashore, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The spirit of the moment grabs my soul
For the quiet wind does not sing a song While the still water wishes to console And the silky sand is minus its throng
Looking out in search of the water’s end
Its stillness awaiting for me to speak Eager as the ear of a dearest friend Offering needed comfort that I seek
To its vastness confession I offer
Of my many wrongs I’m wishing to right Of someone’s warmth requesting to enter Ridding the fright suffered alone each night.
There’s much comfort to be had at the beach
In solitude to the water to talk. But greater joy is a hand I can reach To grasp while along the seashore we walk
http://www.rehs.com/gregory_frank_harris.html?page=41&key=62 Waiting for Spring, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Just the wind and me
Mesmerized by the cold sea Winter’s lion roars Across my defenseless skin Here’s where my day shall begin
It’s the month of March
Wondering where is my starch Must I yield to age And less mental potency Accepting my life blandly
Nay, I wait for spring
And the sweetness it shall bring Birds’ songs fill the air Captured by honeysuckle Its embrace there is no lull
Lilacs oh so sweet
So tall that the sky they meet Dancing in the wind Send their scent over a mile Bring on me a tender smile
The small whippoorwill
Each night on the windowsill Will lull me to sleep To dream of another day Wishing spring to always stay
https://artuk.org/discover/artworks/old-man-sitting-225841 A Moment With You, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
These aging eyes of mine now tire too soon
While studying the beauty before me All worldly things now appear to be seen As would the brightest roundest yellow moon If I peer through the summer’s leaf-filled tree
It’s when both my eyes are completely closed
That your beauty becomes vividly clear Looking and hearing countless memories Gathered through the years now safely enclosed In my heart, where they will always be near
The future is not something that I seek
Now when your loving lips and mine do meet Just hold you so the present can’t escape Feeling the warmness of your silken cheek Your closeness makes my yearning heart replete
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Windrow A Feeling Within, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Freshly mown hay fills this midsummer night.
With jar in hand children chase the firefly. While moths of every sort seek my flashlight. On this night life I try to simplify.
Lying on timothy, brome and clover.
Thoughts of before the rain, what must be done? This night the moon couldn’t be any bolder, All will be raked before the morning sun.
The air very dry, there shall be no dew.
Making perfect time for the sweet windrows. I shall sit and watch the sparrows pursue Critters before the coming of the crows.
Sitting two days, time to take it away.
The horse team and I make tidy square bales. There’s none to waste as each eats two per day. Hungry they are, weight over a ton at the scales.
Already again grasses start to grow.
Children all laughing, let the chase begin. Now sunset, time for the celestial show. Lying back, ear to ear I wear a grin.
Water, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Confused for I know not its truest shape
It is big then again it may be small With but little effort it can escape May idle, slowly rise, abruptly fall
Not sure if it can claim to have a taste
It can surely be more precious than gold Therefore a horrific sin it to waste For it’s difficult in your hand to hold
So refreshing in it fully immersed
May provide relief to inner spirit A miracle which quenches our deep thirst Without it our lives we’d have to forfeit
Water as you quietly pass my lips
I relish the feeling of all my sips
Sir John Lavery, R.A., R.S.A., R.H.A. 1856-1941 A WINDY DAY (1910) A Windy Day, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Just to let you know you are not alone.
Do not get angered as I wish to flirt. With my power many things will be blown. Modesty forget as I sweep your skirt.
Your hat will become a cartwheel rolling
Recklessly across the endless soft sand. Is attention I want while you’re strolling On this bright morning lost in your dreamland.
Can you hear my song whistling in your ear?
It is my sad song of ever longing. Able to caress you. To have you near To absorb the love I know you would bring.
Can you please turn around towards my way?
So my soft breath upon your lips will stay.
The New Model (1898), William Powell Frith The New Model, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Silently she stood as if a statue.
My canvas is like winter’s fallen snow While I am frozen as the earth below. The paint brush refuses to move on cue. Most beautiful woman I would argue One more heavenly one could never know With a softness of skin that has a glow. I fear to blink and lose this perfect view. Signaling by hand she begins to turn By single degree her movement is slow. I wait for her to create a shadow On her curvaceous body which I yearn. The more I study her the more I burn To the point feelings not able to stow. In my eyes desire is starting to show To save myself the session must adjourn. As if she were an angel in a dream Her svelte body slid behind the curtain Only to reappear as a beacon Rendering me into a wisp of steam. With teeth against my tongue so not to scream Any action I am doomed for certain. By the devil I’ve been deeply bitten Evilly poisoned with his hellish scheme.
“Lady at her Toilette” by Berthe Morisot. 1875. Stolen, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
You’re a heartless thief
Stealing far beyond belief Something I held dear Without it I cannot live You I’m never to forgive
Forever to mourn
Forever to be forlorn There’ll be no comfort For me be it night or day I was nothing but your prey
Thinking it a toy
To give you malicious joy Leaving me bereft How could I be so naive To many tales you did weave
It is clear, my fate
There’s no need for me to wait Never to return Though an effort to cajole My precious love which you stole
Intoxication, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The full moon so bright with its bleached white light
Makes sensuous shadows in the garden Of the many flowers as they embrace Dancing slowly to a song I can’t hear. Their steady movement into the warm air Sends ruffled ribbons of many flavors Slowly encircling my lost dreamy head So willingly I drink of every one. Spinning is my intoxicated head Queueing each of the sweet suggestive scents. Holding the one that reminds me of her Squeezing my eyes closed if to hold her tight. If only she were here to share this night To quench my desert thirst for her sweetness. Oh this burning feeling I hold inside Wondering why her scent remains with me. In the shadows beneath the willow tree Courage is gathered to open my eyes. If in a dream wishing there to remain But the lingering scent provided thoughts. Between me and the full moon there she stood. The moon light filtered through her hair of gold With extended velvet hands she beckons. In her fragrance I am now enveloped.
Scheming, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The opulent banquet was so crowded,
At tables guests were shoulder to shoulder. Noise level deafening as all chatted, But not a one spoke with any candor.
Each story being told became longer,
Much longer than that of a monkey’s tale. Each is here to be a social climber, But by night’s end many would surely fail.
Why was I here amongst this den of thieves?
Sheltering my eyes from the shiny paste. Wretched am I, one too who deceives, Fooling myself that I’m among the chaste.
On the upward ladder not wanting to
Forfeit my place. Committed to the game, Doing what’s needed to stay in the queue. In silence, I admit this is a shame.
Inprisoned Spring, Arthur Hacker (1911) Imprisoned Spring, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Feeling my young blood racing within me
Like a feral horse running to and fro Being fenced in, but not wanting to be. Like the big sky is I ought to be free. To have the flight of a brazen eagle. Cast away these mental fettering chains Is a desire that I constantly mull. But day after day there aren’t any gains. Could it possibly be that I am wrong? That I am much safer staying within Though of my mind and body being strong. If ever when will my freedom begin? All that remains is to frequently pray, When the morrow comes I will fly away.
Lovers by a Fountain, Modesto Faustini (not dated)
Water runs quickly into the fountain
But not as fast as my red rushing blood That is more scorching than the noon day sun. To you my hungry heart I have ceded. You have come for water to quench your thirst. Yet I seek you to extinguish this fire By having my love totally immersed For water hasn’t power over desire. Let me carry your water to the shade Of the tree to soon drink of each other. For I beg that our love not be delayed As my body would be a disaster. Please do not treat my feelings as a game. Weakening am I from this torrid flame.
The Philtre, Mihály von Zichy (1868) The Philtre, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Tonight we shall not be disillusioned.
We shall quickly freeze our intuition. Every restrained desired shall be beckoned. There’ll be no feelings of inhibition.
Mighty Dionysus will be our guide. His magic elixir removes all doubt, While any fear can bravely be denied, Eliminates us from our carnal drought.
So let me assist you to get your fill. Feel its comforting warmth as down it slides? It’s fuel to provide a real thrill. Notice desire burning in your insides?
It is you and I in our reverie, This night we shall not seek a boundary.
Interior with Girl Reading, Peter Vilhelm Ilsted (c. 1910) My Desk, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
How many have come before her
Wish that she could tell what she knows Words written upon this altar Decades of happiness and woes
Always polite is she to me
Though I pound on her in anger Yelling at her ever briskly When ideas fail to flower
Listening to my every word
Though the same again and again And phrases that are quite absurd Or just chatter ’til don’t know when
Let it be known she is my friend
Bringing comfort until my end My real desk
As I was searching through images looking for one that says to me “I’d make good poem. There it was, a desk almost like mine. I did of course remove all the clutter before taking this photo.
The Touch of Your Kiss, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The touch of your kiss,
A state of heavenly bliss. Floating on a cloud, The magic of weightlessness, In the joy of your caress.
Look into my eyes.
There’s no desire for goodbyes. Listen to my heart, As it pounds a special code, Of a love that you have sowed.
Parting I resist.
The ache of loss shall persist, ‘Til again we touch. How I struggle when not near, As my mind remains unclear.
Thrills when together.
Such desire in me you stir: Volcanic action. It’s you I want in my sight, When my eyes close every night.
The Visitors, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The snow’s cold whiteness creeps up to my door
While the melancholy sun bids farewell Mystically crows swarm more than five score There is an urgent message they must tell
Raising my shovel they will not scatter
With great fear I hold my quivering breath It’s easy to understand their banter These darkened creatures sing their song of death
Where summer they’d quietly steal my corn
Autumn barren fields provide easy prey Not here to repay my gun’s bitter scorn No they’re just here to say this is my day
Would prefer a single singing angel
Rather than this rowdy crowd of babel
The Last Message, Fortunino Matania (1916) The Last Message, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Embers within my heart no longer glow
Events past with you, mine a clouded view So difficult for me to picture you Thought that forever you would be my beau That through the years together we would grow The world has changed yet I don’t have a clue Words to save us pain wish I only knew It is hard for me to bring such sorrow
Dearest darling it gives me no comfort
Knowing that you are struck with such great pain Must be brief believe the French word is mort As for our relationship there’s no strain Soon my box will be stacked aboard at port Rest assured darling you didn’t cause this bane
The Death of Chatterton, Henry Wallis (c. 1856) The Death of Chatterton, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Poor fatherless genius age eleven
Wrote great versus without imperfection His skill would not pave his way to Heaven Shortly going in other direction
Verses he wrote penned by long ago monk
Thomas Rowley lived three centuries past Claimed to have discovered them in a trunk Willing to sell them if the sum were vast
Not selling his writings turns to despair
Yet wrote feverishly both day and night Did not have a shilling that he could spare Now totally consumed by darkened fright
To rid the pain arsenic he did down
Shy of eighteen he lies in the cold ground
Through My Window, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The morning sun uncovering the sky
Sending its brightness into my window One glowing ray sat on my peeking eye Boldly telling me, “Better not be slow”
This is to be such a marvelous day
Thrusting my bedroom window open wide Telling the whole world what I have to say Oh the glorious feeling that’s inside
Quickly I raise my arm waving to God
Thanking Him for the gifts he has given Over and over it’s He who I laud For this special day that I am liven
Even if this day shall not go my way
It is to Him whom this evening will pray
Wind, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Cannot see thee, but thou art surely here,
As thee can speak to me violently, Yet not a word of thee enters my ear, And still thy force guides me decidedly.
Thy power commands trees, songs to whistle
Songs which touch people in varying ways, Some so fearful they seek their dismissal, While other so gentle request delays.
Thy power commands water shape to take
Normally flat as glass, jumps at thy call. The stronger thy call, the larger the wave, If thy call be soft the wave shall be small.
Wind, with all thy mighty power will thee,
Guide, the only love of my life to me.
Idleness in the Rain
The sun has taken a vacation day.
Clouds so dense, they are flattened and shapeless. Heavy rain, muting colors in my view. The lonely birch is like a lightning strike, Before the background of quiet maples.
Listening to countless taps of the rain.
Cannot determine if but random notes, Or of a message, wishing to invoke. Listening, I feel a calm enter me, Freedom of mind, for which I’ve been waiting.
Thoughts, not of yesteryear or the future,
But what is this, this quantity called life. Like rain drops, of possible randomness, Or a plan, put in place so long ago. Of patterns in rain, not understanding.
To Whom Shall We Listen,
a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The emotion love in the heart resides
While in the human mind resides its soul Each so different on how it decides One against the other seeking control
One or the other attempts to cajole
For humans there will be no choosing sides If we try certainly it’ll take its toll Excruciating feelings it provides
Confrontations continues ’til one dies
From the agony there be no parole Some temporary relief when one cries As all emotions begin to unroll
Frequently impetuous is the heart
Failing to listen from the very start
Vision of Beauty, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The shadow appears,
Upon the frosted glass door. Then came knocks in pairs. Over the threshold did pour, A stunning smile that she wore.
She very well may have been, But not imagination. Her beauty glowed from within, Making my peering head spin.
Her soft loveliness,
Greater than Helen of Troy. I must now confess, Seeing her my greatest joy. Blushing if a little boy.
Soon she did depart.
Leaving me with aching pain, For she stole my heart. With me she could not remain. Feelings for her won’t e’er wain.
The Old Man, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The old man stood there silently affixed
On the shadow disappearing beyond the threshold The door slowly closed, then came a thunder from the latch He turned and went to a chair Thought of what has happened Looked around the room stopping at The table that stood next to the chair. Picks up the glass and takes a sip Opens the small drawer Pulls out a small bottle Pops the cap, stares into the bottle Tosses the contents to the back of his mouth Takes another sip, then swallows Puts his head back and closes his eyes.
The Proposal, Frédéric Soulacroix (1858 – 1933) not dated The Proposal, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
You came to me as the heat of the sun
My love grew like the fruit upon the vine Shall say to you, you be the only one That you too be forever only mine
Our lives together will be more than fine
The love we share never to come undone May be rain at times but mostly sunshine All those tempting distractions both will shun
As we live our love be second to none
Aging love shall be as the finest wine Softly mellowing yet love of action No matter the years our love will opine
To you I dedicate all of my life
If you shall now promise to be my wife
Artist unknown The River Runs Red, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The city’s skyline looks like poker chips
This is a place of winners and losers The winners choose not to walk on these streets Loser to loser the alley they meet
The rustle, the hustle, day almost done
Any civility was left at work One’s inner frustration must now be heard Even if someone’s life to end tonight
The great “melting pot” is starting to boil
No longer employed are knife, bat and fist Time has taken on a new jousting form Where knight meets knight in the darkness of night
In their fast steel steeds they speed down the street
With lances in hand a victim they seek Sending swarming bees of lead through the air Claiming a victim sitting in a chair
A massive current of red runs quickly
Appears if knowing where it is to go Joining a clotted mass of blood below Now gathered to the river it will flow
I wrote in poem in 2018, and it sat quietly on my computer.
Now I think it appropriate for the times we are currently experiencing
Carl Herpfer – The Love Letter The Love Letter, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Dreaming about how things could be with thee,
Knowing this is precious time not well spent, But next to thee no place I’d rather be, To hear your tender voice and smell thy scent.
Though we be physically very close,
And yet our thoughts are galaxies apart, Nary a chance we would ever be beaus, Not understanding why to let this start.
If dreams be extinguished it is the end,
For without them no life can ev’r exist. There is no life without lover and friend, I shall show deference though you resist.
Miracles do happen let’s wait and see,
Thy heart may once change to love only me.
Thoughts of You, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
About to take a voyage in my mind.
You are the only one to come along To see every moment I think of you. From rising until the end of my day. The great joy I get gazing at your face, The music coming from you tender voice, The downy softness of your loving kiss, The calm you bring with you tender embrace.
But my mind is busiest when I dream.
You’re there to taunt me with your vivid love. Chained to my bed unable to escape, Flailing ever so wildly from your touch. A hand so hot it sets my flesh on fire. Your kiss evokes within lawless desire, Building pressure I can no longer hold. I am a live volcano. I explode!
Hylas and the Nymphs (1896) John William Waterhouse Hylas and the Nymphs, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Hylas are thou prepared for what’s in store?
Seeking water holding spear minus fear, Shall ev’r again return to thy mentor. He shall seek thee shedding many a tear.
Was Hera’s will that led thee to the shore.
Hypnotic nymph Dryope coaxed thee to come near. In her snaky mind was more than amour, With her magic touch thou heart she did sear.
In the green still waters thou did explore.
Soon to swoon, about to reach thy nadir. Consumed by desire, warning thou ignore. As soft smile of a nymph is mere veneer.
Under the waterlilies can be found,
Hylas who no longer shall make a sound.
The Kiss (lovers), Gustav Klimt (1908) The Kiss, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
It is fall, the golden time, when thou shall
Leave my gardens as Persephone will. Shan’t lock thee with horses in the corral. Then go. Leave me without love, without thrill.
Wait, delay, the ground remains soft and warm.
Lie with me on the meadow’s new mown hay. Come close, let me prop thy head with my arm, So you hear every word of love I say.
These two moist lips are ripe as thy body.
Pressing my body against thine. Hearts are Racing. From our love will soon embody, Thy equal of beauty under our star.
Winter will soon come and the fields shall sleep,
While patiently I wait our love to reap.
The Bower, Willard Leroy Metcalf (1907) The Bower, a Poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Here in the bower I quietly lay
Focusing on the color of the sky Just passing away the hours of this day
Its cerulean blue I wonder why
Could it not one of the soft shades of green Someday with a brush of green I will try
My thinking may be considered obscene
This foolishness is needed respite care As stress untempered would soon make me mean
Breathing deeply capturing the mild air
Feeling joy of the sun upon my face A great sense of freedom I am aware
Today there will be no arduous pace
No want to run a competitive race O the reward of stillness in this place
A Box Made for Memories Do You Remember, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
This small box given on our wedding day,
To store memories of times together, Just in case our thinking began to stray, Unable to remember where we were.
The time is now when it’s hard to recall.
This opera ticket is now so frail, The scrawled penciled date cannot read at all, This item won’t be of any avail.
Cannot remember this one or this one.
No longer great memories but anguish, Fearing my precious time is nearly done, As a tired autumn leaf I shall languish.
Thinking back to many decades ago,
There remains a thought as if yesterday. Your soft gentle touch would make my love flow, And your tender kiss my heart you did slay.
Seated Man at the Table, 1886, Elin Danielson-Gambogi Seated Man at the Table, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Here I squirm in desperate solitude,
Moving an empty coffee cup like a pawn. Events in my mind I try to occlude, So bleak is my heart, sorry to be born.
Here at our table our lives were entwined,
Never to part until the end of time. Imperfect I am, but foolishly blind, Not obey the way of this heart of mine.
What contrition must be waged to undo,
The egregiously wrong that has been done, For my saneness cannot take “We are through.” Save me from this choking cocoon I’ve spun.
Across the table with lips parted I will,
Lean into the dark to find yours still.
Petals of a Daisy, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
She spreads her silky shawl on the soft sand
Sitting she stares out at the serene sea She’s sifting thoughts as sand slides from her hand Shyly she thinks what her love is to be
A new beau is the focus of her life
Every thought of him provides a warm thrill Wondering when she will become his wife Suddenly summer’s wind gives her a chill
In slow motion she reaches to her hair
Taking a daisy, with a test she strains As white petals fly giving her a scare Only a single white petal remains
The wind tosses the shawl into the air
There is not a sight of her anywhere
A.A. Mills, Man Strolling in a Wooded Landscape (c. 1850) Man Strolling in a Wooded Landscape, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Life as in Death is forev’r waiting to see,
Nev’r really knowing what is to be.
Stopping to think is this really me,
Will there ev’r be an answer to my plea?
Am I living a dream within a dream?
Being honestly knowing what things seem?
Staring, wondering, is my life beseem,
Is it possible my soul to redeem?
Were I a mere ant scurrying onward,
Never able to speak a single word,
My inner most thoughts never to be heard,
Would I some sort of penalty incurred?
Shall my worth be measured by word or deed?
If deed, from this body I must be freed.
Romantic Firefly, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Like the distant twinkling stars in the sky
Is the extremely romantic firefly Flashing his code to the women around Hoping a pleasurable mate is found
Moving ’bout like a venerable steed
Knowing full well that he now must succeed His encoder will surely go silent There’ll be no progeny to be present
Reminding me why here I have been placed
Not to remain forever pure and chaste But I have no romantic encoder Must develop a skill even bolder
Yet that romantic bug to emulate
To find success before it is too late Need to get my important message out For all to know what I am all about
Honeysuckle, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
You did not yield to winter’s bitter cold,
Patiently anticipating spring’s thaw. Early sun’s warming kisses made you bold, Attaining new heights never reached before.
April rain brought a carpet of flowers.
Nectar aplenty, it dripped to my feet. With swarms of bees invading your towers, Reaping your essence making hives complete.
Warm summer breezes carried your perfume,
To distant places on gossamer wings. Finding rest upon an awaiting womb. Soon the birds will feed on the fruit it brings.
A late autumn frost with its mighty sword,
Did still the honeysuckle I adored.
Up to the Roof, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Come! Let us dash up to the roof.
To where the many song birds cling, Happily to rusty antlers, And we can nearly touch the sky.
I’ve basket filled with such delights,
A blanket on which we can lie, While watching the world’s wide wonders, Ever changing from day to day.
Reds and oranges of the clouds,
Hides the setting sun like a shroud, While the soft summer winds do bring, The quiet cover of the night.
The moon shows us a wispy smile,
While diamonds wink in the darkness, As a calmness slowly descends, On us as we warmly embrace.
Life’s such simple joys provided.
Quiet times with the one you love. No word ever needs to be said, Just the tenderness of the touch.
Bittersweet Love, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
A deep love for you, but you love me not
You say that words of love I must destroy To love not I’d have to tear out my heart
At first sight of you my heart fell apart
I displayed the joy of a little boy A deep love for you, but you love me not
You resisted love from the very start
Treating my love as if it were a toy To love not I’d have to tear out my heart
If possible from my heart you would part
But to my life you’ve become my buoy A deep love for you, but you love me not
Dreams of us being of a single knot
Such a lasting act brought to you no joy To love not I’d have to tear out my heart
Confused from not understanding your plot
Confused on what effort to next employ A deep love for you, but you love me not To love not I’d have to tear out my heart
Interior, Strandgade 30, Vilhelm Hammershø (c. 1900) Emptiness, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
In silence on the cold threshold standing,
Thinking if entering can do some good. Shoes making sounds possibly deafening, The huge room’s center is now where she stood.
Windows all shuttered, shelves totally bare,
Dust shadows of pictures where they once hung. Fighting back a desire to be elsewhere, Thinking of happy times, of songs once sung.
Strip of light from the shutters touched her eye,
With great bravery she opened them wide. No pause for thinking she began to cry, Instant resolve, no longer will they hide.
Being human with feelings deep inside,
From this moment her heart she will abide.
Cloud, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
A grand boatless sail is now passing by,
Against the deep blue not leaving a wake. Might accompany if I were to try, With unknown path, just may be a mistake.
Now out of sight I know not where it went.
My chair is not of comfort anymore, As the gears turn my mind starts to lament. Could now be basking on a foreign shore.
Rocking in wonder, if it’ll ever be,
To latch upon an opportunity. One as splendid, one which enables me, Or to rock into mediocrity. The future shall remain a great unknown, It is up to me, the part which I’ll own.
Falling in the Abyss, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
She leaned in softly
Toward my defenseless ear Causing a firestorm Turning me hot cherry red Gasping, unable to breathe
There’d be no reprieve
Grabbing with her incisors Causing bawdy pain Her advances not to shield For she has felt how I feel
There’s numbness of mind
As she freely convorted But it was I too Who willingly consorted To a feat beyond belief
My heart pumping blood
Attempting to quench desire Out of our control As we reach the raging cliff Now falling in the abyss
Ecstasy, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The Hurdy-Gurdy plays as I enter.
Secured, not sure what to expect. In stride, the ride departs command center. Sitting forcibly back, I am erect.
Wisp of a warmly breeze puts me at ease,
Muscles loose, I feel the serenity. Climbing steadily up beyond the trees, Looking out I can see eternity.
Feeling joy to be in the open air.
A sudden stop, quickly I look around. My heart deeply beating, my nostrils flare. Looking down, thoughts of crashing to the ground.
Eyes glued open to capture all the glee,
Now that is the feeling of ecstasy.
Ivy or Bittersweet, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Studying the ivy upon the tree,
Steadily climbing for a better view. It does so without payment of a fee, Unlike hostile bittersweet, there’s no coup!
Making me to wonder, which I’m to you?
When we caress, which am I in your eyes? Am I to you, aggressive sticky glue? Or one who provides a pleasant surprise?
Smothering you is not ever my choice,
But there is pleasure with you in my arms. If to climb higher you must have a voice. My wanting heart desires your touch that warms.
Welcome me as the tree does to the vine,
For together our lives shall intertwine.
Dare Not Open My Eyes, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The morning mystic maze of memories
Float as fog softly across calm waters In the recesses of my laggard mind Taking a form of silent silhouettes
There was me, there was she, stepping forward
(Such a rush, I dared not open my eyes) Into the room, the door closed behind us I turn to her, she turns to me slowly
I looked into her eyes, she looked in mine
We were frozen for a moment in time While our hearts were sharing loving feelings I leaned into her, she leaned into me
Such a rush, I dared not open my eyes
Her static energy fully absorbed As if I were a naked lightning rod Causing this burning heart to hesitate
Such a rush, I dared not open my eyes
Grabbing my chest, was it death I was near For how could being in love cause such pain Was this just a dream or a memory?
Words to be Spoken, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Not to say what I’m really feeling,
Would be the same as to ask that I lie, For if I were the whole truth to deny, A horrible fate I would be sealing.
If true you love me not that is your choice,
And your heart you do not have to render, As I’ll accept your words without anger, But only if you listen to my voice!
You have possessed my body and my soul,
From that special moment we first embraced. Your enthralling power could not resist.
There wasn’t any need for you to cajole,
Wounded, there wasn’t any need to be chased, As this love harbored shall ever persist.
Your Very Lips, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Please ask me not the color of your hair
Nor the color of your moon-like shaped eyes For it is the motion of your lips I stare. Their dewy redness has me paralyzed.
Many sweet sounding notes are framed by them.
They move in union as does the river. Their power over me I’ll not condemn Knowing to be doomed forever after.
Do you not see what you’re doing to me
As your silken tongue slides across the dew. My heart pounding like the waves of the sea. O torrid thoughts of what I wish to do.
To have your full red lips ravaging mine
With their taste being of exotic wine!
Do You Believe in Magic, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
It happened so quick!
In my head it was hectic! Got such a feeling Knowing I wasn’t getting sick! And it wasn’t some kind of trick!
Was surely chronic!
Sweating, was getting frantic! At the sight of her Breathing was getting drastic! Rushing heart, I did panic!
Have lost all logic!
She caused erratic static! Entering the room My illness is I’m lovesick! Do you believe in magic?
Angst, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Shaking my head from far left to far right
Not a point of no but of frustration Cannot believe what is within my sight I see people so full of delusion
No longer do people hold opinions
What is expressed based solely on beliefs To becoming their religious actions Providing no answers only griefs
Logic cannot any longer prevail
As would be a geometrical proof To display is systematic detail Rather than vengeful yelling from their roof
Observing people ready to explode
Not ever realizing what they said Causing this worried country to implode Hoping it does not come ‘til I am dead Image Credit:
Unsettled Heart, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Like a moth to fire,
I’m drawn to you with desire, Ever completely. Neither food nor drink wanted, Only love to be hoarded.
A strength or weakness,
I’m unable to confess. As it’s not known why, To you, powerfully drawn, As dew to the sun each morn.
You are floating on air,
With rich gold dust in your hair. A magnetic smile, Without effort does excite, While your bright eyes do invite.
Surely there is more,
If given time to explore. Branded in my mind, A feeling that will not part. The cause of an aching heart!
Politicians, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
In bright daylight they huddle in darkness
Fearing their death by the riotous mob Who attempting their freedoms to suppress. Lunacy of the mob think it’s their job.
Open dialogue not again to be.
Fear is their weapon for conformity, Destruction to all who may disagree. Gone is any want of civility.
The majority willing to cower.
No longer is there any patriot To hearken a unifying answer. Democracy, mobs no longer covet.
Again this raucous mob hangs Nathan Hale
While Benedict Arnold they proudly hail. Image credit:
Wood Nymph, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Into the woods on this whimsical day
Followed by free fluttering butterflies They stutter around with nothing to say But such soft beauty set before his eyes They travel inward without given path Jumping over trees in eternal sleep While trying to avoid mosquitoes’ wrath Looking all around they are very deep Hearing the quacking of a single duck Excited his fluttering friends took leave While under wisteria boughs he snuck Reaching the pond that he could not believe A mystical place by time forgotten Flowers of every essence to be seen Their slow motion waves as if to beckon To the clear water’s edge of velvet green With precision every step is taken For there is not a reason to be rushed Need not a foothold to be mistaken Fearing such splendid beauty shall be crushed
Tricky tense travel created a thirst
Throat is dry and scratchy as desert sand Into a cupped hand water was coerced Refreshing it is but only the first Finally finished with getting his fill Sat quietly listening to no sound The birds do not sing and the trees are still Searching but not a motion can be found This quaking nervous tension gives a chill Afraid that having step on sacred ground This horrific unknown is not a thrill Anxious that some creatures will soon surround He who hasn’t ways of providing defense Feels there’s evidence of fault should he run Totally confused for nothing makes sense What is willfully wrong what have I done Filled with deep despair the eyes slowly close Understanding the past he can’t undo It is what it is he begins to doze Dreaming of the beauty within his view
Normandy, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Through my aged falling tears I see but blurs,
While the changing soft June wind comes my way, Carrying scents from the many acres, Where friend and stranger will forever stay.
Cleared eyes I sit silent upon a knoll,
Dramatically it changes my view, While a feeling makes memories unroll, Of this immortal place many fought through.
In the years passed this was a sea of wire,
On the ground were paths of quivering red, Did the best they could, crawled to the hellfire Hot lead causing crying pain as they bled.
At night phosphorous flares filled the black air,
Creating ghost-like figures on the ground. Bullet tracers were for more than to scare, Accuracy of a hit with next round.
Smoke denser than ocean fog makes them choke,
Trying to advance in this unknown land Falling with pain the Lord’s name they invoke. Gnashing teeth trying the pain to withstand.
In the darkness sounds of pain continue.
Through the damp sleepless night screams diminished. At day break hallow sounds find their way through. For them, agony of war now finished.
Their death cries I hear even to this day,
The scent of death unable to escape. Oh how was it I did not have to stay, Being a part of this solemn landscape.
Water’s Edge, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Water that’s blue green
Provides a view that is serene As a mental wall Of safety while on the sand Scuffing feet while hand in hand
Seagulls sound their caw
Swirling like kites by the shore Panhandlers with wings Ever trying food to snare But what we have we can’t share
The breeze off the sea Moves her body close to me I’m to be her shield The joy of having her near She says words I want to hear
Pleasure of our walks Promises made in our talks Sharing our futures Thoughts of how life will unfold And how it’ll be when we’re old
Today’s sun now sets, With sadness but no regrets. Now we travel home, As we plan for our return, To this place for which we yearn.
Woman in Paris, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
She sits silently at the river Seine
All alone on this frigid winter day No one near to jostle her to explain Just her and her thoughts sitting on the quay
She wears a silly smirk upon her face
Wondering how it is she’ll free herself From a life she feels is so commonplace One ordered as a library bookshelf
She came with hope to the City of Light
Looking for that something she did not know An experience that could make life bright A warmth that would make her lonely heart glow Image credit:
To What End, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
In the deep darkness of the night
My heart pounds louder than a drum. Being wet with cancerous fright Wondering what we have become.
There are bright flashes then the sound.
The tiger now seeking fresh meat. Silhouettes falling to the ground. There’s boundless hate upon the street.
The many symbols of the past
Falling to the revenging mob As if a lynching death comes fast. This gruesome scene is macabre.
The once stores are now volcanoes
Spewing fire and ash to the sky. Will it ever cease no one knows. Before the end must many die?
The past can never be undone.
Our future forced to wear the scars. From toxic snakes we’ve been bitten Now we must walk among the chars.
(Passiflora incarnata) Passion Vine A Fruit of Passion, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The southern window
Presented her sublime glow Studied her movement Of a perfect pendulum With not a fear of boredom
Timed with morning breeze
Every action she did please Oh to caress her Bring to my lips so gently Lingering there patiently
But to know her first
She must know for her I thirst Of countless many She’s the one for whom I wait It is she who spins my fate
Sinningia ‘Isa’s Scent of Love’, 2018, IR181419, hybridized by Chen Yi-Chen, Taiwan. The Scent of Love, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Never knew what this feeling meant
Near you losing total control I love the magic of your scent
Ever confused of how things went
Not knowing what’s my proper role Never knew what this feeling meant
To be what wasn’t I would invent
No resistance to your cajole I love the magic of your scent
Captured by a taste so fragrant
Pranced about like a new born foal Never knew what this feeling meant
This feeling didn’t try to prevent
Your prisoner not on parole I love the magic of your scent
Life is happy with such torment
As my wanting heart you unroll Never knew what this feeling meant I love the magic of your scent
A Friend, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
On the quarry rock
For a treasure I do stalk Pleasing to the eye Must fit in my front pocket Not much bigger than a nut The noon sun shines bright Twinkles seen as stars at night Tiny quartz mirrors Each calls for my attention One will get my affection Many I inspect By their surface I reject Must provide comfort While I hold it in my hand Long future for it is planned I feel all alone All I seek is but a stone That will be my friend One to always stay with me No matter the place I’d be
Yearning, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Within my lonely heart dessert winds burn.
Shifting sands with no refuge in my sight. Thirsting, looking, but there is no cistern. No warmth provided on this frigid night.
Gone are the nights when I needed no fire.
Your beauty provided needed repose. Was your loving touch that quenched my desire. Just your being close removed any woes.
Minus your love suffering deepest throes,
You are a life I can’t ever let go. How I cherish the joy your love bestows, Only you who can set my heart aglow.
Oh how I crave for your love to return,
For it is only you for whom I yearn.
Where’s Heaven, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Staring upward at the still midnight sky,
Diamond dust everywhere is to be seen. Amazement comes over me as to why, Needing help to know what does all this mean?
Twinkling stars millions of light years away,
But where does all this cosmic matter end? Such a thought leaves my mind in disarray, I know not any logic to defend.
“Where’s heaven?” if I may politely ask,
The place for my soul to forever be. To understand a Herculean task! Having knowledge of it would set me free.
My heavenly Father, I feel exists,
All from the feeling while I talk to Him, Though there is no response my faith persists, Singing with joy His wonders in a hymn.
Click here to buy my new book
Ship on Stormy Seas, Ivan Konstantinovich Aivazovsky (1887) Translucent Waves, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Came banging desperately at our boards
Like an unwanted vagrant in the night These glowing liquid eyes took no pity Rolled us as if we were inside a jug The boatswain’s call fell screaming to the deck Yielding to the crying of shrouds and stays The bilge pumps slurped as if gasping for air This mental torture continued for hours Slowly the weight was lifted off our chests
Helios’s chariot enters the sky
Brought a joyous stillness with his fire ball The waters became a soft lullaby In the log book captain writes: Normal day The swabbies claim there is none more fearless Willing to take on Neptune at his call Or a sea monster that may cross their path But the truth is they are God fearing men Understanding the power of Nature Knowing when on her waters they are guests Later at the pub there will be stories Details in conflict are worked out with fists
Click here to buy my book
The Love Letter (1904), Nina Hardy You Are a Poem
You are a poem
One that is truly blithesome Of a perfect form With its words very pleasant And placed to be so fragrant
Over and over
Words of love you do offer Makes me warm inside Putting a glow on my face Not a single word I’ll waste
Your poem isn’t long
But the words are very strong When talking of love As if words are carved in stone Not ever to be outgrown
When you are not near
In your poem you appear How it makes me smile Fingers float across the page With you I am now engaged
Coming to the end
I reach for a dividend To read it again Every word I read out loud With such force they’ll reach a cloud
Click here to buy my new book
Writing of a Love
The dark blue inked pen I hold in my hand,
While there is a log jam within my mind, Writing of a love I don’t understand.
My heart is locked, my mind isn’t in command.
No words, just pictures of her do I find. The dark blue inked pen I hold in my hand.
Love in my life did not go as was planned.
Thinking our hearts would surely be combined. Writing of a love I don’t understand.
I may have made too much of a demand.
Shall I write, “Sorry for being so blind?” The dark blue inked pen I hold in my hand.
My love passes through her hands as if sand.
But how is my true love to be defined? Writing of a love I don’t understand.
Shall I write, “My feelings should not be banned?”
How I struggle on what should be opined. The dark blue inked pen I hold in my hand, Writing of a love I don’t understand.
From the hill above,
Perched as if I were a dove. My mind is affixed, To two young streams floating by, With unlike hues of the sky.
Surfaces like glass,
Cutting their way through green grass. I see the two streams, As people lined in a queue. I’m in one the other you.
Lives that are aimless,
Traveling without purpose, Without burning hearts, Not challenging any bend, Their lives absent foe or friend.
Little did each know,
Their emotions would soon grow Entering conflux! All jostled and tossed about, Their distinct hues faded out.
There is in my mind,
Thoughts of couples intertwined Hands joined, traveling, Life together that they’ll spend, In love to the river’s end.
This soft black leather chair in which I sit,
Will jettison me to my days gone by. With heavy eyes my mind begins to roam, Not ever certain where it will take me.
Over several years recently past,
I am seeing memories through a veil, Like my grandmother’s favorite curtains, Aged by the sun and not perfectly pure.
In the crowd of faces some are obscured.
Not sure of who or when, faintly confused. Then there are those who are frozen in time. Through remaining years they will surely stay.
The longer I think the lower I sink,
Into dreams that are fully distorted, Or are they but my confused memories, Because the curtain is getting darker.
There will come a time, never knowing when
The translucent curtain will be a drape, The day when my long past will not matter. It shall be what the future will provide.
What’ll Summer Bring
‘Tis the mid of May
Thoughts locked up I wish to say Every day I fight Searching for the hidden code To free feelings inside stowed
My thoughts put to word
Have way too long been deterred Pain has such power As a stone dropped upon glass Thoughts shattered never to pass
My mind is a cloud
I fear that it is a shroud Holding me captive Breathing yet a prisoner Howling as if a beggar
What’ll the summer bring?
Wishing more than birds who sing Thoughts freely flowing Words riding the summer breeze Turning to fruit on the trees
You are Gravity and My Anchor
Gravity keeps the world in firm order,
As you have accomplished with precious love. If not for you I would surely falter, As your strength is my ever glowing dove.
You guide me softly where I need to be,
For on many issues you are so right. Though hard to concede when I disagree, More and more now yielding to your insight.
There’s a multitude of sorrows I hold,
But there is one that I most grieve over. Times your mind I attempted to control, Not realizing you were the anchor.
Today there is something I’d love to give,
But I cannot give what I never had. Instead request you willingly forgive, Knowing my love of you is ironclad.
Since you arrived how fast the years float by,
Faster than billows of clouds in the sky. Wishing all days of your life would slow down, For it is not every day I’m around.
Remembering the first time in my arms,
A fragile infant turning on your charms. Creating gentle warmth inside of me, Even though knowing of you just barely.
Passing of time I learned to love you more.
Your hugs and kisses in my heart I store. While in my mind I hide my many tears, Your nightingale voice shan’t fall on my ears.
That day shall soon come when you move away,
My princess in my heart you’ll ever stay.
The Battle of Hope and Fear
Our very lives exist on hope and fear.
It is hope that helps beat back the dark night, But it succumbs to what comes in the light, Causing anxiety when things aren’t clear.
Fear is fostering more than just a tear,
Where all hope will easily take its flight, And deepest fears take on a deathly fight, As with a knife any hope fear will shear.
Is there a force fear cannot overcome?
It appears what still remains is our faith, That we can bring back lives to be as one.
Is anarchy what our lives have become?
Will in our future all to be seen is wraith? Life can’t be saved at a point of a gun!
The morning peeks over the horizon
Sending a light kiss through the room’s window It is special signal to let me know That another new day had now begun
My quiet moments of dreaming are done
Jolting sleeping energy it’s time go With much vim and vigor cannot be slow Downing nourishment my engine will hum
Going out the sun follows me to work
Into the green fields to help the crops grow The sun is my partner in this wonder
From many daily chores no choice to shirk
For there is so much to the land I owe Will labor until the sun goes under Image credit:
Stoically she stood, the salty air
Driven by the hot summer southward winds. For but a moment her thought she rescinds But not of her insistent nervous stare.
To the horizon from the widow’s walk,
Searching for a very special object. Without it her life would be fully wrecked. With current thoughts she’s unable to talk.
For tea the small table was set for two,
To sit and talk about each other’s day, As they have done so countless times before.
Together this place is a pleasant view.
Alone, the only thing to do is pray. At this moment her tears begin to pour. Image credit
My latest poetry book
Description of book
This book of poetry is an experiment which focuses on the life of Edvard Munch, an Expressionist artist who created paintings based on what he saw and felt internally. The author studied the diaries as well as several biographies of Munch. The notes in his diaries weaved a life of love, hate, anxiety and death. In his book of poetry the author has included many quotes he used in an attempt to take on the voice of Munch. Each of the author’s poems written relates to a specific piece of art done by Munch. Many of the poems relate the to Munch’s time just before entering a sanitarium for alcoholism and mental issues. The author feels that he has a better understanding of the complexity of life by having studied the life of Edvard Munch.
My book will soon be available at Amazon.com
Since my blog is not monetized I will be posting a link to purchase the book. Once the paperback is done an e-book will be made available.
Starry, Starry Night
This warm night the moon is but a sliver
Creating a flat sky of black onyx Darker than those scary houses’ attics Tonight seeking a specific answer
Placing my new field glasses to my eyes
Seeing jewels of topaz and diamonds There must be many thousands of thousands Of my understanding surely defies
In the darkness does the universe end
A place where mere humans to never go Past the stars is there a place that’s hallow
At death is this where souls will ever spend?
It’ll give great peace if I could somehow know. Or into the dark ground that is fallow?
The laborious work day is now done
All the tools are cleaned and put in the shed Giving my thanks to the now setting sun With a broad smile into the house I tread
This night in June will be bright for certain
For the moon is full much color it will spread It will be a grand show second to none Creating sights to be stored in my head
It’s the first night of the strawberry moon
The ball in the night sky will not be white Gathering its color will make you swoon
Listening to nightingales sing their tune
I’m wishing to remain outside all night But is will be strawberry picking soon
A magical feeling with every dawn
The blurred gentle softness to start the day To be without rush in a thinking way Reaching for the subdued blue sky I yawn
See the wet veil on an emerald lawn
Broken by red-breast robins seeking worms Jostling them out on their aggressive terms Sharing the space with the brown speckled fawn
The dawn can’t honor my pleading request
While I slowly drink all of her beauty Meaning now it is my time to get dressed
It is time to pursue my daily quest
Of solemnly sworn to do my duty So no matter the day to do my best
The raging river takes command
Demanding acts of contrition As it passes over the land With vengeance sparing not a one.
Tall trees with their righteous egos
Are now but timbers on the ground. Bare, having given up their clothes, Motionless, not making a sound.
The rocks hardened by stubbornness
Not accepting another’s rule. Falsely thinking they are ageless, The river shows them who’s the fool!
The river takes all to their knees.
Giving baptism to those who choose, Putting their needing souls at ease. From the river we take its cues. Image credit:
Herman Herzog, Raging River (not dated)
Psyche in the Temple of Love
Our lips first touched secretly in the grove
Its taste was that of the honeysuckle Together our young unskilled hearts we wove A tender spring love was born in April
There is a great fear now that it is May
Since that sunny day his eyes I’ve not seen Has he forgot promises on that day That not another heart shall come between
Coaxing the butterfly to seek him out
The agony in my heart he must know My love for him there is not any doubt The fire in my heart can melt winter’s snow
Here praying that I’m not a childish fool
Being in love can be mean and cruel Image credit:
Edward John Poynter, Psyche in the Temple of Love (1882)
Unfaithful to Myself
I cry not because I’m about to die
But regrettably what I’ve failed to do To myself I have not been fully true Finding it easier to tell a lie
Wishing now that the harder I did try This problem thinking I would soon outgrow Yet, the falsehoods continued to flow Oh why, oh why, for the life of me why
My lies repeated soon became the truth
Becoming that someone but not myself Uncomfortable in the borrowed shell
All those secrets I hid destroyed my youth I have sinned for was not true to myself For this my greatest fear to burn in hell Image credit:
Edvard Munch, Old Man Praying (1902)
In our embrace there’s no earth beneath us
The stormy clouds that were have gone away Our warm feelings which abound are ageless Be night or day together we shall stay
There is love music only we can hear
We dance moving tenderly in the air A vision of love we hold ever near Captured within each other’s eyes we stare
To our emotions we willingly yield
Flowery scent of love my lips can taste Moving higher our passions are unsealed Of this intimate moment we’ll not haste
In this vacuum floating far above
Totally absorbed in our precious love