Autumn Landscape, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Autumn LandscapeThomas Moran, Autumn Landscape (1867)

Autumn Landscape

Being in the late autumn of my years,
Pushing off to start the final journey,
Without shedding of any fearful tears,
Or desirous to enter life’s tourney.

The river is calm as far as the bend,
Providing necessary confidence.
After that unknown what Nature shall send,
That decision belongs to Providence.

There is not a choice for what is in store,
Shall stay the course whatever it may be,
For once beginning there will be no shore.
Should the waters be rough I make no plea.

Through many turns the river has been long
To the end I ask His help to be strong.

Brushing Her Hair, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Brushing Her Hair
Woman combing her Hair, Fanny Cornforth, Dante Rossetti (1864)

Bushing Her Hair

She knows I watch as she brushes her hair
Dare not ask if this is a teasing stall
Remain frozen with an amorous stare
Leaning toward the near wall should I fall

Ritual that must be done every night
Started long before I was on the scene
Would quickly be filled with much grief and fright
If this task I were attempt her to wean

No less than a hundred strokes of the brush
That glides as a skater over the ice
Without any tension, without a rush
So that each and every stroke is precise

Hair lifted exposes her naked neck
Part of the ritual want not to miss
As now my passion I quickly uncheck
On her soft neck I place a hungry kiss

Color’s of My Life, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Colors of My LifeIdealized Portrait of a Lady, Sandro Botticelli (1479)

Colors of My Life

Not long ago my canvas was naked
Only to be painted with matted black
Pigment making it extremely crowded
Obvious that there’s something that I lack

There needed to be color in my life
But what colors on my life’s pallet be
To neutralize the sorrow causing rife
Which blackens every rainbow that I see

Then came the day I saw colors needed
To finish the task would take but a few
But without question they must be vivid
And to my deep feelings they must be true

Green for color in her heavenly eyes
Soft red for her supple kissable lips
Gold for her silk hair shinning at sunrise
The rest can wait until after we kiss

Called by the Water’s Song, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Called by the water's songInstagram Post by Lucy_1976

Called by the Water’s Song

The rhythm of the water singing its song
By its soft ripples I am mesmerized
To a place where I am taken erelong
Where by a Naiad nymph am swiftly seized

Power in her eyes I was hypnotized
To a state of weightless euphoria
By a scorpion was immobilized
Glowing as if a mystical aura

Now enmeshed with the ripples of the sea
Providing energy for their motion
Shortly there will be little left of me
There shall be no passionate emotion

My lifeless body tossed upon the shore
Energy for my love wasn’t any more

Decades of Love, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Decades of LoveThe Outskirts of the Fontainebleau Forest, Alfred Sisley (1885)

Decades of Love

They walk down the twisting path hand in hand,
The leaves are golden as their many years.
At this juncture they make but few demands,
No more will they be spilling precious tears.

Life’s journey put them on this path before.
Ground is nearly barren beneath their feet.
Both understanding what is next in store,
No extensions will both ever entreat.

The warming sun is at their bending backs.
Turning to each other giving a smile,
Seeing a bench, now is time to relax.
Great love between, there is no denial.

A love they thought started just yesterday,
Counting the decades to their own dismay.

Open Window, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Open WindowGirl reading a Letter at an Open Window, Johannes Vermeer, (c 1657)

Open Window

As thy shall read my words of love to thee
Stand before the open window so that
The sun across thy beauty I may see
Rather than memory pain may distract.

Desire to be so close, can hear thee breathe,
Hand upon thy breast, I can feel thy heart.
Not within touch of thee soon, I will seethe.
See you not in thy window, where thou art?

Having had thy secured forbidden fruit,
Shames me not, but desires more of thee.
Forever to make music with thy lute,
As together this prison we will flee.

Take what thou may require, but do thee haste,
For our departure known, we will be chased.

Birds inside My Head, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Crows in a tree

Birds inside My Head

The invisible screeching birds of prey
Choosing not to care of the words I pray
Preferring instead in my head to stay
Finding comfort in my matter of gray

In fits of hunger they peck at my eyes
Sending my screams into the darkened skies
Oh my God to You I shout many whys
A puddle of tears upon my face lies

Can someone please tell me why this must be
What must be done now to set myself free
When those of much knowledge cannot agree
Of how from the winged creatures I may flee

To remove the curse that I am under
How long must I be these creatures’ fodder
No want to become a constant beggar
But sacred joy serving You forever