In the Darkness of the Night, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

In the Darkness of the Night

The heavy cloud covered night is a screen,
Obscuring any light from the new moon.
Yet in the darkness the mood is pristine.
It’s from your ethereal touch I swoon,
I am a missile lofting into space.
Higher and higher feeling weightlessness,
While exploring the beauty of your face.
Overcome by the sense of boundlessness.
Sharply hit by a comet I explode!
Felt airlessness in my upward spiral,
Faster than light my boiling red blood flowed.
Now frozen, no energy to ramble.
You have brought me ever so near to death,
It’s difficult for me to catch my breath!

The Gate That Separates, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Gate That Separates

Here I’m lingering wanting not to part,
To continue holding your velvet hand,
While you excite the pounding of my heart,
For this moment we’re in a fairyland.
But can we remove the cold fence that parts us?
Let our bodies be joined on the same side!
Be absorbed into a night of blitheness.
My heightened desire no longer to hide.
To caress your sumptuous loveliness,
While I’m devouring your exciting scent.
Running my fingers through golden fineness.
Loving you forever is my intent.
Isn’t it your desire to open the gate?
If not in agonizing pain I’ll wait!

The Artist and His Model, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Artist and His Model, Edvard Munch (1921)

This wanting heart is tugged by my feelings
As soon as she enters my barren room.
For it is special excitement she brings
That shall certainly result in my doom.
Her robe slides off as if doing a waltz
Now displaying the body of Venus.
I am overcome by my many faults!
Possessed by thoughts my bed will comfort us.
Adjusting her pose I touch her soft skin.
Looking at her I see a glowing smile
To place her head my hand is on her chin.
Desiring her there can’t be denial!
Her thick ruby red lips my brush does paint.
Deep thoughts of those lips enveloping mine.
My growing desire there is no restraint
Of her delicious body I must dine.
As if a drug addict I am controlled
By painful desire toward each model.
Mad, mad, to the Devil I have been sold
To share a love and life I’m unable.

The Devil’s Corkscrew, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Devil’s Corkscrew

Down and down the deep spiraling stair case
Darker than dark it is traveling down
Slower than slow for this is not a race
Quieter than quiet all wear a frown
There will be no rest till they reach the end
Round and round as if a merry go round
There is no way for a message to send
The steadfast rule is dare not make a sound
No crying or begging is ever heard
As new tenants enter the hellish heat
Greater than a witch’s cauldron being stirred
The everlasting journey is complete
This is the place that so many do fear
For treatment of the soul shall be austere

The Small Blue Boat, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Small Blue Boat

Her possessions robbed
The small blue boat bobbed
In the bouncing sea.
Tethered to the dock
Secured by a lock.
When the wild winds blow
No place can she go.
While rising water
Climbs o’er her gunwale
Apt to fill her hull.
Her jostling about
Has left not a doubt
Soon to the bottom
She’s going to sit
Having no spirit.
Nothing to live for
Won’t fight anymore.
So sad, slowly she
Sinks to her demise.
There’ll be no goodbyes.

Gentle Wind, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Gentle Wind

The wind is a bus
Going here then there
Carries limitless
Things of many shapes.
Plastic shopping bags
Soon to be snagged
By the naked trees.
Fallen autumn leaves
Doing somersaults
Down the barren path.
Dandelion seeds
Like little balloons
Up to touch the sky.
And what of those clouds
That bring needed rain
Or hide the bright sun.
But the greatest joys
That the bus does bring
Are those we can’t see:
The scent of fresh baked
Apple pie cooling
On the window sill,
The soft wavering
Coming from the field
Of gold colored hay.
But greatest of all
After summer’s rain
The slow flowing scent
Of sweet lavender.
It is my desire
The bus to idle
And stay awhile.

The Invisible, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Invisible

The sultry summer’s setting sun sent rays,
Into the belly of the cool damp bridge,
Where cavemen left their colored painted sprays,
Along with their smelly stacks of garbage.
The discarded urine stained mattresses,
In a row abutting jambs of cut stone,
Offering shelter for long tailed creatures.
It won’t be long before they’re not alone.
Up above the howling freight train rumbles,
Shaking the ground below as would a quake,
And into the river it sends ripples,
With such horror the dead it would awake.
It is silent now the train is distant.
The tired sun slides behind the horizon.
Missing occupants will make their descent.
This day of misery is almost done.
Their shoes against the gravel can be heard.
In their step seems as if there’s heavy weight.
The air reeks of aches. No one speaks a word.
It’s not known if on this day any ate.
All are absorbed into total darkness.
Each struggles with an internal battle.
Seeing tomorrow they are not anxious,
To walk the streets being invisible.