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.

Ephemerality, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Ephemerality
Wispy cirrus clouds of height whisking by,
While countless diamonds dance on the water,
And swallows do somersaults in the sky.
Like children there is a constant banter.
Sitting in the cool comfort of the shade,
Quiet as a lion stalking its prey,
I wait for the fawns and does to invade,
To drink the water, but long they’ll not stay.
The wonders of this day soon to depart,
To return only as a memory,
Bringing subtle warmth to my beating heart.
Tis my wish these memories never flee.

On the Boardwalk, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

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!

Meeting Death, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Meeting Death

I can hear the sound that is coming near
The galloping feats of countless hoof beats.
They’ll bring no merry cheer is what I fear.
Rushing heartbeats are louder than drumbeats.

I hold my breath. The chariot of Death
Is here to slay. This’ll be my final day.
I’m in Death’s footpath. There’ll be a bloodbath
For there is no way he will let me stay.

There is a darkened despise in his eyes.
A frigid fear runs down this spine of mine.
Just another sunrise Death now denies.
Without a whine I quickly made the sign.

There isn’t a sound as I fall to the ground.
It’s truly profound the love that I found.

Division, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Division

The loud sound goes through me like crying pain,
Feeling like the earth is coming apart.
Sounds continue with a sense of disdain,
A grinding aching sound begins to start.
The glacier stood solidly for decades,
‘Til the stress, a very dangerous stress,
Created a deep crack from the tirades.
A severing split that starts an egress.
I watch as the gigantic iceberg slides,
Away to an unknown destination,
For upon it there are not any guides,
To direct it with logical caution.
Can the iceberg and glacier both survive?
Distance between them neither will revive.

Fighting With My Soul, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Fighting with My Soul

Trying to control,
The strange actions of my soul.
Giving me no voice,
Of what my life is to be.
From it I would like to flee.
Bickering always,
Upon my conscience it preys.
No matter the time,
It starves me from what I need.
Roadblocks so I can’t proceed.
Applying restraint,
Pushing me to be a saint.
It’s impossible!
For against sin I am weak,
Besides it’s not what I seek.
The joys of living,
Is that which I wish to cling.
To quench my huge thirst.
Label me self-indulgent.
For pleasure must I repent?