Jack Frost, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz


Photograph manipulated by author

Jack Frost, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

The early sun hides behind a white haze,
Of countless numbers of small downy flakes.
Pulling my chair to the window to gaze,
As often do for these winter’s day breaks.

His artwork never ceases to amaze.
Silver ferns of many varieties.
Each worthy to be in a priceless vase,
And he does it with such simplistic ease.

To see this sight, in your bed mustn’t linger,
As the sun becomes a big eraser.
Should not ever touch them with your finger,
Nor try to save in the ‘frigerator.

What would winter yield without our Jack Frost?
I for one, without his art would be lost.


Link to my first poetry book on Amazon


Game of Croquet, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

A_Game_of_Croquet_by_Winslow_Homer_1866A Game of Croquet, Winslow Homer (1866)

Game of Croquet, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

This day in May two ladies are to play,
Croquet, artful game of skill and daring.
Player strategies employed as they may,
Often what combatants are wagering.

On the field of gentle green are two friends,
Been that way since they can’t remember when.
If differences always made amends,
Even when it was a matter of men.

Today two hungry hearts enter the fray.
This vital match will allow tight croquet.
Fighting for his love only one will stay.
Now each sees the other as vicious prey.

Though daggers fly the match is very tight,
Then it happens, her ball flies out of sight.

My first book is available on Amazon


In Croquet the term “tight croquet” allows the foot to be placed on your ball so that whacking your opponent’s ball will send it into the bushes while yours remains in position. We can see below that the gentleman is setting up the ball so the lady in red can send the lady in blue into the woods so she alone can claim her trophy.