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

Daphnis and Chloe, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Storm, Pierre Auguste Cot (1880)
The Storm, Pierre Auguste Cot (1880)

Daphnis and Chloe

Dropped in a distant place, a twist of fate,
Each child not knowing one from the other.
In the years an affection did create,
Soon desire each other for a lover.

Bright sun rays pressed against their naked skin,
Unversed in their current heated moment.
Swelling inside they held immense desire,
Yet to meet dares to their love involvement.

Lightening split the darkened autumn sky,
With hurry a torrent of arrows fell.
Would all the gods this tender love deny.
Or they a different ending foretell?

Love as theirs is not easy to destroy,
Before long they were joined in loving joy.

Rose in the Snow, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

a pot of live roses partly covered by snow
Image manipulated by author

Rose in the Snow

Autumn leaves are now easily scattered,
Running here and there seeking safe cover,
Away from a wind visibly angered.
Is there nowhere to avoid its bluster?

The red rose shows courage standing her ground,
Not yielding an inch as the vexed wind swirled,
In its effort her colors to impound.
As a taunt bright red color she unfurled.

Then ever vengeful wind throws ice of white,
Pummeling her through the darkness of night.
Each passing hour she continues to fight,
Her red color remains at sun’sĀ first light.

Though winning the battle the end is near,
But rose in the snow shall return next year.

Locked Inside, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Cabin of the Customs Watch, Claude Monet (1882)
Cabin of the Customs Watch, Claude Monet (1882)

Locked Inside

Magical vastness of open blue sky,
Endless waves roaring in the azure sea,
Bring me to question and to wonder why,
How is it they are absolutely free?

Colorless whistling wind goes where it may,
Curling and swirling its uncharted route,
Assisting some winged creatures on their way,
As a boxcar would for a roustabout.

Ubiquitous blackness is a canvas,
Glowing rocketing comets passing by,
Their erratic paths seemingly ceaseless,
Majestic freedom brings tears to the eye.

Seeing signs of great freedom everywhere,
Why is it these many chains I must wear?

 

An Offering, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

An Offering, Frank Dicksee (1898)
An Offering, Frank Dicksee (1898)

An Offering

Thou beauty be greater than can be said.
Thou smile brilliant as the pearls in the sea.
Thou hair more vivid than sunset of red.
Thou eyes as diamonds shine ever brightly.

My heart beats eager for joyous moments,
Of thy magical touch, feeling warmness,
So close to taste sweetness of thy fragrance,
Closer yet to feel thy downy softness.

It has now become such a heavy chore,
To restrain the feeling holding inside,
Being so close to the one I adore.
Soon be difficult my feelings to hide.

Symbol of Cupid I present to thee
Desire his arrow ‘come reality

Sweeping Change, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

a straw broom sweeps a floor

Sweeping Change

The straw broom mimicking a hockey stick
Using the hard corner to help it stand
Never was it considered iconic
Not stamped nor labeled with a regal brand

Every whisk over the years had a cost
Its bright lacquered handle becoming dull
Each laboring a little straw was lost
In time making it less desirable

Now missing the touch of a human hand
Dancing hours away on many a floor
Responding to the hand’s earnest command
Seeking out what may hide in any pore

It was not difficult to be deduced
By an eager youngster it was replaced

Merrygoround, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Merry-Go-Round 1916 a painting by Mark Gertler

Merrygoround

Smoke so heavy to be cut with a stick
Every direction piercing objects fly
Some fail to fall though be painfully sick
While others fall silently as they die

War is now part of the cycle of life
Been with us since early man left the cave
Making casualties with spear and knife
Labeling them heroes while in their graves

Precious spilled blood now dried we make our peace
While holding our killing tools closer still
Violent hunger for war shall not cease
Daily we are seeking new ways to kill

Merrygoround continues with horror
On the premise of balance of power