John White Anderson, Repose (1895) Repose, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Since our first acquaintance a fiery thought,
Of you runs deep into a vacant heart, That I cannot bare to see us apart. Knowing for the heart it will lead to naught, For as feelings are I am overwrought. Didn’t know it was love from the very start. Forlorn am I, the family stalwart. If possible, love had been aforethought.
My feelings for you are same as you claim,
But no sign did I see or feel from you. Take me should it be love you still proclaim. Remember that you sent me brother to. Love you never to publicly acclaim, However heart will forever be true.
Painting by Laurent Parcelier The Empty Table, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Like several evening meetings before
I stand at the special empty table Waiting for the woman whom I adore Searching for inner calmness if able
She’s the one who gives me such a feeling
Of weightlessness. I’m flying like a cloud While my heart flutters as the birds of spring Wanting to yell about my love aloud
Every second that passes is an hour
I’m a child waiting for a Christmas toy Her tender lips am wishing to devour While in her embrace there will be such joy
Her soft smile is but a few feet away
Oh those words of love I’m about to say
Midnight Sky, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
I lay looking out at the midnight sky,
Overwhelmed by what is before my eyes. No object able to identify, Such vastness, amazement it multiplies.
Distant objects were once personified,
Relishing them as gods and goddesses. As some brought smiles while others terrified, Wanted most from many were their blesses.
Times changed but not the beauty of the view.
Knowledge takes us now where not gone before, With each passing day finding something new, Yet great hunger desires for even more.
Me, just happy to enjoy the heavens,
Still searching for all those nasty dragons.
Edvard Munch, Train Smoke (1900) My Train Ride, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Life is like a train ride, from birth to death.
We all know our final destination, Yet there can be solace along the way.
The train makes many stops on its journey,
For its passengers to gather postcards, And bright stickers to place on their baggage
I see many babies coming aboard,
Held so securely, in their mothers’ arms With no understanding of the event
At stops, relatives and friends disembark.
Some wave joyfully as the train departs, Others trodden off, all I see are backs.
I look at my disheveled bag, and smile,
There is not anymore room for stickers, Then I close my eyes, to see my postcards.
Awakened, I feel the train slowing down.
It makes a grinding, screeching, ugly sound. Oh, this is my stop, I must now get off!
Tadeusz Styka, Girl Playing Lyre (c.1930) The Muse Erato, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Erato, name so true, thou art my muse.
Gazing upon thy beauty motivates. Thy every movement provides many cues, While words from thy lips so invigorate.
My pen never tires when writing of thee,
Though thou be a far distance from my touch. Eyes tightly closed I feel thee before me, The vision I feel of thee is nonesuch.
Over my heart, Oh, the power thou has,
To do whatever be thy desired will, As I am helpless captured by thy snares. Of this shall write ‘til my body is still.
Why is it then that I must write so free?
So the future knows of my love for thee.