Category Archives: Poetry

Alone! The challenge after losing a love one

Emilio Longoni, Sola! (Alone!) (1900)

Alone!, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

All alone overcome with nothingness
With paralysis of heart and body
For God did not answer her begging plea
Feeling all days forward to be worthless
Gone is a love she thought to be endless
His warmth she would feel for eternity
He was all she needed to be happy
His ensuring embrace was her fortress
Can there be more than just her memories
A comforting from the morning bird’s song
Finding joy as the little children play
Like him gone will be the scent of lilies
While she remains there’s a need to be strong
To live every day as it comes her way


Lunch at the Restaurant Fournaise

Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Lunch at the Restaurant Fournaise (1879)

Feeling in my stomach gives me a hunch.
Sun’s position tells me it’s time for lunch.
Ever so eager for something to munch,
But more important have friends in a bunch.

We gather together to tell tall tales,
Some so farfetched they are bigger than whales.
Not in a hurry so we eat like snails,
With much chagrin the time really sails.

We joke but much comes from within the heart,
None to the others attempt to outsmart.
Regrettably we all must soon depart,
All rushing one more story to impart.

It is time each to have a final say,
For planning lunch for next earliest day.

The Pink Dancers, Before the Ballet

Edgar Degas, Les danseuses roses, Avant le ballet (1884)

Dancers in Pink

They have clipped our wings, we will soar no more.
Magic that feeds us now deathly silent,
Until maestro’s baton starts the next score.
Oh quickly, we have energy not spent.

The rustling of the audience ceases,
We all hear tout suit and a cane tapping.
Orchestra prepares to play its pieces,
All dashing for proper positioning.

Plie, releve, saulte, each with grace of a dove.
The Maestro called for the strings, time to spin.
Ah, Pirouette always done with much love.
Being a dancer is love for certain.

Our hearts start racing when we touch the stage,
To be a ballerina at any age.

Thankful Tears

Thankful Tears, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

White blanket as far as the eye can see
Coming in the darkness as the soil slept
At day light displaying its soft beauty
But by this day’s end the snow will have wept

Its many tears will sink into the soil
Relieving some of soil’s tired parchedness
It must be ready for spring’s human toil
Plying their planting skills in its softness

Winter is young they will watch for more white
To see it piled high coming to their knees
With no preference be it day or night
Their eyes will watch ready to make their pleas

Soon the snow of winter turns to spring’s rain
Soil drinks its sweet tears and does not complain

Ophelia from Shakespeare’s Hamlet

Ophelia’s Bath, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The lavender scented candles flicker
Creating an almost mystical glow
The water enters as a waterfall
Frothing the milk which sits waiting below
Today her bath shall be like no other
In its warmth she seeks eternal comfort
To wash away her torturing weakness
Desiring baptism for her weighting sins
Covering herself with dried rose petals
To be washed away as will be her sins
Below the water she enters a dream
As slowly each petal rises to the top