The Green Parrot, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Green ParrotThe Green Parrot, Vincent Van Gogh (1886)

The Green Parrot

Nary a moment inside of the door
Not given time to hang my outer coat
The eager green parrot says ‘give me more’
Never to fail for it is merely rote

The cracker is my ticket to enter
This place filled with much love and happiness
But not a place of incessant banter
A place to share my love which is endless

To taste her red velvet lips I implore
If to wait I shall certainly explode
The softness of her body to explore
Every ounce of her love to be swallowed

Hotly caressing the one I adore
Heard the parrot kept saying ‘give me more’

 

Grasshopper, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

GrasshopperOlive Trees, Vincent van Gogh (1889)

Grasshopper

It’s a hot summer night, I see the moon
Placing its glow on leaves of olive trees
All is alive in the shadows of June
It is good to feel the slow moving breeze

Standing bare before the bedroom window
Breathing in rose scent in the evening air
Listening to tiny creatures below
Grasshopper coaxing mate into his lair

Felt a meaningful grip upon my hips
Sensing desire to materialize
Turning to meet her parted agile lips
Her message is clear as her striking eyes

The grasshopper makes music with his legs
Soon there’ll be bountiful grasshopper eggs

 

The Eve of Saint Agnes, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Eve of Saint AgnesThe Eve of Saint Agnes, John Everett Millais (1863)

The Eve of Saint Agnes

This is the evening before Saint Agnes’ feast,
The night’s dream when your true love will appear.
Should the rules be followed down to the least,
Eyes looking to heaven with body clear.
Entering her chamber her breath increased,
In her hungry heart she carried some fear.
Will it be the one she’s loved from the start,
Or some stranger with a cold empty heart.

Lemon moon shines beyond her window pane,
Falls on her face showing she’s without sleep.
Anguish in her mind creating great pain,
Soon with heavy eyes darkness she did reap.
Awakened, wondering if this be feign,
His lips on hers, knows this is love to keep.
She motioned that he should enter her bed,
Their passion displayed as the color red.

 

Broken Vows, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Broken VowsBroken Vows, Philip Hermogenes Calderon (1856)

Broken Vows

Without seeing, feel love no longer true
His touch not now as it was at the start
Feeling grieving black, not bright sunny blue
The aching pain, crushing my bleeding heart

Needing to know, one day followed his path
Much laughter each enjoying the folly
Would it be correct to display my wrath
Thinking my character it would sully

Without showing anger called him a rake
Said that within me there remains a glow
Asked if what he’s doing be a mistake
His answer being that he did not know

Once felt we were one, now we are apart
Hoping to overcome a broken heart

 

Through the Door, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Through the DoorSeventeenth Century Lady, William Merritt Chase (ca. 1895)

Through the Door

Here I stand within virtual darkness
Trembling with aching fear of the unknown
For my soul not the color of my dress
The past hangs from my neck like a millstone

Do we all fear needlessly of our past
Are our misdeeds self-expanding in time
Pressed so deeply forever they will last
From the hole we are unable to climb

There’s light escaping from behind the door
Can this be an omen of my future
Shall I have no fear of what my past bore
So many questions I haven’t an answer

Through our lives there will be baggage
What is needed is to offset it with courage

 

At the River’s Edge, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

At the River's EdgeThe Banks of the Seine at Argenteuil, Edouard Manet (1874)

At the River’s Edge

Need of an escape on this summer’s day
Seeking joy by the river relaxing
Far away from the tiring hectic quay
To lay upon the grass is not taxing

Bobbing boats responding to river’s call
Breeze makes countless ripples on the water
The sun places sequins upon them all
Water now appearing even brighter

Watching the many people come and go
Never to know what they’re seeking or feel
Noticing some alone and some with beau
The right place a quiet moment to steal

Dazzling blueness creates a peace inside
Providing venue your soul to renew
In this solemnness place you may decide
There’ll be an effort for a better you

 

Listening, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

ListeningThe Red Canoe, Winslow Homer (1889)

Listening

The sun made its entry on this spring day
Could hear the winged choir in the brackish marsh
No idea what they’re sending my way
For sure it wasn’t the weather being harsh

Mist floated off the refreshing mirror
Eye high to me sitting in the canoe
Fish had an appointment with this angler
Want to introduce my pan to a few

Mist is now history, not a nibble
Not a concern, canned tuna on the shelf
Idleness a chance my future to mull
Realizing world is more than myself

Nice to get away from problems that weigh
Listen what the inner self has to say