Tag Archives: Autumn

Autumn’s Fool, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

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Autumn’s Fool

The tired falling leaves, of the tilted birch
Flutter like the wings, of a butterfly
Each frantically, for a place they search
A soft place, to lie for they know they die

It is solemn reminder, that I too
Need to be prepared, for my final day
As to its coming, I have not a clue
And for that restive day, I have no say

But as the birch, for the spring I will wait
Will fight with my every breath, winter’s chill
No more will I fear, the locked pearly gate
Smiling, I’ll hunt, for the first daffodil

For as I make an attempt at reason
Why this is to be my final season

Autumn Landscape, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

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Autumn LandscapeThomas Moran, Autumn Landscape (1867)

Autumn Landscape

Being in the late autumn of my years,
Pushing off to start the final journey,
Without shedding of any fearful tears,
Or desirous to enter life’s tourney.

The river is calm as far as the bend,
Providing necessary confidence.
After that unknown what Nature shall send,
That decision belongs to Providence.

There is not a choice for what is in store,
Shall stay the course whatever it may be,
For once beginning there will be no shore.
Should the waters be rough I make no plea.

Through many turns the river has been long
To the end I ask His help to be strong.

Golden Leaves, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

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The AvenueThe Avenue, Claude Monet (1878)

Golden Leaves

Whispering autumn wind came rolling in
Sending shivers to every golden leaf
Many of them beginning downward spin
Without displaying any sign of grief

The remainder held on with a belief
They have value and should somehow survive
Not falling to what they think is a thief
With power as to who remains alive

But are they some sort of romantic fools
Blinded by confusing view what is life
Distorting the basics of nature’s rules
Resisting can only create more strife

Trees stand naked, the golden leaves are gone
All now beneath the snow, none left to mourn

 

The Visitors, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

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The VisitorsLa Neige, Charles-François Daubigny (1873)

The Visitors

The snow’s cold whiteness creeps up to my door
While the melancholy sun bids farewell
Mystically crows swarm more than five score
There is an urgent message they must tell

Raising my shovel they will not scatter
With great fear I hold my quivering breath
It’s easy to understand their banter
These darkened creatures sing their song of death

Where summer they’d quietly steal my corn
Autumn barren fields provide easy prey
Not here to repay my gun’s bitter scorn
No they’re just here to say this is my day

Would prefer a single singing angel
Rather than this rowdy crowd of babel

 

Autumn by the River, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

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Autumn by the riverAutumn, Emilio Sánchez Perrier (c. 1900)

Autumn by the River

Song birds of the trees have made their retreat
Cool winds of autumn chased summer away
Colors of the quiet land now blasé
Busy fields in summer are not deplete

Paces of the past are now slowing down
Giving moments of pure quiet pleasure
Thinking of the silos filled with treasure
Waiting arrival winter’s bridal gown

Cataloging thoughts at the river’s edge
Reminiscing the joys that came my way
In mind the desire to ensure they stay
Seeking more in the future is my pledge

Studying the river as it goes by
It is my life passing by that I see
Message is always busy I must be
Like plants I will eventually die