Leaf on a River, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Leaf on a RiverRiver Study, J Laurence Hart (n.d.)

Leaf on a River

My heart as a leaf flows with the river
No port of call is currently listed
Nor stopping to be a solemn griever
River doesn’t yield, heart cannot be bided

Know not where or when the river will end
Heart was once green now a sullen yellow
Never made a choice of lover or friend
Can’t remember ever being a foe

This water journey thought to be unique
Soon found that countless millions are alike
With nothing of great importance to speak
Nor a vein of richness ever to strike

Who determines what someone’s life is worth
Should we be celebrating any birth

 

Antique Roses, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Antique RoseFlowers and Mirror, Albert Fuller Graves (n.d.)

Antique Roses

Stepping into the room it is soon felt
A sweetness supplied by the month of June
Triggering memories when rose is smelt
Rose under the nose could cause one to swoon

The rose has a fragrance as no other
Sure to relieve all your melancholy
An antidote to quell any anger
Empty heart quickly to be filled with glee

Soon June will give way to the summer heat
Soft fragrant flowers shall be first to go
The rose will now show to be in retreat
Some to be captured, their fragrance to stow

No one to see that perfect rose I took
Gently press this memory into my book

 

Mirror, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

MirrorThe Mirror, Dennis Miller Bunker (1890)

Mirror

Mirror that I hold you are very cold
Giving me chills as to what you may tell
Always revealing the truth have been told
Of ghastly rumors your power to quell

My eyes are closed, holding you a full length
That you may see greater amounts of me
To open my eyes seeking inner strength
Afraid of the truth of what I’m to see

What if those rumors are really true
Apt to disappear quickly from all sight
No opportunity again to view
An old dejected spinster filled with fright

External features to be our measure
At the expense of internal treasure

 

Shoes, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

ShoesStill Life with Shoes, Emil Carlsen (c.1915)

Shoes

There is a large box in the center hall
Containing something more precious than gold
They’re what some may choose to hang on a wall
Symbols of memories from young to old

Wherever traveled my shoes took me there
Be it smooth road or rugged mountain trail
In a year’s time often had but a pair
Some failed as I walked through the nearby swale

Looking closely at my laced up new ones
Wondering what new travels are in store
Now must wary about these bunions
Shan’t detour desire of many miles more

Life is a journey of countless footsteps
Over worn shoes are signs of my journey
Scuffs and scrapes memories of my missteps
But their creases have captured life’s beauty

Ceaseless Brook, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Ceaseless BrookWild Asters, Dennis Miller Bunker (1889)

Ceaseless Brook

Beside me abundant wild asters grow
Each jostling for positions at the edge
Siphoning precious health from water’s flow
Making it perfectly pure as they dredge

Taken to my knees by invitation
Scooping clear freshness into my cupped hand
Put to my lips without hesitation
She is the center of this fertile land

Listening, searching for the slightest sound
Can hear melodic babble of the brook
Its helpful water darts across the ground
Adding pluses to my earthy outlook

A bunch of wild asters placed in my pack
Dried, will be a reminder to come back

 

What is Love, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

What is LoveStudy, at the Water’s Edge, Berthe Morisot (1864)

What is Love

Every waking moment thoughts are of you
Even into my dreams you softly creep
A feeling no eraser can undo
Tis you in this heart forever to keep

Matter not time of day I close these eyes
You are here with glow of a golden sun
To this heart you’ll always be a surprise
Exciting ways to keep this heart you’ve won

Your pulsing velvet breath upon my skin
Turns this heart into a foundry man’s fire
While my mind becomes lost in a tailspin
You build in me a volcanic desire

Oh what an amorphous life this would be
If there were not another day of we

 

Allegory of the Apple, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Allegory of an appleStill Life with Apples, Paul Cezanne (c.1890)

Allegory of the Apple

Most perfect of her kind at the table
Beauty of such proportions I do mull
Resisting a bite unsure if able
My ravenous heartbeat there is no lull

Do dare to hold her softly in my hands
To move her towards my hungering lips
For such a sweet delight there were no plans
Reality of this must come to grips

All control have I admittedly lost
Knowing my thoughts are surely to anger
Must consume this beauty at any cost
Burning desire can no longer deter

Yes the sweet flawless apple I did eat
There will be penance for this tasteful treat