The Minotaur, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Minotaur

The flag struggles as if to fly away
While the trees shake back and forth at their roots
Somersaulting leaves look if they’re at play
Huddling cows yet to put on winter suits
Coal dust colored clouds grumble on their way
As small furry creatures go down their chutes
What a horrific sight is on display
Anything in its way it persecutes

The great north winds I have lived through before
From its meanness there will be no relief
It’s banging and banging at my front door
To get inside to deliver its grief
The sound it makes signifies we’re at war
Showing anger its visit won’t be brief
Again we’re visited by Minotaur

He unleashes anger throughout the night
First beating rain then turning into snow
With each passing hour more fear does ignite
As wind pushes snow into mountains they grow
The sun forces itself through the clouds with light
Those who burst out to freedom don’t wallow
But attempt to control continued fright
For the winds did cease just moments ago

How much damage did he leave in his wake
Depends on his anger in his visit
For he takes whatever he wants to take
Their lives some unwillingly shall forfeit
From his visit there’s sure to be heartbreak
What he leaves behind there is no merit
His horror is what’s kept as a keepsake
There is someone who will never forget

The Girl in the Window, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Girl by the WindowThe Girl by the Window, Edvard Munch (1893)

The Girl by the Window

The full moon is high in the sky.
There is calm at this time of night,
Yet I’m not, I am sure the why.
For my body is wrought with fear!
Was told that fear I must control,
My life as is brings early death.
For reason I can’t meet my goal,
Will I soon take my final breath?
In the earth will that be the end?
May be better than current fate.
If soon my life I cannot mend,
When exactly is it too late?
Shall I just crawl back to my bed,
To simply wait for death to come?
But if there’s truth I have a soul,
Better I kneel, begin to pray,
To gain faith I’m willing to toil,
That time ’till end I can delay.
Is it correct for what I ask?
Not knowing what is best for me,
Is truly life’s most daunting task.
What ought to be done to be free?

Train Smoke, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Train SmokeTrain Smoke, Edvard Munch (1900)

Train Smoke

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!

Blossom of Pain, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Blossom of PainBlossom of Pain, Edvard Munch (1898)

Blossom of Pain

When I die
I continue to live

My painful body
Placed in the ground
To return to dust
Whence I came
I become food
The food for new life

Return to where I lay
Pick the blossom
Each blossom is penance
To rid me of my pain

Place it to your lips
I will kiss you

Dagny and Edvard, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Dagny and EdvardDagny Juel Przybyszewska, Edvard Munch (1893)

Dagny and Edvard

Ever so softly on that purple night,
At the end of the most perfect rainbow.
Her smile provided all the needed light,
For him to see a face of long ago.

Seems like forever that she shared his bed,
But not long since the last time in his mind.
Noting the last words she hauntingly said,
Since that darkened daunting day he has pined.

His brush has actively pursued her face,
A statement that he continued to care,
Yet she would not again be in his grace.
His heavy heart no longer could she snare.

She stands so still at the reach of his hand,
As would a model not moving her head.
He touched her glowing face which fell as sand.
The day is here. The day he knew he’d dread!

 

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Dagny Juel had a spirit she could not control. Her life ended way to early.  Just four days before her thirty-fourth birthday she was shot and killed by her crazed last lover.

Dagny Photo

The Mystery of a Summer Night, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The Mystery of a Summer NightThe Mystery of a Summer Night, Edvard Munch (1892)

The Mystery of a Summer Night

In the sense of time it wasn’t long ago
That I stood tall casting billowing shade
A place where some would rest to see the sea
But like tired humans I began to fail

At a point in time my leaves became less
The winter winds tortured my sagging arms
Causing a never ending strain and pain
Finally there’s no golden leaves to fall

Still standing the wind continued its war
Little by little tore away my skin
Naked I’m a violin to the wind
Creating soft sounds as the she flies through

Then came the horror of menacing roar
With its hungry teeth the saw cut me down
What remains is a comfortable seat
For visitors to watch the setting sun

But willingly I have left so much more
Having sent my roots in all directions
Traveling far they are my legacy
Holding the soil together with arms

Empty Chair, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Empty ChairSovekammer, Vilhelm Hammershøi (1890)

Empty Chair

Why is there an empty chair by the bed
Is there more than what’s already been said
Of some awful thought which most surely dread
The fact that someone is really dead

Does not matter big or small, short or tall
But sooner or later we all must fall
Each will wear once the paltry saintly pall
While the lofty choir sings a pastoral

None should be eager for that final day
But live life in the best possible way
Dividing your time between love and play
Yet never praying forever to stay

Best that we can ask is our lives be good
Lives are temporary is understood