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

Subway Ride Home, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Subway Ride Home

Subway Ride Home

She stood silent while is handed the bag
Nodding with thanks she turns, heads for the street
Her feet are slow, almost needing to drag
Outside it is cold, just starting to sleet

Walk to the subway a mere thousand feet
But for her it is that in hilly miles
Her heavy head down, there’s no one to greet
There are thoughts if there’ll be any more smiles

Steps she climbs to the platform are painful
The rail she holds tight, the bag much tighter
Now feels like she’s carrying an anvil
Knowing that the bag will not get lighter

The train has the force of a nor’easter
She clutches the bag like it were a child
Hoping the door will be in front of her
Inside a safe feeling but not beguiled

Gently places the bag upon the seat
The train will now carry it to its home
Closing her heavy eyes, again they meet
With tears like tropic rain, she says “Shalom”

Nothing special about the bag itself
What is inside was most of her life
Container once home to be on a shelf
For sixty two years she was his wife

 

The Terminal, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The TerminalSandro Botticelli, Drawing for Dante’s Divine Comedy, 1480-95

The Terminal

A desk-clerk’s inaudible voice crackles
Giving the departures and arrivals
Some people moving as if in shackles
While others on their back carry anvils

Acrid air itself held a prisoner
Resisting but no choice I have to breathe
Feels heavy, making everything a blur
Got the feeling of being in a sheathe

Grimy concrete gives unobtrusive paths
To inauspicious restrooms and seating
Concrete texture constant outside the baths
A long hot one wish will soon be taking

Taxing but decided to take a seat
Having ample time before departing
Thought the less than being on angry street
Of shoving people and taxis blaring

In my mind am querying why this route
Are Dante and Virgil soon to arrive
Surely Beatrice will not come about
Is this my penance in this morose hive

Vanquished people trudging by looking up
Checking changes made to scheduling board
While others spread their meaningless gossip
Feeding on those who tend their sacred hoard

I now begin staring at the schedule
The click, changing from on time to delay
Creating a pain extremely awful
Causing my gray mind to begin to stray

Bowing my head yielding to this defeat
Wondering if I will get out of here
There are now cold shackles upon my feet
Now leaving has become my greatest fear

A Mother’s Grief, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

A Mother's GriefExtreme Unction, Jakub Schikaneder (1897)

A Mother’s Grief, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

She stands there lifeless unable to cry
A heart so crushed it not wanting to beat
Refusing to say her final goodbye
To her child she visions as being sweet

Wishes was she to be put in the ground
But hears “Mother” from others’ needy call
Turns slowly in fear of seeing the mound
Finding no comfort from cold hardened wall

Lantern out, she sees in total darkness
Her little girl who’s afraid of the night
Reaching out but there’s nothing to caress
She cries into the pillow held so tight

From that bleak night years have now slowly passed
Undying love for her child still held fast