Birds inside My Head, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Crows in a tree

Birds inside My Head

The invisible screeching birds of prey
Choosing not to care of the words I pray
Preferring instead in my head to stay
Finding comfort in my matter of gray

In fits of hunger they peck at my eyes
Sending my screams into the darkened skies
Oh my God to You I shout many whys
A puddle of tears upon my face lies

Can someone please tell me why this must be
What must be done now to set myself free
When those of much knowledge cannot agree
Of how from the winged creatures I may flee

To remove the curse that I am under
How long must I be these creatures’ fodder
No want to become a constant beggar
But sacred joy serving You forever

Autumn Leaves, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Autumn LeavesAutumn Leaves, John Everett Millais (1856)

Autumn Leaves

Autumn a time of change and gathering
When the days are warm and the nights have bite
The sun’s bright time with us now lessening
And feathered sometime friends are taking flight

Time for gathering shaded fallen leaves
An attempt to make the fields appear clean
Huddling around the pyre everyone grieves
Praying that their souls shall now be pristine

Persephone ate pomegranate seeds
Now into the great darkness she descends
So will all not accounting for misdeeds
No better time than now to make amends

Autumn we move into the barns our wealth
And time to consider our moral health

 

Tea Leaves, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Tea LeavesTea Leaves, Edward McGregor Paxton (1909)

Tea Leaves

The cup a symbol of her life, empty
She seeks someone deeper than just a friend
Always ever eager to down her tea
To find whatever new news leaves may send

Soon to be without a new tea to seek
Been told Earl Grey provides desired news
Swirled her cup the proper times, afraid to peek
Thinks be better to visit the church pews

Each Sunday she prayed as hard as she could
Not bashful to ask to become a wife
Wondered if her message misunderstood
Was she to be single all of her life

Sunday last felt a tap on her shoulder
Gentleman asked “could you slide over please”
After prayer she could not be bolder
No longer will she be reading tea leaves

 

Endless Sea, a Tanka poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

May 2nd is the anniversary of the death of the Russian painter  Ivan Aivazovsky.  Most of his paintings were about the sea.  His most prominent being The Ninth Wave which I have used  here previously to accompany one of my poems.  For more info on him click here.

On this day, May 2nd I honor this painter who I think had an amazing skill in my first ever Tanka poem.

Endless SeaAmong the Waves, Ivan Aivazovsky (1898)

Endless Sea

Me the endless sea
Let me soon absorb your all
Setting your mind free
Ridding pain both big and small
Your new life shall be in me

 

 

 

 

Allegory of a Lake, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Allegory of a lakeLe lac de l’Eychauda, Laurent Guetal (1886)

Allegory of a Lake

Climbing rugged mountain, its peace I seek
To search its mirror at eight thousand feet
Journey certainly not for very meek
Upon arriving, my heart skips a beat

There’s an unsullied deafness in the air
The wind with its howling not to be found
Feet frozen still, at this beauty I stare
Feeling I get being on hallowed ground

Stepping to mirror’s very fragile edge
Careful not its reflective glass to break
Pretending to tread on unstable ledge
Being sure of any rock I may shake

In the mirror my future do I see
Bearing a happy smile upon my face
Again next year I shall thankfully be
Where my soul finds peace in a holy place

 

Plow, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

PlowThe Last Furrow, Henry Herbert La Thangue (1895)

Plow

Sun light ricochets off the farmer’s vest,
On this chilly and windy mid-March morn.
Snorting horses pulling plow, displaying their zest.
Blue steel share cutting deep, sod to be torn.

The soil released its pent up energy,
As billows of silk mist took to the sky,
While birds came as an invading army,
Devouring their plump prey from where they lie.

Day now done, horses released at last furrow,
For them will be a rest day tomorrow.
Rest will be needed to pull the harrow,
Soon the field be readied for corn to grow.

Life is not what you do but how you feel,
On this little farm there exists great zeal.

The Candle, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Woman with a Taper, Jules Breton 1873Woman with Taper, Jules Breton (1873)

The Candle

Candle’s glow let forever to be your guide
Making sure its bright flame never to quit
The wind’s access must always be denied
Wind is evil, tempting you to submit

Might your candle’s glow suddenly disappear
Do not place it in a darkened drawer
For your future will then become nadir
Must make an effort its flame to restore

Surround yourself with those whom you think dear
Be not afraid to share what is you fear
If true to yourself future will be clear
The glow of the flame you now will restore

Light of the candle to you be sacred
Then drink of His wine and eat of His bread