The Empty Chair, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Hammershoi Vilhelm_Hammershøi_-_Sovekammer_(1890)Sovekammer, Vilhelm Hammershøi (1890)

The Empty Chair, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

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 if our lives are good,
Lives are temporary is understood.

 

Charity, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Bouguereau-Song of Praise or CharityCharity, Williiam-Adolphe Bouguereau (1865)

Charity, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Here she sits on the steps of misery,
With left hand out she seeks not our pity,
Nor does she show signs of being angry,
Then why is it she makes this drastic plea.

The children show no signs of violence,
She has no marks upon her solemn face,
Serious doubt to be public nuisance.
What is her plight she seeks us to erase?

Shall we stop, ask what is her condition?
What horrid fear is it to grieve her so?
Will you give the time to take some action?
Or just give a coin and tell her to go?

Are we so calloused so as not to care?
Or being polite avoiding to stare?

The Woodland Glade, a poem by Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Monsted Peder Mork - The Woodland GladeThe Woodland Glade, Peder Mork Monsted (1883)

The Woodland Glade, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

In this woodland glade, finest God has made,
Bountiful in color, but yet so staid.
Courteous to the children as they played,
While adults wondering where their minds strayed.

A sense of freedom fills the soften air,
Feelings that no other place can compare.
Providing respite from troubles we bear,
And solace to engage silent prayer.

Come to the woodland glade, spend time with Him.
Open your heart wide, fill it to the brim.
Rejoice with your voice, give thanks with a hymn,
To be accompanied by seraphim.

Come sit in peace, He will be at your side,
For His love you shall never be denied.

 

Evening Glow, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Monsted Peder Mork - Evening Glow(1920)Evening Glow, Peder Mork Monsted (1920)

Evening Glow, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

The evening glow upon the winter snow,
A lamp that beckons me down the tree row.
Beaten snow a sign of a place to go,
Assured by people with faces aglow.

Heat of eagerness causes a quick pace,
Huffing and puffing to get to the place.
Wondering what sight my eyes shall embrace,
Will I too have that glow upon my face?

An ache in my lungs reaching the last tree.
Heart pounds of what I am about to see.
Beauty before me had no boundary,
Couldn’t be bought with any sum of money.

Virgin snow on a field big as a sea,
Reminding all what it is to be free.

Summer Walk, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Monsted Peder Mork-The Red Umbrella (1887)The Red Umbrella, Peder Mork Monsted (1887)

Summer Walk, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Broken shadows stir the air on my skin,
While resting at a fork along the path.
This day may choose the way I’ve never been,
Could be a pleasure seeing what it hath.

Told my chosen path has many a twist,
With many rocks may cause me to stumble.
Such be a challenge I cannot resist,
To test my belief that I am able.

Much to my delight the absence of fright,
Longer my travel much lighter the load.
Looking to the sky there was a bright light,
The reason of this began to unfold.

Realizing now I am not alone,
As this is the way to my Maker’s throne.

Forest in Winter, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Monsted Peder Mork - Forest in Winter (1915)Forest in Winter, Peder Mork Monsted (1915)

Forest in Winter, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

The steady horse and I were nearing home,
When she comes to heel with no touch of rein.
Warning maybe in a place so lonesome,
Or is she stricken with some sort of pain.

Questioning, placed my feet upon the ground.
Patting her softly as I walked around.
Then did become aware, nary a sound,
Giving me a feeling that was profound.

Through visible breath I cast eyes about,
While staining my ears for something to hear.
Did wonder if could be heard if I shout.
Only my echo returned to my ear.

Yet He was here, for I could feel His grace.
Nodding, gave thanks for this heavenly place.

Spring in Torbole, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Monsted Peder Mork - Saint Andrea's Church in Torbole (1909)Saint Andrea’s Church in Torbole, Peder Mork Monsted (1909)

Spring in Torbole, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Soon I will be harking to the church’s bell,
Giving me time to sit here for a spell.
To give Him thanks that it is here I dwell,
And pray I forever be in this dell.

It is spring so now I smell the good earth,
Which with the sun shall bring about new birth.
In our many fields there shall be no dearth,
From those hours worked before taking our berth.

If there be any doubt in what I say,
And of given reason for which I pray,
Suggest you linger long, extend your stay,
For sure you will not choose to move away.

Listen to the sweet sound, it calls all now,
To thank Him who this place to us endow.