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

 

 

Sunrise, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Norham Castle, Sunrise c.1845 by Joseph Mallord William Turner 1775-1851Norham Castle, Sunrise, J. M. W. Turner (c.1845)

Sunrise

Not sure if it is my mind in a haze
Sun like melted butter in breakfast dish
Assur’d myself will be a wonderful day
Or better to say is my only wish

Swept the cobwebs out of my sleepy head
Gave thanks that didn’t wake to eternal fire
And let me not forget my daily bread
Now to concentrate on today’s attire

Day will be just fine with some assistance
Appears to be more questions than answers
Past has shown there’s no need for resistance
Never chastised for my many blunders

Out of doors with coffee cup in my hands
I talk and He listens, He understands

The Room, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

z-Colin Unwin Gill - Study for Jarius' Daughter (1921)Study for Jarius’ Daughter, Colin Unwin Gill (1921)

The Room, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

No memories on my bedroom walls hung
No windows to let in the morning sun
No clothes of mine to be carelessly flung
No purpose for appearance of homespun

Choosing an abstemious way of life
Considered not to be a penalty
As not being joined to a faithful wife
Giving opportunity to be free

For it is what goes on inside my head
Avoiding distractions as best I can
By a suspicious doctrine to be lead
Understanding where miracles began

Started with the wonder of Abraham
But now living miracles of the Lamb

 

Nemesis, a poem by Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Rethel Alfred - Nemesis (1837)Nemesis, Alfred Rethel (1837)

Nemesis, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Flying the sky with impeccable eye.
Hated by many willing to do wrong.
Power ov’r those who deservedly die,
Sent to a place avoided overlong.

Eternal truth always a faithful guide,
To all, weak or strong, assuring justice.
Ensuring that all, to the rules abide,
With restless effort, providing aegis.

Perpetrators of hubris, soon to dwell,
As the profane descent of Lucifer,
Into Satan, was sent to fires of hell,
Never again to kneel at God’s altar.

You who ever toils to give what is due,
Have earned admiration for your virtue.

The Poor Fisherman, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Chavabbes Pierre_puvis_de_chavannes_il_povero_pescatore_1881.jpgCIl Povero Pescatore, Puvis de Chavannes (1881)

The Poor Fishman, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

The river so flat and still like dried paint.
Not sure if what I say is a complaint.
Father you know that I am not a saint,
But help the fish and me to reacquaint.

Today I say that my day shall be long,
Not returning here until the next dawn.
Yet during those hours I will sing your song,
Giving praise and praying that I stay strong.

The fish I pray for not only for me.
I think of my poor weakened family,
Healthy and strong I pray them all to be,
For it is in them my whole life I see.

To Saint Peter the fish You did help send,
It is on Your will that our lives depend.