Charles Napier Hemy, Waiting (1895)
Waiting to See, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Stretching the eye as far as it could watch,
Where the sea and the sky meld into none,
And all to be seen is a mere gray blotch,
Then comes the end of the earth; it is gone.
Waiting, impossible for heart to task,
Still there is demanding work to be done.
Smile to be worn is but a flimsy mask,
Fearful of the solemn bell to beckon.
The shadows run long, time to be ready.
Six days a week this is the constant drill.
Shortly to learn, the nerves must be steady,
For it is now we are told of God’s will.
Stress has left my chest with the boat in sight,
Though the sun will soon set my heart is bright.
Wintry Landscape with Frozen Water and Figure Statues, Johann Jungblut (c. 1900)
Winters Past, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
The glittering glow of winter’s first snow,
It is that time of year of so much cheer,
When Jack Frost puts on his seasonal show,
A time when we wish our love ones be near.
Is not a time to bundle up and hide.
Lights in each window to beckon with bliss.
Come in and sit awhile by the fireside,
Search for the mistletoe to get a kiss.
Turkey and toys, memories full of joy,
Sledding and skating for all of the day.
This is what I remember as a boy,
Now I see it in a different way.
Stress from hunger and pain are in full view.
Was it the same then I just never knew?
Golden Autumn, Slobodka, Isaac Levitan (1889)
Golden Autumn, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Here I sit on the hill silent and still,
Peering off to the end with mind spawning.
Autumn, the soft wind gives its gentle chill,
Time not move this day for this I’m yearning.
Relive this year impossible I fear,
Yet many memories forever be.
No doubt this has been a wonderful year,
Having those I love so much, near to me.
The darkness of winter shall soon be here,
With many memories shant shed a tear.
Plentiful laughs and giggles fill my ear,
Held so close to my heart with much revere.
In autumn some work to collect the leaves,
For me it is time to store memories.
Daniel Ridgway Knight, Un Deuil (c. 1900)
Mourning, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
My soul is hardened and filled with anger,
Against the villain who came in the night,
Who did make for sure my love did not stir.
Now my weakened life is without its light.
Black is the color of the clothes I wear,
But nowhere near the darkness in my heart.
Many hang their heads after they did stare,
Thinking that I must soon find a new start.
To survive soon I did take another.
The shadow in my bed is a stranger.
His kisses are many yet taste bitter,
For my weary heart has yet to smolder.
In our life are we allowed but one love,
To seek a perfect match for our one glove?
Thomas Brooks, The Stepping Stones (c. 1880)
The Stepping Stones, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Life, a real challenge at any age,
Even more so, for one as young as you.
There is no safety, if locked in a cage,
It will be wisdom that will guide you through.
Each stone before you is a test in life,
Focus on the stone which lies before you.
Have sound footing to avoid any rife,
For each stone forward make your step be true.
Be fair warned of a wavering heart,
As it can confuse a serious mind,
Bewildering all thinking from the start.
You must be forewarned that all love is blind.
Endearing as it is, may seal your fate,
Now hurry, he waits at the garden gate.
Winter Fuel, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The winter winds soon will be at my door,
Must prepare else be ev’r plagued by the cold.
Being aged does not keep me from the saw,
Work as I have there is need for tenfold.
Large is my task some help must I enlist,
For our many hands will make this light work,
Long as there be willingness to persist,
And from appointed duties will not shirk.
All that has been said is with tongue in cheek,
As much of what’s spoken falls on deaf ear.
It is the warmth of company I seek,
No greater joy is there to have them near.
Blessed with grandchildren are God’s reward,
For the many hardships which have sored.
Painting by: Frederick Daniel Hardy, Winter Fuel (c. 1880)
When looking for poetry material I found this and immediately know that this would be a grandchild poem. More specifically a granddaughter poem. Although there are two children in the painting the young girl is light up. She is the center of attention. All my grandchildren are helpful to me, offering assistance whenever they can. But this poem is for Hope who I called Princess.
No Bread No Work, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Why am I underneath this vicious curse,
Must I forever take Thy name in vain.
Can my poor wretched life get any worse,
While the world is bright out my window pane.
A simple man I can’t be any more,
Yet with these hands I am eager to toil,
Til all muscles in my body be sore,
And the sweat of my brow be mixed with soil.
No qualms, do with me whatever You may,
Spare my wife and child the chill of the ground.
Speak to me, I will do just as You say,
From this day I shall be forever bound.
No bread, no work, in His hands life does rest,
Will do my best, hope with His love be blessed.
No matter the label you put on Ernesto del la Carcova, Realist or Romaticist, his painting Pas de Pain, Pas de Travail (c 1893), is clear in the story it tells. He has worked the light so that it is cast upon the woman feeding her child. Carcova is worried about the future for many of his country’s people. Some are doing very well while others suffer.