The Sleepwalker, Maximillian Pirner (1878)
A love to steal, who she thinks is real
Pondering over him both day and night
Her deep anguish she attempts to conceal
Searching the darkness without any fright
In the secret of her mind he’s divine
She claims his perfect love never to spurn
Eager to have their hot bodies entwine
Before daylight she finds a safe return
She knows one day of finding her lover
That she would soon share the warmth of his bed
Then one deep dark night she did discover
The exact place where he did lay his head
On the narrow ledge, not taking a breath
Wind came along, now falling to her death
Image manipulated by author
Sea Calling Me
In quiet stillness I observe the hue
Of the mighty endless sea before me
Sweeping eyes drinking the depth of her blue
With desire to be consumed by this sea
I’ve visited her countless times before
She always seems to appeal to me more
Calling me with gentleness of her shore
Her soft tender loving clutch I adore
I am naked to all of her power
Still shy, with my toes I touch her azure
Her wave coaxes me a little closer
Now I am totally consumed by her
Joy as she touches every part that be
She gives me a feeling of being free
Impressionism, Popcorn by the author
Allegory of Pop Corn, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
All the kernels were guaranteed I’m told
Not a reject to be found in the bunch
Everyone surely to be big and bold
Hurriedly took them home to try at lunch
Into the large skillet placed them so neat
Moved them around so each had its own space
All comfortable I turned up the heat
Will there be a winner in this big race
Was not long before there was sound of steam
Soon were popping like the sound of a gun
Moment of quiet then a final scream
Shut off the heat, thinking they will be done
The puffy ones I quickly threw them out
They are not the type I am looking for
None left in the skillet, was quite a rout
I will not go to the place as before
Adolphe-Willem Bouguereau – The Shell (not dated)
The Shell, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Put the shell to your ear, what do you hear?
Do you hear a rolling roar, is it clear?
Is it a big singing sea, is it near?
As if we were standing upon the pier?
There is more of a story to that roar.
Long ago when mariners first left their shore,
Seeking many treasures and fighting war,
But in their greed they wanted even more.
Wished to make a slave of the mighty sea.
In arms to seize Sirenum scopuli.
All the Sirens gagged were tied to a tree,
Nevermore their voices to be set free.
This sent Neptune into a royal rage.
He called for Gastropods of any age,
Their help to this vicious act to upstage.
With the mariners war he would engage.
In each he blew a magical sounding.
To mariners it would be resounding,
So powerful it was hypnotizing,
Doing deeds without ever surmising.
Gastropods cast their shells to the high tide
Naked they were they went elsewhere to hide
At low tide the mariners did abide
An ear to each shell now ready to ride
In their boats again to complete a task,
Under rigid trance not needing to ask.
Relieve each of the Sirens from her mask,
Thus each now able to the shore to bask.
Millenniums have passed since that event.
Mariners don’t remember being sent.
Never required by Neptune to repent,
But he shall never forget its portent.
The shells now have lost most of their power,
But like flowers in the rolling bower,
Many hearts they do easily capture,
Putting minds into a state of rapture.
Photograph manipulated by author
Jack Frost, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
The early sun hides behind a white haze,
Of countless numbers of small downy flakes.
Pulling my chair to the window to gaze,
As often do for these winter’s day breaks.
His artwork never ceases to amaze.
Silver ferns of many varieties.
Each worthy to be in a priceless vase,
And he does it with such simplistic ease.
To see this sight, in your bed mustn’t linger,
As the sun becomes a big eraser.
Should not ever touch them with your finger,
Nor try to save in the ‘frigerator.
What would winter yield without our Jack Frost?
I for one, without his art would be lost.
Link to my first poetry book on Amazon
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.
Il 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.