Sweeping Change, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

a straw broom sweeps a floor

Sweeping Change

The straw broom mimicking a hockey stick
Using the hard corner to help it stand
Never was it considered iconic
Not stamped nor labeled with a regal brand

Every whisk over the years had a cost
Its bright lacquered handle becoming dull
Each laboring a little straw was lost
In time making it less desirable

Now missing the touch of a human hand
Dancing hours away on many a floor
Responding to the hand’s earnest command
Seeking out what may hide in any pore

It was not difficult to be deduced
By an eager youngster it was replaced

Naked Tree, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Naked Tree

Naked Tree

Not sure if mighty sea be friend or foe
Determines what near it allowed to grow
Is it possible has but single mind
Or has it the power to be unkind

Many decades in green cover it stood
All that remains now is its naked wood
Was it salt from the sea that caused its death
Or its water slowly stymied its breath

I see no reason for the mighty sea
To fester a desire to kill a tree
It does not appear the luck of the draw
That is killing our trees along the shore

Reasoning says no tree lives forever
Be no toil to shorten this endeavor
The reverse effort should be our pleasure
As our abundant trees are a treasure

If you stand aside the tree dressed in black
Is it your fervent want to bring it back
Or just a photo opportunity
With naked branches as a canopy

 

The Rag Picker, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Rag PickerRagpicker, Édouard Manet (c. 1870)

The Rag Picker

His awkward gait sounds like rough sandpaper
Beneath his feet which never leave the street
Cane he carries has an uneven sound
Surely not the courier of the court
The clothes he wears were on others before
But prides himself to be neat as could be

The sack upon his shoulder soon to fill
With others now discarded memories
Blueberry jam on a favorite blouse
Most comfortable pants no longer fit
Into to his sack they will disappear
Later to be viewed for barter or sale

Some who say a street sweeper he should be
Provides security with steady pay
To him lacks important criteria
Looking at the blue sky and not the ground
Chatting chats with countless happy people
But not least the freedom he feels inside

 

Alone at Night, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Alone at Night

Alone at Night

This late pacific night is flat and dark
The many guiding stars have lost their glow
Even the nightingale withholds remark
Appears all life ceased until tomorrow

There’s certain pleasure in a sightless night
Life’s confusing labyrinth made to yield
Its many paths made straight within your sight
Discovering ways that wounds can be healed

In the darkness let your mind be your eye
To the sea’s cold crushing depths let it dive
To the unconquered mountains let it fly
In this compelling world learn to survive

Thoughts this night created must guide your life
Left to another there’s apt to be strife

 

Room Filled with Memories a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

smoke

Room Filled with Memories

The setting sun like a Christmas shopper
Elbowed its way through the grimy window
Filtered through gray swirls of cigarette smoke
Coming to rest on his crusty old face
Darted with numerous porcupine quills
Staring aimlessly at his headless beer
Giving it a quarter turn lifted it
To his chattering calloused puffy lips
His dewlap swings on cue with each guzzle
After three swings he closes his left eye
With spindle fingers aims for the sweat ring
Acting like the bombardier he once was
He has now had his limit for the day
Sliding slowly off his rickety chair
Making sure both feet were square on the floor
Tipping his cap he staggered to the door

Golden Leaves, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The AvenueThe Avenue, Claude Monet (1878)

Golden Leaves

Whispering autumn wind came rolling in
Sending shivers to every golden leaf
Many of them beginning downward spin
Without displaying any sign of grief

The remainder held on with a belief
They have value and should somehow survive
Not falling to what they think is a thief
With power as to who remains alive

But are they some sort of romantic fools
Blinded by confusing view what is life
Distorting the basics of nature’s rules
Resisting can only create more strife

Trees stand naked, the golden leaves are gone
All now beneath the snow, none left to mourn