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

 

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

Antique Roses, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Antique RoseFlowers and Mirror, Albert Fuller Graves (n.d.)

Antique Roses

Stepping into the room it is soon felt
A sweetness supplied by the month of June
Triggering memories when rose is smelt
Rose under the nose could cause one to swoon

The rose has a fragrance as no other
Sure to relieve all your melancholy
An antidote to quell any anger
Empty heart quickly to be filled with glee

Soon June will give way to the summer heat
Soft fragrant flowers shall be first to go
The rose will now show to be in retreat
Some to be captured, their fragrance to stow

No one to see that perfect rose I took
Gently press this memory into my book

 

Sea Calling Me, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Sea Calling MeImage 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

 

Autumn by the River, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Autumn by the riverAutumn, Emilio Sánchez Perrier (c. 1900)

Autumn by the River

Song birds of the trees have made their retreat
Cool winds of autumn chased summer away
Colors of the quiet land now blasé
Busy fields in summer are not deplete

Paces of the past are now slowing down
Giving moments of pure quiet pleasure
Thinking of the silos filled with treasure
Waiting arrival winter’s bridal gown

Cataloging thoughts at the river’s edge
Reminiscing the joys that came my way
In mind the desire to ensure they stay
Seeking more in the future is my pledge

Studying the river as it goes by
It is my life passing by that I see
Message is always busy I must be
Like plants I will eventually die

 

 

 

Blue Rain, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Blue RainImage created by author

Blue Rain, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

When needed sleep finally does arrive
I dream in blue with eager thoughts of you
Reaching out, touching you, you’re so alive
Morning comes to reminds me what is true

There are always questions about my day
Fighting the blue loneliness since you left
Begging, pleading you would forever stay
Stealing my willing heart the greatest theft

Time for walking in the pouring blue rain
Searching for you, wherever you may be
Every step taken is a goring pain
Knowing not again your beauty to see

When needed sleep finally does arrive
I dream in blue with eager thoughts of you
Reaching out, touching you, you’re so alive
Morning comes to reminds me what is true

 

Among Flowers in the Garden, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Lega Silvestro (1862)Tra_i_fiori_del_giardinoTra i fiori del giardino, Silvestro Lega (1862)

Among Flowers in the Garden, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Silent among flowers in the garden,
Playing a game so aptly called Pretend.
Reading it appears, but already done,
To happy thoughts of you I may attend.

You’re here in a bed with many flowers,
Stooping down you are the very first pick.
Soon inside my heart a warm feeling stirs,
There be not any doubt, I am lovesick.

This book I hold, wishing it be your hand,
To walk with you under the summer light.
Your quickest return, if I could command,
It will not be pretend, lonely this night.

The morning will come, I shall make our bed.
Without you, a million tears will I shed.