By the Window, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

By the WindowInger by the Window, Edvard Munch (1892)

By the Window

Breathe deeply so you can hear it enter.
Soft invigorating wind on its way.
A mixture of sweet grass and salt water,
Twisting and turning, dancing a ballet.

Precious in scent as it comes in but May,
With calm winds coming off the bright blue sea,
And the frolicking grass yet become hay.
Come quickly! From this window we must flee.

Naked toes shall mix in the grass and sand.
Collecting shells as proof of memories.
Now slowly walking back with hand in hand,
With enormous grins each other’s we squeeze.

Oh, the simply joys we visit in life
Giving us special moments from its strife.

Lavender, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Lavender

Lavender

This path that I walk is extremely short
But ample for my memories to sort
Today there is no need to hurry through
So I linger with many thoughts of you

Stopping and stooping at the lavender
There is no herb which can match its splendor
Its regal color and comforting scent
The many memories they represent

A little girl running filled with laughter
Who’ll remain in my heart ever after
Never in these years did a day go by
That you do not bring a tear to my eye

No thought of you would I ever rebuff
For the time spent would never be enough
As every moment would make my heart stir
No greater love than mother for daughter

Dare Not Open My Eyes, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Dare Not Open My Eyes

 

Dared Not Open My Eyes

The morning mystic maze of memories
Float as fog softly across calm waters
In the recesses of my laggard mind
Taking a form of silent silhouettes

There was me, there was she, stepping forward
(Such a rush, I dared not open my eyes)
Into the room, the door closed behind us
I turn to her, she turns to me slowly

I looked into her eyes, she looked in mine
We were frozen for a moment in time
While our hearts were sharing loving feelings
I leaned into her, she leaned into me

Such a rush, I dared not open my eyes
Her static energy fully absorbed
As if I were a naked lightning rod
Causing this burning heart to hesitate

Such a rush, I dared not open my eyes
Grabbing my chest, was it death I was near
For how could being in love cause such pain
Was this just a dream or a memory?

 

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