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
Allensville Hay Press Barn, Switzerland County, Gwen Gutwein (2008)
Its many boards of gray are on display.
Their opened grain bear the signs of aged pain.
From their perfect centers did move away.
Long gone are the days of its mighty reign.
Shows no mighty power to right itself,
Relying totally on my pity.
Knowing each board makes for a proper shelf,
Adding many dollars to my kitty.
Once inside I could feel its unique scent,
Wondering where all those memories went.
Where I day upon day happily spent,
Lingering has changed my early intent.
I’d better go and fetch the proper crane,
As this is where this creature shall remain.
Autumn, 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
Snow Scene through a Winter Window, Henry Alexander (1870)
Under blankets, another frigid night
Could feel aching chill in my weary bones
Feared what horror there would be my first sight
Feeling confident would be many moans
Looking through button holes, saw the bright white
Tired of the piling up of winter’s snow
This freezing matter is no longer trite
Miserable stuff really must go
A death row prisoner is what I am
Give me my last meal and be done with it
Never have been fan of winter’s program
Ever bored of doing nothing but sit
For the joy of spring I hunger and thirst
Can I survive, it’s but November first
Windy Knob, Greg Sieczkiewicz (2018)
Windy Knob, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Night is now being chased into the past
No signs of hurry to get underway
Tis a time I wish would forever last
Calmness allows my mind to slowly stray
Pure is my vision of new fallen snow
Landscape of white uncomplicated sight
At ease staring at its unsullied glow
Providing no reason to be contrite
Reality tells this moment won’t last
The sun shall slip higher into the sky
Pairs of eyes of many will be amassed
With their loving kisses they shall not shy
Life at Windy Knob is sight to behold
With children untrammeled out in the cold
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