Division, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Division

The loud sound goes through me like crying pain,
Feeling like the earth is coming apart.
Sounds continue with a sense of disdain,
A grinding aching sound begins to start.
The glacier stood solidly for decades,
‘Til the stress, a very dangerous stress,
Created a deep crack from the tirades.
A severing split that starts an egress.
I watch as the gigantic iceberg slides,
Away to an unknown destination,
For upon it there are not any guides,
To direct it with logical caution.
Can the iceberg and glacier both survive?
Distance between them neither will revive.

Glass Door, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

windowImage manipulated by author

Glass Door

With bucket of water, squeegee and rag,
Performing menial chore I abhor.
For it will always make my spirits sag,
Daily cleaning of the stately glass door.

Fully covered with finger prints galore.
Strange as it be that it has no push bar,
Makes me hate this nasty door even more.
Without a key lock makes it more bizarre.

Limitless numbers who come but can’t pass.
Is this door’s only purpose to harass?
Or clearly an obstruction made of glass,
To ensure creation of an impasse?

Now clearly understanding took an axe,
Gave the mighty wall of glass forty whacks.

 

 

 

 

Castle in the Air, a poem by Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Schloss_Falkenstein_Planung_Gemälde_Historismus_LudwigFalkenstein Castle, Christian Jank (1883)

Castle in the Air, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Shall we build a grand castle in the air?
So great in its stature none can compare,
People will soon come from most everywhere,
In amazement will give a wondrous stare.

The architect plans are finally here,
After perusal not really clear.
What are you thinking that we do my dear?
Be brazen and continue without fear?

Builder says won’t quit until job is done,
Not too sure about the cost overrun.
It’s been two months and job has not begun,
Think the money has headed for the sun.

I’m thinking the house we have is just fine,
Let me pour you another glass of wine.

The Witness, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

tab-fo-pp-artworld5-Modgliani.JPGSeated Man with a Cane, Amedo Modigliani (1918)

The Witness, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

O where should I, my story to begin?
Of a distant place, I have never been?
Or bless me Father, for I am with sin?
Obvious, I wear not a silly grin?

Not knowing if I qualify for hell,
As not sure of all details very well.
If fully explained, may cause a ground swell.
Seeking no harm, better that I don’t tell.

If all be told, some will surely be hurt.
Confused, but the issue I will not skirt.
Be duly patient with me, don’t be curt.
If hastened, my story I will not blurt.

I being somewhat shaken, where was I?
O shall be still for ang’r is in your eye.

Suffocation of Hope, a poem by Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Wojniakowski-Alegoria_nadziei_-1822Kazimierz

Alegoria Nadziei, Kazimierz Wojniakowski (1822)

Suffocation of Hope, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

All aimlessly talking with none to hear,
Laying baseless claims without any fear.
Willing to strike thy neighbor who is near,
No remorse not even a moral tear.

Brother to brother deeply divided.
The heart of many by cancer blighted.
Shortly hypocrisy to be knighted.
Yield way to evil gleefully boasted.

There must be a way of turning the tide.
Those chose to shepherd did nothing but lied,
Not to be found for in darkness they hide,
Yet asking their sheep by rules to abide.

Courage fell coming down perilous slope,
Is there a glint of light to give us hope?

Sand, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Delacroix Eugene (c. 1850) - Landscape

Landscape, Eugene Delacroix (c.1850)

 

Sand, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Standing looking at an ocean of sand.
From where standing it looks sterile and bland.
Kneeling down with it under my command,
Scooping up countless grains of it in hand.

With rhythm between each hand the sand is panned,
As if ruthless authoritarian.
Some grains lifelessly fell back to the land,
Was not intended to have them disband.

Examination not as I had planned.
Those still held is it likely to remand?
Better to be humanitarian,
To couch inside a feeling that is grand.

Now standing beginning to understand,
For each grain of sand this is their homeland.

 

Charity, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Bouguereau-Song of Praise or CharityCharity, Williiam-Adolphe Bouguereau (1865)

Charity, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Here she sits on the steps of misery,
With left hand out she seeks not our pity,
Nor does she show signs of being angry,
Then why is it she makes this drastic plea.

The children show no signs of violence,
She has no marks upon her solemn face,
Serious doubt to be public nuisance.
What is her plight she seeks us to erase?

Shall we stop, ask what is her condition?
What horrid fear is it to grieve her so?
Will you give the time to take some action?
Or just give a coin and tell her to go?

Are we so calloused so as not to care?
Or being polite avoiding to stare?