Le lac de l’Eychauda, Laurent Guetal (1886)
Allegory of a Lake
Climbing rugged mountain, its peace I seek
To search its mirror at eight thousand feet
Journey certainly not for very meek
Upon arriving, my heart skips a beat
There’s an unsullied deafness in the air
The wind with its howling not to be found
Feet frozen still, at this beauty I stare
Feeling I get being on hallowed ground
Stepping to mirror’s very fragile edge
Careful not its reflective glass to break
Pretending to tread on unstable ledge
Being sure of any rock I may shake
In the mirror my future do I see
Bearing a happy smile upon my face
Again next year I shall thankfully be
Where my soul finds peace in a holy place
Rain, Ivan Ivanovich Endogurov (c. 1900)
A cold dismal wind blows from the north-east
History has told me that it meant rain
Or dark dreary devilish day the least
Giving many a reason to complain
Stood at the open back door for awhile
Feeling each gray drop land upon my face
The constant pummeling soon made me smile
Firmly grabbing the door jamb for my brace
Thinking I’m the fool getting soaking wet
By now my clothes beaten against my skin
Illness could possibly be a grave threat
Laughing now, all my clothes I did unpin
Rushed outside with head up to drink the tears
Felt good as they washed away all my fears
Image manipulated by author
Blood, sweat and dust mixes upon my head
Now at the demonic place of the skull
Soiled and tattered robe swiftly made to shed
Knocked to the hardened ground, there is a lull
The rope around my wrist and tree is tight
Is readying me for what is to pass
Point joggled and pressed between bones till right
With swift arc, action sounds like broken glass
Adrenaline rush due to the unknown
Then my scream from excruciating pain
For every heart beat comes a wincing groan
As my precious blood falls upon the plain
Father in Heaven Your will, will be done
Three days now I wait for the morning sun
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
Nemesis, Alfred Rethel (1837)
Nemesis, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Flying the sky with impeccable eye.
Hated by many willing to do wrong.
Power ov’r those who deservedly die,
Sent to a place avoided overlong.
Eternal truth always a faithful guide,
To all, weak or strong, assuring justice.
Ensuring that all, to the rules abide,
With restless effort, providing aegis.
Perpetrators of hubris, soon to dwell,
As the profane descent of Lucifer,
Into Satan, was sent to fires of hell,
Never again to kneel at God’s altar.
You who ever toils to give what is due,
Have earned admiration for your virtue.
Il Povero Pescatore, Puvis de Chavannes (1881)
The Poor Fishman, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
The river so flat and still like dried paint.
Not sure if what I say is a complaint.
Father you know that I am not a saint,
But help the fish and me to reacquaint.
Today I say that my day shall be long,
Not returning here until the next dawn.
Yet during those hours I will sing your song,
Giving praise and praying that I stay strong.
The fish I pray for not only for me.
I think of my poor weakened family,
Healthy and strong I pray them all to be,
For it is in them my whole life I see.
To Saint Peter the fish You did help send,
It is on Your will that our lives depend.
Franciszek Zmurko, Lady Sleeping (c. 1900)
Lady Sleeping, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Soon your nev’r ending nightmare shall expire.
A method will come to put out the fire.
From this struggle you will quickly retire.
Need never again to express your ire.
This new found freedom shall come at a cost.
You must recover the soul that is lost.
Thinking no need it was easily tossed.
For change to be the soul you will accost.
The object be to find internal peace,
Then the feeling of freedom will increase,
Mental anger and hate you shall release,
The rigid fences that bound you will cease.
Should you desire the soul not ever found,
The nightmares you harbor will be profound.