Young Girl Praying Carl Sundt-Hansen (1883)
Young Girl Praying, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Closing these eyes so I may better see,
Absolute beauty of Your holiness,
Or other distractions to capture me,
And last to show to You my humbleness.
I ask in my heart You will always be,
My abundant love of You be endless.
A love which I give to You so freely,
Of Your love never to become callous.
When I fall, to You my sins will confess,
Of these falls I shall be truly sorry.
It is You I’ve hurt in my thoughtlessness,
By falling into the Devil’s quarry.
O Father I ask that You be my guide,
Know it’s easier with You at my side.
Winter Scene with a Stream, Carl Frederik Aagaard (n.d.)
Allegory of a Tree, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Is this to be the year of my demise?
If to be asked would have it otherwise.
Gravity pulls hard but yet to capsize.
Not ready to say my final goodbyes.
Was not so long ago stood straight and tall.
Decades of buffeting, withstood it all.
Even angry attacks by vicious maul.
Through it all encountered refused to fall.
Who will be the judge to decide my fate?
Be aware that yet to be deadweight.
Coming of spring leaves I will generate.
Think it best if we just sit still and wait.
To make a judgement by a single view,
It does not really speak well of you.
Wildflowers in front of a Cornfield, Carl Frederik Aagaard (n. d.)
Stone, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Stone I am, here forever will remain.
No wind can blow me to another place,
Like your ripened seeds, with the least of strain,
So from earth your beauty will not efface.
To be you or any other flower,
Creating generations easily.
Here standing as if a giant anchor,
Never to speak of dearest progeny.
My actual tenure here you’ll never know,
Bearing the summer heat and winter cold,
And the autumn watching seeds you do sow,
But it’s the spring when my worth is told.
From the sun I shall collect needed heat,
Protecting your progeny’s tiny feet.
Break-up of the ice on the Seine, near Bennecourt, Claude Monet (1893)
Ice, the Time Capsule, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Winter’s chill has made the river e’er still,
The lives just prior are now locked inside.
Imprisoned is the wheel of the grist mill.
Waters no longer able to confide.
Many struggle not knowing what to do,
Times pull them forward in uncertain sway.
Some by fear are in want to start anew,
Others already made their getaway.
Starting to be warmed the old ice breaks free,
Tries to flow away as fast as could be.
Ever eager to be downed in the sea,
So ugly sins held others may not see.
For all sins that arose in the spring mist,
It is best their forgiveness to enlist.
La Fenaison, Julien Dupre (1884)
Haymaking, Robert A Sieczkiewicz
Smelling the new mowed hay forever stays,
In your heart and your soul in many ways.
Body fatigued from the ever long days,
Dissolved by beautiful songs of great praise.
Her joyous voice that of a meadow lark,
Shall sing her praise until it’s nearly dark,
For such a bounty from earth’s matriarch,
Who has shown to be her greatest bulwark.
Looking around at the work that’s been done,
The land given its hay is now barren.
This season shall see no further action,
The wonder of it all makes me chasten.
To be connected to this hallowed earth,
Brings with every season thankful rebirth.
Man at the Door, Alfred Henry Mauer (n.d.)
Man at the Door, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
With black spot so deep my heart melts away.
Rigid in posture just another day.
Frozen tongue with nothing of worth to say.
This day the sun with its new shade of gray.
No matter how I push with all my might.
Unknown reason can’t seem to get it right.
To open the door and escape my plight.
Your vision is forever in my sight.
Were it possible to relive the past.
Could I somehow be changed to make it last.
Must be able to grasp our time as passed.
This abyss between us is now too vast.
People constantly change during their lives,
There are those likely to vary their strides.
Jozsef Rippi-Ronai, Pensive Woman with Vase of Flowers (1896)
Feelings, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Take my dare and climb inside, read my mind.
Be forewarned there will be no lexicon,
No claim will be made that you are purblind,
Yet there is no ready catholicon.
Feelings cannot be tucked away from view,
No image be drawn of happy or sad,
Words or images are not in a queue,
Therefore no need for a pencil and pad.
Close your eyes tightly and attempt to see,
A feeling inside that currently be.
Is dark as darkest night you will agree,
Until you conjure up a memory.
And what feeling when the image be me?
My fondest hope is I make you happy!