My Scarf, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

My Scarf

My Scarf

Winter’s bitter cold gripped a local lake.
Flat before me of white turning to gray,
Melding into the color of the sky.
There would be no glimmer of sun today!

There were no sounds of the woodsy creatures,
Just a bass sound coming from naked trees,
Tossing to the will of the northwest winds.
Had the feeling that only I exist.

Wondering if I dare to wander out.
Could I be given greater solitude?
What is to be gained by such a visit?
With skis locked in place I bolted from the shore

Looking back at my scarf upon a tree,
To get a sense of where I might be now.
It sat quietly on the horizon
Warning that no further shall I proceed.

Turning fully around, heard not a sound.
Trees in the distance now a solid mass.
Was not feelings of exhilaration!
Just a dim feeling of isolation!

Here there does not exist a tender touch
None to wipe the tears in my misty eyes
To share my joys of every loving day
None to really care should I live or die

I feel the wind crossing my ruddy cheeks,
But it did not speak. This is solitude.
Learned it is something I can do without,
As I replaced my scarf around my neck.

Rose in the Snow, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

a pot of live roses partly covered by snow
Image manipulated by author

Rose in the Snow

Autumn leaves are now easily scattered,
Running here and there seeking safe cover,
Away from a wind visibly angered.
Is there nowhere to avoid its bluster?

The red rose shows courage standing her ground,
Not yielding an inch as the vexed wind swirled,
In its effort her colors to impound.
As a taunt bright red color she unfurled.

Then ever vengeful wind throws ice of white,
Pummeling her through the darkness of night.
Each passing hour she continues to fight,
Her red color remains at sun’s first light.

Though winning the battle the end is near,
But rose in the snow shall return next year.

Silent Noon, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Silent Noon Poem

The Visitors, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The VisitorsLa Neige, Charles-François Daubigny (1873)

The Visitors

The snow’s cold whiteness creeps up to my door
While the melancholy sun bids farewell
Mystically crows swarm more than five score
There is an urgent message they must tell

Raising my shovel they will not scatter
With great fear I hold my quivering breath
It’s easy to understand their banter
These darkened creatures sing their song of death

Where summer they’d quietly steal my corn
Autumn barren fields provide easy prey
Not here to repay my gun’s bitter scorn
No they’re just here to say this is my day

Would prefer a single singing angel
Rather than this rowdy crowd of babel

 

Snow Scene, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Henry Alexander, Snow Scene through a Winter Window, 1870.Snow Scene through a Winter Window, Henry Alexander (1870)

Snow Scene

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, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Windy KnobWindy 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

 

 

 

Dance toward Spring, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Elisabeth Sonrel - Dance Toward Spring (1904)

Elisabeth Sonrel, Dance toward Spring (1904)

Dance toward Spring

Wild woolly winter with its nasty chill,
Not as daunting as it may first appear.
Many times when it provides quite a thrill,
Especially when with those who are dear.

New fallen snow such a beautiful sight,
As it lays silent, to feel crisp clear air.
Calling for banking the fire for the night,
And a blanket with a love one to share.

There are days when the cold teases the skin,
And moments when it slashes as a lance.
Be brave shrug it off with a thoughtful grin.
Keep warm holding love one close as you dance.

Continue to dance all the winter long,
Soon it will be time to sing a spring song.