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Edmund Siejka Poem
On cold evenings
Surrounded by friends
Warm and
Safe
I could stay up forever
Taking strength
From the blackness
Talking
Dreaming
Feeling that I could float upward
And walk with the stars
On their lonely journey
Through heaven.
There was a girl
I was with then
Tall
Graceful
And beautiful
When I first saw her
I wanted to feel her softness
Her breathe on my cheek
Her hand
Brushing against my thigh
When I held her close
And even closer
I wanted her
To say she loved me.
Together
Our love
Had a perfect balance
Of
Teasing and challenge
Spontaneity
Courtship
And seduction.
A subtle change
That I never understood
Came about
The closer we became
The more anger
And resentment followed
When she smiled I was envious
When I laughed she was angry
We broke up
We were young
It was my fault
Her fault
Our fault
Or blame it on the times we lived in.
Outside my room
Footsteps echo
In a long and empty hallway
And like an undeliverable letter
A message scrawled
To no one in particular
Haunting visions are
Returned to me
The slenderness of her waist
The way she arched her back
The touch of her hand
The way she kissed
I feel her presence
Yes, I relive all that.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2009
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Edmund Siejka Poem
This is who I am
My name is Stanislaus J. O’Connor
Born on April 17th in Belfast, Ireland
Youngest of eight children
My father admired the Polish people
The way they fought
During the last Great War
When the odds were against them
Wanted me to be strong
Like them
So he named me Stanislaus.
I carried that name
Not without some teasing
Took it in stride
Solidarity came along
Organized by Polish dock workers in the 1980’s
Ended Communist rule
Father remembered stories
Of 1910
When ten thousand dock workers went on strike
Closed Belfast down
Taught the Brits a lesson.
Young, unemployed and drunk
I saw an artist friend of mine
He worked on me all day
Not stopping except to wipe the drippings on my back
I felt no particular pain
Jut laid there flat on my stomach
Waiting
When it was over
I had the color and imagery
From the tattoo
Of a Polish Cross.
Listened to the people
Took to the streets
In the struggle
Against the Brits
One night
Strangers jumped out of the shadows
Put flashlights to my eyes
Stood me up
Led me out
In handcuffs.
At HM Prison Maze I was kept in a small cell
Occasionally let out to walk in the prison yard
One summer afternoon
I took off my shirt
Paddy asked me what’s that on your back
Polish Cross I said
Murmur of voices
Fellow inmates hesitated
Someone near the wall broke the silence,
“Let him be. God is in every cross.”
In despair a cell mate said he couldn’t take it anymore
Afraid that he would die in prison
Recalling words
From an old Catholic catechism
I said
“No man can learn what his heart cannot hold“.
I made up the rest
“Tell God what you stand for
He’ll understand
And forgive you.”
Ten years later
Dragged from my cell
Feet barely touching ground
I was released on amnesty.
Coming home
Family met me
Open arms
Some traveled from faraway
Felt good
To touch warm hands
Climbed to the top of Cavehill
Seagulls
Glide in lazy circles
Twelve hundred feet above sea level
Overlooking Belfast
From its heights
The world can be seen
Across a wind swept ocean of dark memories
Of what once was
My youth.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2009
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Edmund Siejka Poem
The Paths We Choose
by Edmund Siejka
When I was a young writer
I read all the greats
Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Yeats, James Joyce
And so on
I could write like them I said
So I felt good about myself
And wrote a play
In the heat of August, 1976.
Beating the lines on an old portable typewriter,
Rubber mat placed under its steel frame,
To keep from annoying the neighbors
But the walls in the East Village were thin
And next door guessed
What are you doing writing a novel?
She asked
I kept typing
And the rejections piled up
It was then I realized that I was attempting the near impossible
So I stopped.
Something came over me
I started writing again in 1992
Two unpublished novels
And inevitably
The mailman would trudge up the front steps
Lips pursed in a tight, thin line
Rejections coming in like a winter storm
I poured over each one trying to decipher their true meaning
But it was no use.
I wrote a poem in 2009
To my surprise it was accepted
Followed by an email from the editor
Requesting more of my “stuff”.
Someone recommended that I give a reading
At a local library
Start small they advised.
And so I found myself
In a crowded room of poets and strangers
When my name was finally called
I approached the podium
Determined and focused.
After reading my piece
I searched
The audience for their reaction
Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2016
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Edmund Siejka Poem
Head down
The old woman sews
A dress
Nimble fingers
Marking each stitch
The whirring of machines
Whirling and whirling
Round and round
Threading memories
Of another time
Reminding her
Of a night
Long ago
When she was afraid
To speak to a boy
Sitting next to her.
As her busy fingers work
She remembers more
Of that summer night
A blue cotton dress
With tiny ribbons
Lace curtains gently
Pulled by a breeze
Drifted out through opaque windows
While musicians played a rhythm
Of their own
And shadows pranced
On empty walls.
Waiting that night
She wondered
Why no one
Asked
Her to dance.
Old memories
Glide by
On silver sails
And today?...
She knows that today is now.
And yesterday was yesterday
Finished with her work
She catches her breathe,
Straightens her hair,
And turns off the lights.
Pausing to look back
Into the darkened room
Shadows return her glance
With a gaping stare
Adjusting to the darkness
She begins to recognize
Familiar shapes taking form
Satisfied that all will be the same
When she returns
She closes the door.
Going outside
She holds onto her purse
Waiting
For a traffic light
That has already
Changed
A smile crosses her face
As she remembers
When the boy
Became her husband
Children were born.
And the years went by
In a brown bag
Neatly folded in two
Is a blue chiffon dress
Almost like the one
She wore years ago
Only this one
Is for her granddaughter
Impatient for no reason
To go nowhere
The crowd pushes forward
But the old woman lingers
On the corner
Savoring the moment
Glad of memories
As a busy world saunters by.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2009
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Edmund Siejka Poem
CHALLENGES
By Edmund Siejka
He faced a challenge
That forced him to use all his abilities
But doubt clouded his judgement
Caution gave way to uncertainty.
Needing help
He recalled these words:
1. Believe in yourself
Never bend your head
Hold it high
And look the world straight in the eye.
2. Smell the coffee.
3. Stand on your own two legs.
4. Life is in front of you.
5. Seize the day.
6. Get up and get moving.
7. Work smarter, not harder.
8. Save for a rainy day.
9. The tough get going when the going gets tough.
10. K.I.S.S. Keep It Simple Stupid.
11. Put a glide in your stride and a pep in your step.
12. Let’s get moving, we’re burning daylight.
13. Don’t deter from the main effort.
14. Every strike brings you closer to the next home run.
15. It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.
16. Don’t be afraid to go out on a limb. That’s where the fruit is.
17. A person who never made a mistake never tried anything new.
18. Nothing is impossible, the word itself says, ‘I’m possible.’
19. The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.
20. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.
21. The mind is everything. What you think you become.
22. The road to success is always under construction.
23. Becoming is better than being.
24. Nothing is interesting if you’re not interested.
25. Look at a half empty glass as half full.
26. Ambition can’t wait.
27. Age is of no importance unless you’re a cheese.
And last, but not least:
28. Wake the hell up.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2018
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Edmund Siejka Poem
When I first saw her
She was only a few hours old
Instinctively kicking her long legs
Howling
To escape
I knew then
She was
A fighter.
Attracted
To an old drawer
I found
Faded photos
Forgotten pieces
Of crumpled notepaper
Their energy
Taking me back
To a time when
Her hair was brownish gold
Round face
Took baths in a yellow tub
Cradled in the kitchen sink
And cried
When her mother
Worked on weekends.
Eyes closed
I remembered
When she was seven or eight
I would read to her
While she played
With her dolls
Occasionally stopping
To look up at me
With her big brown eyes
One night she asked
Daddy do I have any friends?
I told her she had many friends
Imaginary friends too
Like Ooh Poo Poo Doo
Who would always be with her
That’s a strange name Daddy, she said
Brushing the hair
From her eyes
I said
It’s not the name or how you say it
It’s the friend that counts.
One Spring day
She came back home
Tall
Well dressed
Confident
Her friends crowded the living room
As my wife and I left
I smiled
Remebering the words
It’s not the name or how you say it
It’s the friend that counts.
Words
My daughter
Kept in her heart.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2009
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Edmund Siejka Poem
I used to pass an empty house
On my way home from school
I was only ten years old then
I heard that older people lived
There
But I never saw them.
Found old photos
Showed them to Dad
Where’d you get them he asked?
Found them in the old house I said
Then he and mother spoke
In the privacy of their bedroom
I saw the shadows of their arms
Move
And point toward my room
This was the 1950’s
Times were different
And some things
Were just never talked about.
When the old house was torn down
I went inside
To look
And to explore
Kicking an odd piece of dirt
The soft rotted wood moved
And something flipped up
Bones
Some as big as my leg.
But it was the damp smell of decay
That I remembered
Vividly
Even at that time
When anything new
Was always exciting
This was different
I had not experienced anything like this before
But I would years later
Ten years later
A decade to wait.
I was In Country
Two tours
Separated from my group
Never found
Missing in action
But really I’m dead
Been like this for years
All that’s left
Of me
Are bone fragments
Part of a femur
And a scratch of faded cloth
Scattered over a vast green landscape
At the edge of a jungle.
Occasionally I hear digging sounds
Not the heavy shovel kind
But a gentle probing
Of earth
Someone intent on finding something
But not wishing to disturb
They haven’t found me
Yet
So I still wait.
I never got used to the damp smell of decay
But just the same I take solace
In that smell
Because it reminds me of
Long ago
When I was just a schoolboy
Coming home.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2008
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Edmund Siejka Poem
I wait for her
Somewhere between
The edge of night and day
A long time ago
We were young
And birds flew overhead
In warm skies
We lived by a
River’s edge
On Summer days
She would pick flowers
And we would walk
Through the fields
Hand in hand
Content
That our children
Were healthy and strong.
The centuries pass
Now the spirit
Is tired
Birds of prey
Circle overhead
Spiraling
Downward
Closer and closer
I remember how
She held me
And promised that
No matter what
We would be together again.
I feel her presence
Just beyond my reach
Time has no meaning here
So I wait
And wait
And wait for her
To come to me.
In another time
And place
We will be
Together again
And walk through the fields
Hand in hand
Content that our children’s children
Are healthy and strong
Once again.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2008
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Edmund Siejka Poem
A Quiet Conversation In Church
Someone behind me stifled a cough
Turning around, the stranger nodded back
In the dim light
I made out a determined jaw
Felt thick fingers holding on to the back of my pew
I’ve been coming here for years he said
During weekday afternoons
When the Church is empty.
I pray in the quiet
And find peacefulness
That never stops.
From it I get strength, a resolve to go on.
Pausing he asked I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here?
I answered as best I could
I pass by here every day
And I thought it was time for me to come in.
He answered
Yes, strength and resolve are important.
But they come from the inside. No one gives them to you.
I had some issues but I knew I couldn’t hide in a bottle
And so, I came back to the Church on my own terms.
Still in the shadows
He whispered
I’m a veteran
The government will give vets pills to help them forget their problems.
The Church?
They try in their own way and when you die, they’ll say a prayer over you
But your family is the only one you can rightfully turn to for help.
I told the stranger
We were new to the City
That was so crowded and expensive.
We parted but not before he said
When you find someone
Open your heart and trust them.
Outside, my eyes squinted
In the suddenness of sunlight
Signs of Spring
Were everywhere
My cell phone rang
Her excited voice telling me that she got the job
She always wanted
Finally, things were going her way
I told her
We’ll celebrate
Go to the place you always wanted to go
In her breathless voice she answered
It’s so expensive
What else is new I replied
We’re going because this is special
Because you didn’t give up
You made it happen.
And then I realized the old man was right.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2022
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Edmund Siejka Poem
Looking at his house
He sees nothing special
A pile of wood and sheetrock
Bigger than others
But he owes more than it’s worth
His house is underwater
A term he doesn’t understand
In real speak the house belongs to the Bank
To the brokers and the lawyers.
Wanting a piece of the American dream
He misrepresented himself
Taking crumbs from the table
So to speak
Fudging a number here
Adding a zero there
The smart money said it was alright
Don’t worry they told him
Everybody’s doing it.
He and his wife were barely making it
Hoping just to hang in there
Things would get better
They kept telling themselves
But it was too good to be true
The economy went south
Things went wrong
Lost a job
The bills piled up
He and the wife stopped talking
Broke, he feels pushed aside.
There are two sides to every lie
And in this one
There’s a bill somewhere
That’s long overdue
And so my friend
It will have to be paid by me and you.
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2011
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