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Sestina Adventure Poems | Sestina Poems About Adventure

These Sestina Adventure poems are examples of Sestina poems about Adventure. These are the best examples of Sestina Adventure poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Sestina |

Celebarating The Adventure Of Advent: A collaboration with Kai Michael Neumann

Universal elegy grieves and yet embraces shifts of paradigm
New beginnings consciousness initiates comprehends and thus proceeds from
Illusion’s delusion collusions misconceptions in the irritating
Vortex whirlpool immanent void of false containment

Enlightenment modern postmodern retro visionary futuristic aspirations
Resound in dialectical rebirth rejuvenation germinate constructive 
Sense meaning reflect serenity’s tentative confidence that the
Agony of climate change greed warfare ignorance destructive apathy
Liberates fusion confusion necessitates Aquarian communication of

Antagonism’s polar opposites contradictions complements

Cycles spheres of influence of grave repression gravitate
Revolve resolve with pushing pulling moons in metaphorical
Orbital mental psychological initiation shape incidences
Synchronicities collateral communal reason feeling responsibility

Transformation of the global madness inhumanity conjoins
Idealism and the darker side’s fallacies of fabrication

Conspiracy of muted spirit silence violation fade away transform to novel script

Communication courses discourses concur in co-operation
Obvious obscurity in the blip of human race’s evolution delimits 
Limitations iron cages hopes for new time place of reason beyond
Laissez-faire and hippie psychedelic stream of consciousness afar from
Anarchy self-righteous slavery rebellion mindlessness

Big oppressive bangs big brother’s obliterating over-information with
Onslaught of technology fail and falter when simplicity and esoteric
Rationale comprise enhance encompass the necessary world view shifts

Ascent and ever changing climax revitalizes humanness thus gifts
Truth deriving comprehension from ‘objective’ communal subjectivity with
Intuition insight inclination outside from the rigid boxed conformity

Order may be found again in the chaos of our time of misrepresented bedlam
New Age Aquarius delivers acts upon fresh constellation contemplates the Universe 

Celebrating the adventure of Advent this one is written very uniquely. 
During this transition Oh, the ubiquity of perception, reception most gratefully
Each new day begins with one’s first thought, amazingly
Though, this thought did not require any forethought, excitingly,
I thought, what if I thought in forethought, demandingly
Boldly I choose, a path of understanding.  Then Daringly,

Choosing to forgive myself, then choosing to forgive everyone else.  I gratefully
wished upon distant star and my cry did travel far.  Vega, amazingly
did answer my call, in a dream from My whispering old cemetery scene . Excitingly
 I dashed out of my bed, outside looked to sky, then cried Eternal welcome to Aquarius demandingly.
The Joy of this revelation, thought and manifestation determining one’s destination. So, daringly
I choose to be enlightened by the universal code, which is downloaded to each individual uniquely.

Travel I have far and wide, and gone I have, from high to low. Amazingly
though, I realize know, that I had always been seeking to know.  Excitingly
turning each new page, certain and determined to be my own sage. Daringly
I vied, nothing would make me swallow my pride.  Demandingly
I had thought,  When we get there that all would play fair.  Thought I did, uniquely
as most should do.  Now, A little Alliteration to say we too are gratefully

The stranger within me does no longer be because know I see. Life does have excitingly
creative individual versatility. Change it does for you, whom call upon it consistent and demandingly.
Remaining keenly observant in search for knowledge and do so daringly.
Questioning what dares seem query logic and reason itself. While never failing to truly uniquely 
understand another for having their own uniqueness  and being grateful
for be blessed with this, understanding of knowing each individual creation amazingly.

.
Target destination is fixed after course has been made demandingly.
Each individual soul being has chosen this mission daringly. 
Having arrived in this Third dimensional reality to uniquely 
instruct in the revolution of Love is a four letter word and do so very thankfully and gratefully
to each and every soul of light that exists. Uplifted into the light I call out amazingly.
 Higher Power, The all High and Universal Father of All, whom is the one that is truly exciting.

Inviting all He does whom choosing a star path daringly.
His message has been sent to each and every one of you uniquely 
in its own way. We should all give blessing and thanks, while being gratefully
for each and every new amazingly
fantastic and an Emphasis on an excitingly
creative Acrostic man day. After being both commanding humbly and so, demandingly.
,
Who is excitingly and amazingly, demandingly and 
daringly to be uniquely and gratefully Different? 

Copyright © Steven Henderson | Year Posted 2016



Details | Sestina |

Whispers of my fair maiden

Alone, there I stood by the bench in the park.
On a leash by my side, my protective young hound.
In the distance I heard the echo of whispers;
As a dark hooded figure approached in a cloak.
She stopped and looked at me this beautiful maiden.
Rose like lips smiled gently, against skin bright and fair.

She took down her hood, released hair long and fair;
I offered my hand and on bench did we park.
We looked at the stars appearing so maiden;
As we talked of our youths and her company I did hound.
Then the moon cast its shadows and darkness did cloak;
Whilst trees bustled, rustling, the night timely whispers.

As we cuddled up close, to get warm friendly whispers;
It grew colder, I gave my jacket and said it wasn't fair.
So we got up to leave and she bunched up her cloak;
We walked to the car to the place I did park.
In the back did we place my faithful friend hound,
And we drove into the night on our journey so maiden.

We drove and we drove till the dawn arrived maiden.
To the rustling chorus of natures whispers;
And a fox searching for breakfast did stalk and did hound;
Saw chickens, roosters and hens such a fair!
In burrowed field did monstrous combine park,
Whilst autumn leaves rained tumbling natures cloak.

We went to my home and and we hung up the cloak.
Then I partook a chance to kiss the hand of my maiden.
While we spoke of the night at the park.
We enfolded ourselves to bodily whispers;
And I nestled amongst all of hair fair;
But when in heat of moment the barks of my hound.

A knock on wall from angry neighbors, please shut up the hound.
So I fed him, watered and let him outside; around me her cloak.
Then returned to my angel so beautifully fair,
Her skin looked so radiant my heavenly maiden;
That I caressed it so longingly, with gentle whispers,
Then stopped and remembered the leash in the park.

Then cursing the hound; I tell the dear maiden.
Dressed quickly, coats, cloak; and I love you whispers.
She tells me not fair, and we go to the park!!!

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |

DREAM CHASER

A dull Christmas eve, still it was better than most
I’d heard of winter and snow in places far away
Of cold and frozen waters and rains that fall like powder from the sky
Of words like mist, soft as a whispered kiss
Escaping from lips: red over a pale impression
Muttering words of things of the faraway place

I know not the feeling, only the idea of a place
And whatever feeling it evokes in me the most
Of these foreign notions, I have not one but many an impression
Of wonder and adventure and ways to sail away
On wooden or metal monsters that beckon the sea its cheek to kiss
In the in-between world of salt water, wind and sky

Not so here, no snow in this dry harmattan sky
I’d rather for a change of pace, a change of place
A place of apples and wine grapes and passions that deepen the kiss
Of hopes and dreams and wishful thinking for most
Come hopes! Come dreams! Come insane thoughts and take me away!
Far away, and in my place leave no impression

Rid it! On her alone I made some impression
Of two on a low hill beneath a big grey sky
Her eyes would haunt me screaming, “Why didn’t you take me with you, away?”
“To the place we had dreamed, the faraway place?”
Truth be told, she would prove really good, better than most
Even so, rid me of it with one final kiss

A flickering flame snuffed out with a kiss
It’s dying breath trailing a wispy impression
With that I lost what it was I wanted the most
Bartered for the image of a different sky
Alas a different time in a different place
Yet to find a place to stay that doesn’t lead away

Now a seasoned drifter wandering away
With tales of wonder and adventure and many a departure kiss
With yarns of many sights, yet yearning for only one place
For the place I left, leaving no impression
A place I must go only after I find the perfect sky
It was a dull Christmas eve, still it was better than most

Now in a place far away, making many an impression
Oh how I desire that kiss, under that same grey sky
Despite the faraway place, it is what I want the most
(sigh)

Copyright © Samuel Opara | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sestina |

The Maid, the Magpie and the Mirror

Gazing, at its own reflection is the Magpie.
A magic bird, a mystical creature, with a soul
and the power to see things, the power of scrying.
It sees a tomb in ancient Egypt. It sees death.
A soul locked within a glorious bronze mirror,
Cleopatra and her Maid in a bond unbroken.

Time passes in silence as deep as the unbroken
promise of endless wisdom, gifted by the Magpie.
whose caws the Maid hears, within the depths of the mirror,
calls to the Queen, her Cleopatra, to her soul.
Magpie speaks to She on the Eastern Barge in the afterlife of death,
and to her Maid entombed. The sacred bird so near scrys.

The Magpie sits within oasis staring into the pool. It scrys
for all this time, its vigil, its protection, never broken.
Even when the sarcophagus is carried to the necropolis of the dead,
without, unknown, the bird speaks wisely through reflection, her Magpie.
Entombed, his Queen and her Maid, their bodies but not their souls,
Queen, Maid and Magpie, each cast a last gaze, alive within the mirror.

The Vows of Innocence, the Maid bespeaks the mirror.
Pleas to the Swallower of Shades, both Queen and Maid have scried
to The Burning One, and claim no lie, upon their soul.
As the light dims within the Maids eyes, in tomb unbroken,
she sees the life of her Queen and their Magpie
pass fast upon the brass, last breath of life and dying.

Oh, too soon the end, moans the Maid, I am dying.
Her life's reflection moves bronzed upon the mirror.
She screams, "My Queen," but hears only the caw of Magpie.
All around her other servants succumb and cry, whilst she sits scrying,
and the Magpie flies above in life entombed, eternity, unbroken.
As she beseeches all the Gods to save her soul.

The Magpie's spirit self moves within the mirror's soul.
He swoops gathering Cleopatra's essence, past the dying,
and brings her to the Maids side unbroken.
In afterlife upon the Eastern Barge they join the mirrored
whole, for he, the bird of magic, Magpie, has called and scried
it so. Part light of life, part dark of death, the Magpie.

The essence of each entwine united within this eternal mirror
for the Magpie cannot bear their deaths. He will protect and forever scry
in life the mirror sits unbroken a stolen bauble, and in it they dwell with the Magpie.




Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |

Life is but a dream

Is this life but a dream? 
I once wondered to myself, in this life
Will we really find true happiness,
A place to which we can escape,
A place where there are no worries of the future,
Where we, once again, may envision life with the naivety of a child?

The life of a child
Is quite a lovely dream.
Sadly, as children we are often much too eager to reach the future.
We’re told, ”Take it one day at a time, this life,
Be sure to experience that great escape,
And most importantly, without regret, always indulge in your happiness.”

We seem to spend our whole lives searching for happiness.
It appears to vanish from our lives the moment we cease to be a child.
We attempt to find a method for which we are able to escape
From the trials and stress of our mundane lives. Losing ourselves in a dream,
We continue aimlessly through life,
Permitting ourselves no further notions of the future.

I have found that I am no longer satisfied living in a daze, I believe if I begin to live for the future,
I am bound to find that unequivocal happiness.
I must be honest; I, too, was never truly patient with life,
Underestimating the true meaning of it all; I was, unfortunately, a frivolous child.
I now see reason to abstain from placating ourselves in a fanciful dream.
I’ve gleaned its best to make the most of what we’re given; for there is no real possibility of escape.

So, I’ll no longer entertain the senseless musings of my grand escape,
For, I am learning to be confident and complacent in my future.
I’ll no longer consider the absurdities awaiting me in a fictitious dream,
Because I believe I have finally found my path to true happiness.
Thankfully, I am no longer a lost and ignorant child.
No longer will my time dissipate with no real worth; I aim to be forever grateful and joyous in my life.

There is no such thing as an eternal life,
And sadly, death is the only reprieve we get; in the form of that previously sought after escape.
However, in the wondrous eyes of a child,
Life seems everlasting; there is only ever the future,
And the possibilities of what it might hold; the promises full of love, laughter, and happiness,
And no such thing as a broken or unrealistic dream.

So, I’ll live my life forever striving towards the future,
While no longer pursuing any type of escape, I’ll be thankful and welcoming of any happiness
Afforded to me, and I’ll surely take time to encourage a child to make a reality of their dream.

Copyright © Teri LaRusso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sestina |

The Legendary Wild West

Back in the days, when men bold,
spun golden legends;
of exploits in the wild west;
of punch-in and herd-in cows
and saloon brawls where they’d shoot
and scores of bullets roared.

Stories of the Iron Horse’s roar
and gunfighters and marshals, bold;
Of gamblers, who’d go shooting
for the stars in cards; those were feats of legend.
Days when plains of cows,
fur-painted the landscape of, the old west.

These are the breed that won the west,
as across the plains, the Iron Horse roared.
those are the backs worn, herding cows;
the exploits of the brave and bold.
those brave and haggard legends
made of silver spurs and pearl-handled shooters.

You’re darn toot-in, shoot’in
like that, was what won the west.
While the Iron Horse died, its legend
lives on, belching out its roar,
across the plains, so bold.
Still, cowboys herd and rope their cows.

Modern day cowboys, herding cows
by truck and shootouts 
no longer ring so boldly.
Wild no more, is the west,
where now, only cars and planes roar.
Yet, there still live the legends.

They aren’t as great, these new legends, 
but it doesn’t phase the cows.
They calmly graze, amid the airplanes roar.
Though one may say, “shoot,
it’s spoiled now”, the legends live on, in the west, 
of heroes brave and bold.

The west will always, have its legends, Though trains no longer roar.
Cowboys will always rope their cows, as they did in the old, wild west.
Upon museum walls, stories of the shootouts,
are told; of ancient heroes brave and bold.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sestina |

Sestina In The World Of Worm

Contemporary and vast in imagination is the girl lost in her own world.
Concealed between the paragraphs and ink typed pages of the book.
Remain cross-legged, as if in meditation, toes tickled by grass.
Here the battle of yin and yang, good and evil, is not waged but in balance.
Falling from the tree to rest in her lap is the red apple.
Just like the plot of a book; within and eating it's way to the outside is the worm.

Weaving in and out of the core, consuming the plot, is the worm.
Pulling the reader through the red shiny skin into its world.
Hours could fly by hidden and protected by the apple.
The letters purge into a blur and no longer seen is the book.
Hero, villain, and romance achieve their balance.
Feet sprout roots into the grass.

Becoming immobile with the soft cushion; short bladed grass.
Breaking through one skin and into another goes the worm.
Coursing through the bloodstream, distorting balance.
Eyelids fall as if to be curtains closing out the remaining world.
The key to the gates lay open; the book.
Perched on left knee baring one hole; the apple.

Slipping through the tendrils of a dream riding aboard an apple.
Wings flapping on either side, improvised as grass.
The landing pad looms in front; an open book.
Waving a light for a signal and a hand for hello the worm.
Created solely by the subconscious is this world.

Hitting the pages stumbling from the stem with lost balance.
Skin melting red spilling into the pages; colorless becomes the apple.
Brandishing a pencil, he begins to build a new world.
Kneeling in the grass,
Coloring in the apple purple is the worm.
Dancing in circles around and upon the open book.

When finished, he nods slowly and closes the book.
The scales return to their balance.
Burrowing deep into the apple goes the worm.
Once purple and now red again is the apple.
The roots from feet recede from the grass.
Opening eyes back into the already created world.

Reaching complacency within the world of a book.
The grass, a support for balance.
Leaving the door ajar of the purple apple, waving a sad goodbye to the worm.

Copyright © Sam Beloved | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

The Two of Us

We met in the park, one glorious summer day
there was an instant attraction we both felt
The touch of our fingers was very electrical.
I was quite taken by the intensity of her beauty,
dark onyx eyes, penetrating so very deep
as her olive skin, black hair possessed my heart.

Amazed how easily she comandeered my heart
The whole of her, was not just her beauty
The depth of her persona, I had easily felt
As only one can feel someone so electrical
Before long her feelings, my feelings grew deep
It helped the two of us to be happy each day.

I couldn't live without her in my life each day
She says, "Lover, your touches has my body electrical
As you send so many sensations coursing down deep
and in all my life, these sexual feelings, I never felt."
"Know, my feelings, reaches far greater then your beauty,
so, life without you, it would crush my very loving heart."

"Lover, how did you ever capture my hardened heart?"
"You were like swimming in blue waters, so very deep
and I decided to take a chance with showing how I felt
about who you are were, never about all of your beauty.
It was me capturing you, your heart to love you each day
because, I want you to keep feeling all inside, so electrical."

"I feel when things falls apart in life, and losing what is electrical
and when the darkness of sad moments, takes over each day.
Then, we need to bring back the love within my heart, your heart
and remember what it was that created what you and I felt.
Which in God's destined for our faith and love to become very deep.
Yes my love, in you it wasn't all about your outward beauty."

I had fallen in love with something you have, a greater inner beauty
and it comes through extraordinarily wonderful each day.
It is the sincerity you possess that makes you so electrical
as I know It was iI, that was able to open your locked and hardened heart.
You have heard my words, which are very heart felt.
They come from the depths of heart which are very are profoundly deep.

No more swimming in waters which may become so very deep
and yet, when , we will age together, we will smile at what we felt
and think back upon the life we shared and it's wonderful beauty!



Copyright © Karl Lorson sr | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |

Lost Love Begins

Lost love where lust begins to rise 
Relationships build on betrayals honesty
Grown in the mushroom dark                                         
No one ever really knows their lover
Or another persons heart 
Heavy where secrets sleep in hunger under cover

Cursed men escape into the desert vacancy
Soldiers parched, where no raging rivers run 
Wrinkled lips dry up with ancient wanderers
Including their insides
Skin turns to leather brown
Warriors, dunes, live out the hour with them now

Doomsday is right around the corner of a smile
A tear tries to form but quickly dries
Broken men dream with gushing rivers on the mind
Sun baked with landscape misery 
Thirsty, scorched, craving a glass of water 
Lost on the sand to die
                                                    
Love flourishes on the morning afterwords
Birds still sing in search for something nourishing
Frantic storms lift their last gasp of air
Sail on warm clouds of memory
Laugh at men who used to grasp for flesh
In pleasure for pleasures sake that past 

Lost on the dunes
Under the unforgiving sun
Other men still wander
Wonder for ages yet to come
How love lingers where lust begins again
Over the buried souls of granular fine grandeur 

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |

Bug Destiny

          Bug Destiny

Round tiny bug moves slow along the garden path
Avoiding traffic as it trudges along
Carries the hardened armor of its ancestry
Down there too, through the centuries
The weight of that nobility 
With it, on its back, through history
 
Portals of time laid out in its direction
Its lineage developed skills for battles
In darkened bitter caves
With aging somber rocks in far off lands
And along the seasoned shores 
Over millions and billions of years

Ants search day and night for this small creature
Little round bugs are a staple on their menu
They will not rest until
This morsel is served up in honor of their queen
Solo insect as black as death
Stands by in armor ready

Ants take their forces onward against the drop of day
Their tiny march relentless, endless and grave
Black bug hunkers down in his encasing
Waiting In case bad things should happen
And to survive another day
The army attacks  
            
Storms in on solo bug in stark surprise
With concise incisions ready
Sharp mandibles set to dissect it on the spot
Little bug has one last trick
It tastes of sour and stinky feet
The ants retreat defeated

Round bug makes its rounds about the garden gate
In its cultivated aged defense makes it to another day
Future generations will praise this day
That kept their kind alive 
Depriving queen ant of a nasty meal
Of destinies surprise

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

Dark Woods C F H

I have this story of the garden of evil I saw.
Darkness called to me, I was drawn inwardly.
Walking, a glimpse of beauty came into view.
She intrigued me as to why she was inside.
When I stepped in front of her she smiled.
Not an ordinary smile, one of pure wickedness.

She spoke to me calmly at first, as my eyes did view.
Transformation began as her beauty faded inwardly.
I swear to you that I felt like darkness had smiled.
Her shape changed and now a devil my eyes saw.
Beckoning me she said come with me inside.
My soul captured my mind knew now wickedness.

She told me that I was hers now as the demon smiled.
That I had to take my place beside her in wickedness,
Which the garden of evil was now placed inside.
That the evil call had embedded my heart inwardly.
As she took me aside to a mirror where I could view,
What happened to me, undeniable is what I saw.



I was changing outwardly, as well as inwardly.
My eyes were blood red and horns came into view.
I had become her male counterpart, we both smiled.
Within a couple of moments, I was lost in wickedness.
Then out of darkness other creatures came from inside.
More and more demonic creatures are what I saw.

She said, Meet our armies that mankind cast inside.
That she had waited for me, again her lips smiled.
Upon wave of her hand a mist came into view.
It was me in previous form, yes, you were evil inwardly.
Your whole mortal life you felt you had no wickedness.
Suddenly I knew she was right, this was a prediction I saw.

My destiny was sealed; garden of evil will keep me inside.
A consort I will be to her evil heart, fulfilling wickedness.
Thinking back in my dreams I could have changed what I saw.
Though forever and beyond, darkness grows inwardly.
As we held each other, a vision cast came into view.
We looked deep into each other’s eyes and we smiled.

What we both saw, within her womb something was inside.
We knew we shared wickedness, as the birth came into view.
Love, lust held inwardly, looking on, our baby demon just smiled.

Note. This was part of a dream I had and I feel it was a release to write this to help me fight my personal demons that have always plagued my mind and dreams, maybe I watched to many horror movies when I was younger, I have seen almost all of them more than once

Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sestina |

Cross Species Awareness

Cross Species Awareness

Beneath a calm ocean, man watches a shark.
They are same in size, but one has advantage.
Man is wearing a wet suit and long swim fins.
Shark is naked and is not bearing its teeth.
Water passes silently through gills of stealthy predator.
Bubbles rise from apparatus of explorer.

A camera and lights fill hands of explorer.
Teeth and cunning fill front of shark.
Black tiger stripes and dark eyes of predator 
intensify beauty and exclaim an unrevealed advantage.
Locked behind its inquisitive nature are rows of sharp teeth.
It circles the diver, dipping and bending its fins.

A menacing fin on its back and long pointed side fins, 
the shark does not appear as clumsy as explorer.
A man clamps on to breathing device with his teeth, 
watching effortless movements of a curious shark.
There seems to be some wariness in the predator.
Its large dark eyes seem to measure any advantage.

Any threat to the sea’s occupant is from surface advantage.
The wary man’s feet rest on white sand trapped in fins.
He could kick and flap beneath waves, but is no predator.
He is either a very brave or very stupid explorer.
If the sea is a playground or battlefield it belongs to the shark.
If it decides, the king of the deep can bear its teeth.

It can open its gaping mouth and expose rows of teeth.
It can clamp on to soft flesh with an easy advantage.
Such things happen often in the life of a shark.
It swipes its tail side to side and climbs and dives with fins.
The only help for the diver is another explorer.
A spear gun or repellant may offend the predator.

There is not much comfort offending such a predator.
It will only find another place to sink its teeth.
It is a distracting thought for an underwater explorer,
to learn and gain knowledge under this creature’s advantage.
It may not speak; it doesn’t have hands, but does well with fins.
Ruling the depths, it is a majestic presence this shark.

A vicious predator with acute senses and sharp teeth, 
the shark patrols oceans riding currents with strong agile fins.
The explorer has the advantage of meeting it at peace.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you are intrigued by this work read and review G. D. Master’s book, “Interpretations,” free in PDF format on SmashWords.com. Simply enter “gd master” or “interpretations” in the search bar of SmashWords to find it.

Copyright © Graphite Drug | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |

Moonlight Colour

Moonlight Colour

On this night, there was a girl.
She shuffles along a path of stone.
Along the trail where shadows dance,
moonlight is the only colour.
In the dark, the animals feast.
Poor tiny creatures, cute and warm.

Inside her coat she stays warm.
Out from the trail, there was a girl.
Through the door to an illustrious feast,
she collects a smile from a face of stone.
Happy, surprised by vivid colour,
she moves across the floor to dance.

From her hips, she begins to dance.
Brass overtones keep her warm.
Playing every note with living colour,
they paint a picture of the girl.
She glides across the stage of stone,
enchanting the lucky about to feast.

“Sit and be merry, for now we feast!”
In conversation, patrons dance.
Across the table made of stone,
she meets a boy whose heart is warm.
“May I have your hand?” He asks the girl.
She smiles with cheeks of rose red colour.

Entangling souls of vibrant colour,
eternally share preamble feast.
Mystified he leads the girl,
through satiated crowd, they dance.
Around the pit, the air is warm,
embers crack in a ring of stone.

Destiny watches the rolling stone,
New lovers glow in merigold colour.
Holding each other, staying warm,
until only ashes remain of infernal feast.
Under the moonlight they dance.
“May I see you again?” he asks the girl.

On a path of stone, she leaves the feast.
In moonlight colour, two lovers dance.
Together warm, a boy meets girl.

Copyright © Joshua Dusome | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sestina |

SAILS GLIDING ON THE SHIMMERING SEA

Sails gliding on the shimmering sea,
don't be hasty to engulf silence 
as the chapel's choir engages in a spiritual oratorio praising Him;
an octave higher or lower brings
their inspirational hymn to a desired sound of felicity...
those tones that the loud organ makes!



We, as they, are lifted by the sustenance of faith,
too pure and orthodox to extinguish our oneness of spirit;
adhering to rigid standards and beliefs...forbidding sin
to feed on its vain opprobrium and oppress purity!
We, as they, dwell in this oracle to outshine indefinitely,
and outreach every unreachable and unconquerable limit!



Sails gliding on the shimmering sea,
watch the advancing sunrays osculate the waves of the harbor,
and the optical images that reality conveys!
See the ospreys which learn their skill by osmosis...
that even the ovenbirds can't acquire;
hear the believers's proclamation presaging and predicating unity!



Irreverent  and doubtful soul, don't pursue vanity:
don't be similar to a prancing horse that surprises the rider;
don't prattle when foolishness becomes a hangover!
You have put too much effort into exhibiting your valor...
hardly serving a purpose and be totally useful;
be like the sails gliding on the shimmering sea!


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

Spooky Night


Oh me Oh My a ghost
no ship but  I see coming a pirate
their breath the scent of candy
away they scramble with frightening cries
Look across the moon flies a witch
and dangled from it's web a spider!


a huge black and spotted spider
watch as it wiggles towards the ghost
swatted now by the broom of the littlest witch
gobbled down by the skinny pirate
way down in the swamp an animal cries
here all the cries are for candy


bowls and caldrons filled with candy
webs hanging low  wove by  a fat plastic spider.
oh No a  pink clad princess cries
to a hangman and a  green ghost
Run away screams the pirate
as from the darkness flies a blonde witch


she's skinny for a witch
we should stuff her with candy
we could sell her to the pirate
or feed her to the spider
give her to me moans the ghost
we laugh at her cries

we cackle at the echo of her cries
we admire the warted nose of the witch
what a pitiful ghost
begging for more candy
trembling before the huge spider
holding tight to the hand of his sister pirate


Pirate after treasureless Pirate
all afraid of the haunting cries
squatting low under the web tangled spider
keeping their eye on the witch
clutching their sacks and buckets of candy
daringly unafraid of the ghost

This years best was a Pirate, the scariest was a witch
our ears ached with the cries for more and more candy
Till the only spooks beneath the spider on our porch, was our own little ghost.

Copyright © Patricia Sawyer | Year Posted 2008

Details | Sestina |

Moonlight Adventure

The beautiful day begins in the house.
At the end of it, all that’s left of it is the moon,
Shimmering in all the night’s light.
A door to another world opens.
The only movement is a page turning in a book. 
Suddenly, without notice, an inconceivable object drops.
	
The thing jumps and twirls and once again drops.
A person from another time, the future, enters the large house.
The man, pacing back and forward, finally sends away the hovering book.
He magically transports it to the glistening moon.
Something like a black hole, a portal inexplicably opens.
The book vanishes in a fading yellow light.

The visitor sees something bright, a room full of light.
And inside, a piece of paper from the hands of a child drops.
The door of the room slightly, quietly opens.
A child and her grandmother are drawing and inscrutable house.
In a circle and a beam of inconceivable beauty appears the moon.
On the page, like the hovering object, once again, is the sight of a book.

The child explains that she has, many times that year, read the book.
But her grandmother slowly shows the girl the true “light”.
Now, the girl understands that she was wrong, and now appears the moon!
It comes closer and closer, and then, like a shooting star, down it drops.
The planet has gone down from the sky to have a conversation in the house.
The moon elegantly flies in, as large as an elephant, and its mouth opens.

And now all of the people come close together and a road opens.
The grandmother and child are guided by a rather large book.
In time, the home disappears; they have left the house.
The book vanishes, and all that leads them is a guiding light.
The key to a room, calmly, as if carried by the wind, drops.
“Come in and let’s have a talk,” says not a person, but a face in white, the moon.

The grandmother is surprised, for she is seeing the real, live moon.
A beautiful and long conversation through all the night opens.
Then as dawn arrives, blood-red, the tone of their voices drops.
Grandmother and child come out of the wonderful book.
Outside it is day, a new beginning, another lively light.
They walk o’er their field and talk till’ they reach the house.

In the morning, the otherworldly man leaves the house.
Also, he disappears in a now magnificent golden light.
That is the end; there are no more pages in this book.

Copyright © Alan Grinberg | Year Posted 2005

Details | Sestina |

PEACEFUL TIMES BY THIS CALM RIVER

Huddled among massive rocks,
at the bottom of a barren cliff,
breathing in the strongest aroma of jasmines,
watching hordes of seagulls hover over an abandoned ship;
pensively and attentively spending peaceful times by calm river,
geese see me and slowly approach me to share some of this enthralling wander!



The flow of the river is constantly intriguing,
sometimes slow, other times rushing in the manner of a surge,
making the passing barges resemble timber floating
to their unknown destination, unless the currents change
and they will be crashing on the sandy blanks to dry out and decay;
the same fate awaits the fowls when their bodies become old and die!



Rare beauty I ravishingly behold while my attention is not swayed,
the thickness of the trees won't let the eyes penetrate their wilderness beyond,
only the restless ravens know their habitat and venture themselves in those woods;
I am groped by their mystery, but I dare not enter into the untamed animal' world,
as the woodpeckers continue making their noises to scare away any possible predators...
while moans of creatures are heard: are they attacked by wild dogs, or ferocious wolves?  
 

  
The glow of the descending sun diminishes and a chill pervades my body,
my Windbreaker is the perfect attire to wear, and not make me feel the breeze's coolness;
the darker colors appearing above give indication of the arrival of a spectacular sunset,
those hues change brightness, and somehow seem to vanish as clouds impose their treat...
a storm wind coming, or is nature imitating our human nature to take control of destiny,
to spoil my peaceful times by this calm river...shouldn't I be angered by their hostility?  
 
 
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

HOWLWEEN AND MEOWWEEN

Halloween is not just for kids...
what about those gorgeous pets
that we snuggle, love, kiss and willfully spoil?
Shouldn't they have their own
special Howlween and Meowween
with treats never tasted in a bright party hall?



I love pets as you all do, and with loving and tender care    
I spoil them with warm clothes and matching shoes;
a wool hat and tiny gloves to keep them from frost!
Look at them, aren't they adorable and look sharper 
than the less-loved pets that are bored with their blues?  
Can you compare a well-groomed one to a scruffy one? 



On this coming Halloween, dress up your pets for success,
disregard the dumb looks of certain unintelligent folks,
they never see humor in anyone or anything, and they can't laugh
at these cuties that have a ton of affection on their mellow faces;
what would they do to be patted or be cuddled in their embrace?
They would give them their howleen and neowween for a soft caress!



And on every street people walk their dogs and cats dressed like mine,
what a surprise to watch this parade of adorable pets that look up and smile!
They will never know who was the genius behind all this, but gently and happily they stroll!
So who's to say that Halloween isn't for them? They're like our children who delight our soul!
And on each Halloween night, let them out, and let them do their Howlween and Meowween,
to enjoy the Halloween celebration, but tomorrow they'll not remember where they had been!


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

SURVIVE BY HEEDING ADVICE

When the parents are gone,
the kids survive by heeding advice and carry on
their wishes by honoring their true intent;
flowers sprout and then bloom,
never living their fragile, little ones to a fateful gloom...
as sunshine nurtures them!


Glimpses may not give us a full image,
but they can reveal their glossary of life and death,
and it depends on us how to put it
into a consequent sentence and give meaning to it;
our parents raised us up to a certain standard,
hoping we'd pick up the slack where they left off!  


And will we be elated by parental pride,
by doing all things that are beautiful and honorable...
great things that endow us with exuberance and fortitude,
to conquer every boundary and win every battle? 
History can take us there, showing us the ones who fearlessly dared:
Moses who bashed rebellion and Jesus who lashed the whip! 


Many will stumbled on life's deception,
others will cautiously follow its trail to wisdom,
to find themselves acclaimed by glory 
and flourishing in their endeavors:  they will find immortality;
and if anyone was deceived by the notion...
that nothing outlasts us, they are completely wrong!


There's no greater joy than remembering
how our parents leaded a religious life without a spot,
believing that obedience was a reward for longevity; and was
God ever put out of their thoughts...not fortifying
their spirits and making them stand on a solid rock?
Foolish persons shouldn't be pitied for their self-inflicted wounds! 



The kids can survive by heeding advice, unfraidly facing their challenges,
alleviating their fears with the words that they received from the elders:
walking on a straight path, avoiding danger and harm, to live a golden youth
and a longer life...when most youngsters lose these to drugs and lust;
and with no gray hair on their heads and no stories to tell their granchildren,
who are the victorious ones that should declare thier well-merited crown?  


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

A REMOTE REFUGE

A calm morning with the nippiest breeze of October,
the moss-covered rocks shed the surf:
as it is thrown back into the tumultuous surge,
and on the glimmering and soggy sand... 
the writhing shellfishes won't survive without the salty water;
they will helplessly hang on life, only to perish on land!  



With wool gloves and cap I'm still cold,
and still my skin is exposed to sunburn;
a motorboat crosses the hazy horizon,
emitting a sharp blast from its noise horn,
but the silent sea-gulls lack the urge to flutter away,
there in throngs they fight off the chilly day!



Sullen as a turbid ocean, I tumble down the soaked dunes,
slammed hard by a ferocious wind not offering solace;  
I swirl in agitation reaching for my warm cap,
which gently lands into an abandoned basketball's net!
Why is everything so tuneless as the surly larks...
the sluggard's eyes snap with anger as a hound barks!   



The early sunset turns crimson, then gradually swarthy,
warning the haggard fisherman to pull the fishing rod
out of the foul water...to make him feel too forlorn;
suddenly...the windstorm increases the swelling of the rolling waves,
and the beach-goer, so serene and supine, has to leave hurriedly:
this was a remote refuge for his earnest prayers and quite thoughts!
     

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

WHEN A TEEN DISOBEYS

When a teen disobeys,
innocence becomes insolance,
but malice is caused by exernal influence;
banners with explicit sexual indulgence,
conversations with obscene words
and gestures that can offend passerbys.


There are signs that can detect
any danger, watch the sexy way they dress:
tight clothing and that glamorous look
so irrisistable and provoking; and it
may not go unnoticed, and some teasers
even approve of it...adding to their lustful taste.


Even before modern times left their indecent mark,
these teens had a plan to run from home,
hop on train or bus and head for the big cities; 
and on those thriving sidewalks, the predators 
wait and they know how despair can turn into need,
an urgent need to survive...to eat and sleep.


Beautiful children, why do you constantly disobey,
and refuse to listen to your parents and elders,
who were raised in kindness, respect and dignity? 
Innocent children, before that delusional fantasy
steals away more irreplaceable dreams...ask yourselves:
shouldn't a dream, such as yours, be trashed? 
          

Unpack your back-packs and stay in a wam environment,
before silly thoughts become your biggest fear
and you will follow them to their destructive end...
not ever feeling any absence of the parental heart,
where there is a happy home you don't consider 
the greatest place to nurture love with loving cheer. 


When a teen disobeys,
love loses its profound defination...
as its pure essence is taken away by the rampant indignation
of an embittered truant: cursing, mocking justice,
stealing to feed bad habits, and in doing so they allow grief
to overcome joy, and replace it with a tragic death.


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

INSPIRATION SPARKS WHEN

Inspiration sparks when
a shooting star crosses
the starry, twinkling Heavens,
revealing its gradeur, beauty and sadness;
and if we follow it to its destination...
where it will finally land.


Inspiration sparks when it is stirred up by a sudden impulse,
and to miss it...is to lose another literary gem to outlast the ages,
that's why I constantly glance and run after one faster than a horse...
when it is about to take off with impetuous speed;
just chasing that luminous trail vanishing in distance...
fills one's heart with an incomparable feeling indeed.


Inspiration sparks when
we allow thoughts of serenity
enter the occupied mind burdened by a plan,
not letting it aimlessly wander somewhere else;
and its search might be long or terse,
to rise above those ideas too ordinary.


Inspiration sparks when
the least we expect it, to bewilder us;
transforming our silence into a powerful voice,
louder than the roar of an airplane,
of the thundering sound of a volcano in eruption...
making many tremble without waging war. 
   

Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |

THE POSSESSIONS OF A YOUNGER AGE

Every boy has his toys,
and each girl her dolls;
and as they grow they are put away where light can't enter:
there in that closet, which often memory recalls
how delightful and merry their days were,
but wishing for a return is a constant, useless  prayer...



Everyone once had the possessions of a younger age,
some were precious and memorable, others simply painful and vacant; 
and who can remember being hugged and truly loved by all?
Many still reminisce the sad thought of having been offered none at all,
and how they longed to have felt a little, sweet taste! 
Nobody desired that more than I did, and only mother provided that!



Blue-bells seemed blither than I.. colored flowers that have no feel,
no soul to express their joy or sorrow, had I become like them?  
Larks and mockingbirds weren't as malcontent as I was indeed;
all they wished for was some rain and the quietest place to rest!
Oh, how much sympathy I felt...with no one loving them, but their Creator;
and my circumstances affirmed how true that really was for me to declare! 



An evil doer can be a father, who denies his children profound affection;
malice or thoughtlessness scars the hearts of the tender ones,
to become a malady or blight that leaves many fragments of broken lives;
and shouldn't someone grab them by the scruff of their necks, 
and put some sense into them when they intentionally induce pain?
This snarl...rebelled at such atrocity, although no slaps could prevent those tries!  


Husbands love your wives devotedly, 
mistresses are the cause of your adultery;
would the faithful ones pursue an extramarital affair?
And what are the consequences of your sin and surliness?
A curse from God for many generations,
to deny your little ones the possessions of a younger age!  


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

MY DOUBT GAVE NO INDICATION...

Will I live longer than I suppose to be living...possibly a centenary,
and struggle on a cane to sustain my weakness?
Those beautiful and vibrant years have fled to impose fears,
making my presence unattractive and more blowzy,
and in the present time, I am isolated and frowzy; 
a deteriorated mind feeling the burden of senility?   



My motto wasn't " Conquer and be invincible!" No-first mistake was allowed
to mar my perfect character; body and mind in full accord, blending together, 
so obstinate in defiance to obstruct any possible pleasure...
was it a deference to holiness?  Everywhere explicit posters encouraged promiscuity:
an indulging nation...diverging from the concept of morality!  



And however strong was urge to indulge in wrongful acts incoherently, 
my doubt gave no indication...that I would have gained from my inequity;
and ruin would have wrecked this conscience and wrenched my spirit;
alone to face the sure wrath of the Divine...while wrestling with my lost worth!
One-stand night didn't nurture a sensation so momentary and insipid,
many times, staring in the cold darkness, I was glad that my behavior wasn't lurid!
  


And today new pills promise to give more virility,
causing blindness and a probable, sudden death;
and Lord, my intention is not to use them to harm myself,
the gift of longevity was well-received and is well-kept by me!
Unlikely the times past, when my doubt gave no indication,
now it does so plainly and clearly... not swaying my attention!


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

The Passage

A young man’s walk was careful,
As he strode through the passage. 
The walls were dotted with a red
That refused to be washed away with water.
The young man’s memory still pictured the fangs,
As they plunged into the neck of the woman.

The infirmary was in charge of the woman
Now. The hands of the nurses were careful 
As they tended to her wounds. The beast’s fangs
Killing her. A bible was brought and a passage 
Was read. The twisting and turning of the water
That dripped down her face made her cheeks red.

The young man’s face was painted red
With fury. The one dying on the bed was his woman,
His wife. The walls he passed oozed with slime and water.
To sneak upon the beast in slumber, he must care o’ full
Not to stumble. A room appeared at the end of his passage,
The evidence of the beast’s presences was made by the work of his fangs.

The victim lay dreaming of the gleaming white fangs,
That punctured her neck. The blood trickling out was crimson red.
She scrambled to reach the safety of the passage,
But the reason for her tumble was her clothing of a woman.
They were not made for escaping even if one was careful,
Her terror caused her eyes to water.

In his pocket, the young man stored a vile of holy water,
And a wooden stake to end the reign of the evil beast’s fangs.
The young mans creep must not have been as careful,
As he thought for the beast sat up, his eyes a blood red.
A flutter of frantic thoughts ran through his mind, mostly the woman.
He glanced once more, before he faced it, at his safety…the passage.

The words drew to a close, the ending of the passage.
The elderly nurse brought a glass to her lips, water.
The eyes gave one last flicker, the body one last shudder as the woman
Died. A flash across the sky, two bolts struck the ground, fangs.
The beast saw naught but red,
His body fell; he smiled as he passed on. The victor’s step over the fallen was 
careful.

His stride up the passage was careful as he went to see her.
He ran water over his hands to wash away the red.
He saw her last, his woman, no more then a victim of the fangs. 

Copyright © Hannah Goddard | Year Posted 2006