We spend our lives from solstice to solstice,
creatures caught in a trap hidden by darkness
stuck in a wheel of fortune spinning in no direction
in its endless circles we lose our way.
Despair prevents our souls from healing
all through the solitude of night.
We spend our days like it’s forever night
concealing grief from solstice to solstice,
no hand reaches out in gracious healing.
Moonbeams try in vain to pierce the darkness,
we stumble through a forest losing our way
Like hound dogs running in blind direction.
Heaven has closed all roads that lead to its direction,
so we slumber dreamless, awake through the night,
hugging pain the comfort pillow life brings our way.
Our hurts multiply with each passing solstice,
our days strewn with muck and darkness
in stubborn silence we cast aside light’s healing.
Storms cannot quench earth’s thirst for healing,
Sounds of thunder and lightning beat in all direction.
We sink deeper in a crimson sea of darkness,
struggling under the waves all through the night.
Rain pellets overshadow light in summer solstice
turning into rivulets of water to flood the way.
We stare in apathy at disasters that come our way,
they only aggravate our wounds beyond healing.
we bother not to survive in winter solstice,
as flotsam pieces of our lives scatter in no direction.
We lose our strength and surrender to the night,
under an ominous sky masking the eve of darkness.
We moan and beat the air in the invisible darkness,
feeling no urge to find our feet as we fall on our way.
All the world is foggy and detached as the night,
Ugliness abounds and searches not for healing
We lose step with life’s senseless direction.
while the stakes cut deeper from solstice to solstice.
Each coming solstice may usher more darkness
we need direction to guide us on our way
bring healing to our hearts in the hollow of night.
Copyright © Josefina Costales | Year Posted 2015
Like a penny, lost and worthless, woman
mother, and buried within the origin pit, dark
she brought me like a Jezebel into her life of mourning
mistress of the stage and child to horror
born, and off he ran, forced flight my father, loss
the hussy dies but on Edgar lives in awe.
Blood and death and pain feed Poe’s awe.
Why she had done, what soul had she, this woman
leaving him a found fledgling of loss?
“Why, why, bring me into this hellish dark?”
Coal black the pit and pendulum of this zealot father’s horror
the devil’s drink brought penitence and forced, mourning.
“Bastard child!” his stepfather screamed in mourning
as his new Mother looked on in awe.
And, his new brother watched on in horror,
the lash was not spared nor kindness brought by woman.
In the starkness of his mind there was only dark.
Abandoned child, Poe, and his rescuers brought only loss.
“Run, leave, you villains all!” He cried. “There is only loss!”
So on, he wrote into the dark and mourning.
The ink the Prussian blue released the anguish his dark.
Intuition, and superstitious fright will feed him awe.
Cousin, sister, wife, would be his woman
the banshees cry, her bloody death became his horror.
“Alone, alone…” The corbies’s caw brings horror,
but for the devil’s drink, he’s naught but loss........
“Lenore…..” He’ll wall his tainted heart away from woman
and make his blasted soul the start of mourning.
“To hell with you!” He screams at those in awe
of his blank and burned out hulk of dark.
Bricked in or deep within the ripest dark...
“God, so alone……….” He hides in horror,
forlorn, depraved and not at all in awe.
For there is no romance found in loss
no beauteous bounty in the dross of mourning,
no family, friend or wife not tainted, born from woman.
So, Poe lives and dies in awe of the dark.
Where woman’s deepest depths bring only horror
and loss is all he knows in light of mourning.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
I saw the noble kind young girl last night—
The Virgin's robe was blue; her dress was Light.
“Hail, Mary, full of grace,” I prayed to her;
My soul's petition I believe she heard.
Though silent she remained, not saying words.
My gaze upon the vision was quite strong.
The apparition was so clear and strong—
The sun seemed one with me; gone was the night.
I was struck mute; from my mouth came no words.
Around the Virgin shone such dazzling light.
My soul believed she wanted to be heard,
So I stayed silent to give ear to her.
Although to pay attention full to her,
I had to put aside that I was strong—
For I was weak but wanting to be heard.
Before she came, it had been a bleak night.
But now I saw her Son the Christ's bright light;
He clothed the Virgin Mother with His words.
She finally to me spoke some few words.
I listened quite intensely then to her.
She said, “Let Jesus shine upon you Light.
For now you need no longer be so strong.
The demons will not torture you at night.”
For this I was quite pleased; my prayers were heard.
For far too long, I wanted to be heard.
I was afraid my prayers were just some words.
No longer would I fear the dark of night.
My soul was ever so glad it heard her.
I was revived; my faith and hope were strong.
For I had seen her Son's and Mary's Light.
I bathed in wondrous grace and love and light
Desire had been fulfilled; I had been heard.
As human I had not been truly strong.
I had relied on thoughts and deeds and words.
Yet now I gave heed to advice from her.
She had appeared in my soul's barren night.
I saw such Light; I heard such loving words
My prayers were heard; I listened unto her.
The Virgin was so strong; gone was the night.
Copyright © Alvin Thomas Ethington | Year Posted 2008
This was her bitter sympathy,
she wished to not be seen,
crying up a sea of tears
and wishing to her last,
suppressed by all her childish fears
haunted by her past-
Grieving from the horrible past
crying for sympathy,
she must find a way to overcome her fears.
She locks a door to not be seen,
these memories are not to last,
so she wipes away those tears.
Wiping away those tears,
shying away from the past,
she wonders, "will I ever last?"
she has to stop the moaning sympathy
For who she is, she has to be seen,
she overcomes her worries and she overcomes her fears.
Overcoming her fears,
there are no more tears,
for she was finally seen.
moving on from the past,
no more crying self-sympathies
for the day it was she had last.
For a day it was she has last,
she helped others with their fears,
she finished her sympathy,
and she dried away their tears,
she took away their past,
their past never to be seen.
Their past never to be seen,
as day for them to last,
they finally forgot their horrible past.
they overcame their fears,
they never shed their tears,
for they were freed from this sympathy.
No more of these fears,
and no more of these tears,
there is no longer a sympathy,
for eye to eye they had seen,
they had finally last,
from their horrible past...
Copyright © Elaina Dixon | Year Posted 2006
My temptation is great at times in my life.
At other times, it is lost and no to be found.
I know it will always be there within my mind.
It will confuse me and drive me so very mad.
No longer sad, because I have accepted it so,
As a part of my soul and inner self so bold,
Becoming part of me, I am outwardly bold.
I have accepted so richly, building on my life.
No one I know would ever consider it so.
There are so many others that I have found.
Some accept it; others would think I’m mad.
I hold it dear to me, hiding it inside my mind.
I am glad that no one could ever read my mind.
Though to act upon this temptation is bold,
To observe this thing would make someone mad.
So I hide it well inside and continue in life.
Some day my time will come, peace will be found.
No matter when, I understand that it will become so,
Maybe upon my destiny deal it shall become so.
It will never drive me insane and take away my mind.
Reality will take over someday releasing vision found.
Energy shall be released, no sacrifice to be bold.
There will be a new existence known inside of life.
My spirit will be complete and happy, not mad.
This success shall be gracious, not making anyone mad.
I hope that my happiness fulfilled with making it so.
However, possibly not since I will not know of this life.
For all memories of former life will be out of my mind.
To be able to recall my past, could I chance to be so bold?
Possibly souls are warped together and can be found.
Per chance, I could read these words, knowing what I found.
Though it is a possibility, that then I could go insanely mad.
Whatever happens in my soul again, could I be so bold.
I can only hope and pray that someday it will become so.
That the temptation of mine shall share only one mind,
That the combination of two, share just one life,
That truth is found with loving it so.
No longer, mad, in a calmer mind.
Creating someone bold, and compelling life.
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2010
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
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
(WORK IN PROGRESS)
O ,wherefore thou ,is thy Sestina Angelina?
she is not here ., thy love thy dove
thou angel eyes hover...oft high above
Tis thyself, a gentleman who doth wait
whilst me dreams and longs to view her gracious gait
I shall dwell ,tarry here in the dark
I must appeal to the day ; canst read her sonnets by dark
But , Joy ! Can hear the bells of her Villanelles.. me Angelina
Me beauty uses classical , graceful words that match her giddy gait
Me elegant ,enchanting dove
I shall remain, I shall wait
For thou, Sestina thy Angelina sent from above
I pace the earth with a weary gait
Me mind wanders ; travels to heights above
longing for me heart, me dove
whilst me dwells,tarries, here in the dark
imagining thyself with Angelina
Thy Sestina , as I , here , wait
I cry, here, in the dark
float in thy head above
O where, O where, is thy turtle-dove?
Is she, too ,in the dark ,
Me angel face, Angelina ?
Shall I further wait?
I growest more weary to wait
anticipation marks thy gait
Still, no sign from me Sestina,Angelina!
I will pray to God above,
on my knees, here, in the dark
whilst I await the return of thy dove.
Alas! Hark, do I hear me dainte dove?
Shall I run to greet her,or patiently , here, wait ?
Shall I continue in this dark ?
Where is she? Didst me not hear the crick of the gait?
Special Notice: Angelina not recorded here nor above!
O , me , O me , O why, me Sestina Angelina ?!!
O ,wherefore thou is thy Sestina Angelina; she is not here .,thy love thy dove
thou angel eyes hover...oft high above; Tis thyself, a gentleman who doth wait
whilst me dreams and longs to view her gracious gait; I shall dweel here in the
Copyright McCuen 2008
Copyright © MC MC | Year Posted 2008
Sestina sounds romantic like a lazy siesta with a Latin lover.
Foxy tanned skin and dreamy pools of irises.
Words can confuse and taunt the innocent and simple mind.
Words can turn vile and bitter after the romance has faded.
Lovers become cold and distance, leaving an empty shell of
A former grandeur, and burned out emotions that are unable
To form a complete sentence. Dare I say poetic words that do not flow?
When all hopes have been doused with ice...
Do I dare revisit the sestina again? Hope beyond hope for a reunion of words and
cohesive thoughts? Is it possible to have a poetic thought again?
Old friend, my eraser, comes along on this adventure. When you reduce, my sestina
will rise again from my thoughts!
Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2010