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Sestina Dream Poems | Sestina Poems About Dream

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

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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 |

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 |

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 |

Navigating Dreamtime Waters

My boat glides,
upon silvery waters, 
to the distant shore 
and below the depths, 
there are no limits or borders; 
I won’t allow them in my dreams.

When I dream, 
images glide 
with no frames or borders; 
across my dreamtime waters.
I know what hides in those depths 
and how far I am from the safety of the shore.

Upon the shore
I safely sleep and dream.
I do not fear the abysmal depths.
I just, smoothly glide
across those waters;
without limits or borders.

Self-limiting borders, 
unlike the shore, 
foul the dreamtime waters 
of my dreams.
They make, unstable…the glide;
calling dark, dismal images up from the depths.

There are many depths, 
within the minds borders.
As I glide
 to the safety of dreamtime’s shore; 
I pass through many dark dreams, 
within those waters.

The great collector…water, 
hides many secrets in its depths.
In my dreams, 
I allow no limits or borders; 
just a beckoning shore, 
toward which, I glide.

A soul glides, upon etheric waters.
Traveling to distant shores; it fathoms dreamtime depths.
No borders are there; there’s no place for them, 
in my dreams.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

cursed to exhale

If i could exhale, really exhale,
To expire the rubble of the ages, 
1000 years of dread off my belly,
and my fingertips once so dainty
then could grasp stars and not burn,
 I dig my face into the dirt and find eternity.

i gazed into the jackals eyes and he spoke to me from eternity
he said "follow closely so that i might teach you to exhale
and maybe dear in return a smile upon your face will burn"
an expression lost on my brittle jaw for ages
so i walk upon the crust of the earth now bruised and dainty
yet i feel growth between my toes and swelling in my belly

woe does bewilderment plague me here, tearing up my belly
then a soft green garden snake cradles me into eternity,
i watch her curl and dance across the soil of this dainty
room, she looks back from her slither reminding me to exhale,
have i been lost for all these ages?
or have i simply been afraid to burn?

and thus so is it my place to burn?
for i feel welcomed and smooth yet i have poison in my belly
and tomorrow i will remember the pain of the ages
may i retain the knowledge of eternity
or become bodily again when i exhale?
or have no question that my thoughts and ideas are dainty

i have visions of my presence siting crossed and dainty
breathing barley and quiet as i burn
surrounded by a castle of tones that bring me to exhale
into the mouth of god and back into my belly
i feel my self escaping and gasping for eternity
coming back down to the end of my ages

i could sit and cry for the death of the ages 
but this life i despise growing and rooting, dainty
yes, paltry no, and tattering for the rest of my eternity
yet i recall the jackal and his feet where the earth does burn
and i miss the poison in my belly
it not escapes me, but it crusades me to exhale.

before and after the ages, the world will burn and my body will lie dainty 
on the ground filling her great belly with the poison of eternity cursed to exhale.

Copyright © xtevie fernandez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sestina |

Raven's Love and Hope Kept Alive

As night falls swiftly; no respite for a heart can be found 
She dares not invoke sleep, so she paces the floor in silence 
For to fall asleep would mean, a revisit of that dreadful dream
Ominous clouds cover the moon, carried on by rushing winds 
As she searches for her husband, with hope that he is alive 
That the dream is no foreboding; that he lies injured and not dead

Raven, dressed in black satin; searches diligently among the dead
The pain and anxiety lingers, as she awaits news that he is found
Fear it seems, has sensed determination; leaving hope alive
Dark clouds roll as ravens circle high above, in the prevailing silence.
Though the massive search is over, yet his voice calls in the winds
If only he’d walk through the door; and put to bed this recurring dream

Where each night, she’s awakened, by parts of an unfinished dream
She refuses to dwell on morbid thoughts, for her beloved is not dead!
As she feels his spirit still lives and has not drifted upon summer winds!
There is just one option left, which is, Ross would have to be found 
In his library, his favorite cigars lie untouched in the stoic silence
Every flower in their garden droops, as if in prayer that he'd be alive

Intuition prods her to dream again; find clues that he may be alive
A Hypnotist in his expertise would escort her through the dream 
Come the appointed day, throughout their house hung total silence
Her eyes were heavy as lead, yet while she dreamt, clear sight was found
And deep, somewhere between the distinct worlds, living and dead
Through thick mists she trods unafraid, as though riding on soft winds

~*~

Cont'd on Pg. II
A. Brigham
FOR:  A Rambling Poet's "Among The Dead" Contest

Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sestina |

Unsung - A Sestina


My brother, Lincoln Beachey, made my life a wonder,
Mother's eyes were full of him and loved how he was bold	
I was the shadow elder son of a family in poverty's control
and struggled to to sustain them until my blind father's death.	
In a grey world, Linc was bright colour caught on the fly
I felt drab and responsible but he dreamed of the sky.

Together we built airships and sailed  upon the sky.
people lifted up their eyes and pointed up in wonder.
Then Orville flew and out of the blue, we began to fly.
we both were taught but I flew first, and I was not so bold.
It was almost suicidal but Lincoln feared not death
but I was timid, not like him, not nearly in control.

I flew straight, flat, low and slow tight grip on control
but Lincoln from the take off; it was like he owned the sky.
He danced on the air and I worried, fearing for his death. 
Others tried to dance his dance and they died.  No wonder
My brother always dared more, did more, forever bold.
Then grief for the dead filled him and no more could he fly.

He was sure it was his fault that they had died, so he did not fly
But like me they had lacked his nerves and his iron control. 
They were others,  the sky was full of men who were bold
Linc tried very hard not to fly but he soon went back to the sky
Then people came in thousands to see his  latest wonder. 
Flying low and slow I bumbled, crashed and came near death.

They saw him loop the loop for the first time and avoid death
He flew the thunder of Niagara's mists; where none had dared to fly
Then raced a car neck and neck, It was a screaming wonder
his plane howled inches over the  drivers head, the finest of control. 
Once he climbed his plane, until fuel was gone, high into the sky.	
None had been higher and silently he glided down. That bold.

Over San Francisco bay he flew and still he was bold
Watched by thousands he seemed to tease death
then, suddenly, my ice cold brother fell from the sky
and I saw him smash into the water. No more to fly.
A wing strut had collapsed and he had no more control	
and I lost my brother and it ended an era of  wonder.

I am old now and look at the sky and I think of the unsung men who used to Fly
Those like me who were not bold  and those who were. We all meet death
but we all look at the Control of a Lincoln Beachy and  love all the  wonder.

Copyright © Paddi March | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

Dark

Nightfall begins. It's beautiful, magical,

even astonishing.  The grueling, long

process of avoiding my dreams.

So many bad thoughts from the books I read

right before bed.  I could feel the darkness

creeping up my window. I am scared!


Terrified, anxiety ridden. I'm scared!

I try to think of things, happy or magical

to counteract all the feelings of darkness.

I want to go tell mom, but the hallway is so long

to my parents room. So maybe trying to read

baby books at this hour will help my dreams.


I tried a dream catcher to catch my dreams.

And if it stayed bright all day I wouldn't be scared.

Across the globe there are places like that, I've read

about.  And that in itself is absolutely magical.

A night light being enough, is the type of night I long

for.  But until then I still have to fight with darkness.


What did it ever do to me, darkness?

Other than infiltrate my precious dreams

with monsters, loud noises, and long

dark memories. Leaving me broken and scared.

Sometimes the creatures are even magical

in weird ways like the books I read.


It is not only what I have read

but also movies that are full of darkness.

Equipped with a creative genius' magical

ideas, movies bring tons of visuals to my dreams.

One day, I know I am going to get over being scared

of these things. But that's going to take so long.


So until then, I can only long

for the day that I can read

a book and not be so scared

and anxious of the darkness

that it entails.  Or let my dreams

turn events into things that are magical.


Although I know it'll be so long until this night’s darkness

goes away, I will read until the morning interrupts my dreams.

Because being scared is for the birds, but the nightfall remains magical.

Copyright © Alyse Williams | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sestina |

I Dream Joy

Morning flood broke cataracts of light here
My heart have wings that beat in happy skies
O stand here with me in autumn's bright mist
And feel the sunshine breaks through languid day
There's a power of love that cuddles warm
The soul with better promises of joy

There are powers that earth's despair destroy
Invested not in human fragile arm
Something to trust outside the jar of clay
Someone in whom we breathe and exist
And faith in us his fevered hope make rise
A wind against the salt upswelling tear.

I take this dawn excited with its charm
As gift to give, and as a gift to cheer
I seed all joys by grace sweet enterprise
Another coming of you, O my Christ
A final hope to fold carnal cares, lay
The mortal flesh away, and lose alloy

The hills shall skip beyond dreams and decay
And this mist bright garment before my eyes
Will clothe my warm immortality there
No guns grief will shatter the heart, my boy
The blossoms never fall, nor time shall storm
Against the fortress wherein is our bliss

So day comes harvesting my page with cries
Of glee, turning eagle's loop, as dreams buoy
The heart in skies of promises most clear
God is the author of all joy, I say.
God shall seal our hopes in a whispered kiss
And joy break forth abroad to still alarm

Then this autumn when green turns gold shall list
No dry, nor brown, nor gray in festive air
Tomorrow and yesterday passed away
You against my breast shall so snuggle warm
Your tongue with my breath tells the news of joy,
Eternity is here, stitched upon the skies.

My heart a banging bell heaps love and lay
Across the chiming dell dawn-rinsed, the air
Where I dream, flickers with stars like fireflies.

Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |

midnight summers eve kiss

My dreams were that of nothing but your kiss.
A lingering essence soothing frayed edges of my heart.
Heaven couldn’t breach the wonder of your touching
hands. They tickle memories invoked by the scent of your breath
against my cheek. This is but the taste I crave every night, every time
I feel days too long since you’ve returned the other half of my soul.

The awe and wonder will never cease, mated souls
Destiny declared to me, that our love and fated kiss
could bring forth in our lives eternities timeless 
bliss. I never knew that which seemed to be a heartless
world would provide a love that would become my very breath;
for surely I would die each night if I couldn’t wake and touch

your beautiful lips. For they are but the substance that touches
me to this world. They spew forth the nectar that feeds my soul.
With you I am Queen Nivea, crowned in baby’s breath
about my brow. A midnight summer's eve of magic kissing
the air about our pallet. In sleep I hear our heart
strings shimmering our own melodious melody of half time.

In you arms my slumber is light, every time
you nuzzle my nape, asleep yourself, your touch
stirs my blood from half doze to a stuttered heart
soaring reach. It's the dust of twilight that moves soul 
music through our heated blood. Your fluttered kisses
wafts into this hot dream to wake me with a fairies breath

riding my senses like white fire. Though our breathing
may be labored, this is not a frenzied moment, languish in time
and savor the bouquet of miracles brushing your moon kissed
back. Miracle that you are the only one who could soften my touch
from the warrior I tried to be. You alone brought life to a soulless
husk;  the balm and solvent that softened my calloused heart. 

Now fully aware I reach to find your heart
beat, and find it shuddering to the pace of my breath.
Caress the plane of my face and nape as our souls
unite. Whisper the language of lovers every time.
Just never stop this Shakespearean dream touched
eve, our very reality exist based on this kiss.

Though our hearts beat in all consuming time,
your the force of my breath. You are my grace touched
body of life, my soul, who feeds this void with a kiss.

Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |

Wishing to Hold Her Hand

How I greet thee star with my wish tonight!

Will you grant me a twinkle from your sky,

Do I dare dream upon your beauty bright?

Burning like candles with eternal flames,

Shine down, shine down and fill me with your light,

Fulfill the desire to hold her hand.

 

I want to reach out and hold her sweet hand,

How I wish upon you shining tonight.

I shall watch you glow until morning light!

Till dawn shall awake with my blue heart sky,

For my dreams burn hotter than the suns flames

She lives in my soul, eternally bright.

 

There is no other that can burn so bright

I long for her touch, the softness of her hand

Can you hear my plea, my words are like flames.

Will you wink your approval down tonight,

How long shall I stare into your dark sky?

I shall stare until the breaking dawn’s light.

 

Grant me this wish and be my guiding light

Lead me to the touch that makes my life bright

A love that’s as deep as your endless sky.

Let me melt into the touch of her hand,

This shall be the only wish I wish tonight,

Cast all other dreams upon unending flames.

 

I will light the match and fan my dreams flames,

Promise me her touch before the day light,

The smile on her face I can feel tonight.

Dear star, oh dear star, that shines down so bright,

Do you feel the pain as I long for her hand?

Feel the depth of my love in your moonlit sky.

 

How many wishes shall I place in the sky

Will you fall from the heavens in a ball of flames

Because of my request to hold her hand?

Please hear my words for I shall have no light,

Can you catch a falling star, no longer shining bright?

My wishes are yours to answer tonight.

 

I dream of her hand and pray to the sky

Searching tonight for the lustrous flames

My wish before sun light, grant me star bright!

Copyright © Travis Tapley | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |

Sestina: Green Dream

Was it only in a dream
I saw green 
Willow bright
In the pathway full of fright?
Its loneliness caught my eye
Not to be tainted by the sweet

Smell of nectar golden sweet.
Tomorrow I’ll dream 
With a glisten in my eye
Deadened with the musty green
Of nightmarish fright
Which cannot outweigh the stars bright

But can compare to the caramel brightness
Of a nutshell so sweet
It gave the small one a fright
Though he dared dream
Of bigger things green
Which outshine the eye

Of nether eye
Can collapse into a bright 
Explosion of green
Not to be confused with the sweet 
Possible dream
That turns to frighten

Quickly.  Don’t deny the fright
It’s chance to catch your eye
For beauty holds even more than found in dreams
Despite the lack of bright or things sweet
Which weld together under the green

Of grandad’s willow tree so green
Whose dark corridors gave us a fright 
when young but nothing something sweet
couldn’t cure besides a look in the eye
of the beholder of bright
miracles in a dead winter’s dream

so when something green catches your eye
don’t ignore the fright you find could turn out bright
under willows sweet even if only in dreams.

Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

Symphony of Experimentalists

We all wish to be called Alice
And fly into a land of true dreams.
We all feel like connecting to beyond
The lines our horizon speaks of
Against the never ceasing ideas
That life is as good as music.

We could walk along the varying tempos of this music
And wander in dreamland like Alice
Whose wonder ignites ideas
That drums our dreams
And strings we strum; talk of
In our heart and breathe beyond

We join ideas of here and beyond
Like the different parts of music
Which spots our heart as we hear of 
The wonders that she, Alice
Lived in her very dreams;
A beautiful, welcoming ideas.

We sometimes swim in ideas
In symphonies without knowing beyond
The powers of our dreams
Which sounds sweeter than good music;
Wishing we could hold the hands of Alice,
The magical being we know of

And maybe whisper to her of
Happiness which is no more just ideas
That we float in at the mention of Alice
The one whose life was beyond
The grasp of music
We can only listen to in dreams

Yet, we still believe these dreams
Our hearts yearn for and beat of
Like the constant strumming of music
As a once sickly but made whole idea
Beyond
The stories we hear of Alice.

We remain envoys of good music
Just in style of a wonder; Alice
Who will always give life to our ideas.

Copyright © Simeon Chukwu | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sestina |

THE LAST DREAM

The last dream is about to die
along with this wonderful gift;
and if I lay it gently down...
not appreciating its true worth,
it'll turn into a mystery... 
until it will be known as a mere lie!

Life teaches us its indisputable worthiness,
but distractions sway our attention
from righteousness to destroy the fortress
that love built in these fearless hearts...
being susceptible to all kinds of dangers;
where's the might for redemption? 

How many of us could have known greatness
and be real models for those less fortunate;
and how many others are rediculed,as always,
for envisioning their dream and not realizing it?
That last dream will allow us to be hopeful
and to find ways to win all and venture none!

My wonderful gift and final dream,
in an earnest effort,must lift me
to the heights I was destined for...
to keep this vision from error,
so that others will follow:
as their interest and enthusiasm will grow!

The last dream isn't about to be laid down
and be forgotten for unexplained reasons;
it must continue to show its gorgeous rainbows...
where the colors are so dazzling and unique,
like the minds of all who worship the Devine:
a God who is invisible and yet is truly felt!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2005

Details | Sestina |

skipper's dream

“You must honor your parents, child!” Biblical-heavy demands echo of mother Loud! with firm-righteousness, while father, yelled for silence and an undisturbed dream… An odd mismatch thrived in hard-lived love entwined in natures’ play and mud-skippers… Safe to frolic, outdoors, a young skipper flew in free-sailing machinations of a child, wooden-spooned now and then by mother, who wished reality wasn’t so lost to father. “Do not waste your time on a useless dream!” Oh, but she told stories that resounded love…. …some filled with regrets of domineering love… Freewill lost to command of parent skipper: In the negation of the wishes of a child under the influence of a forceful mother, and the quiet acquiescence of a silent father - turned from self; to please, lived another’s dream… Embracing preached selflessness, one’s dream sacrificed. Is that not the essence of true love? What harshness it is to have the heart skippered! Strings pulled and led to skip as a puppet-child, grown to fall! I never planned to be a mother, but fool I fell, and found my child needed a father! On repeat, the cycle now: a whirlwind father sweeping everyone along into his dream, so assured in its arrogance and draining love, waving aside protestations for he is the skipper! This time around, he faces a smarter-evolved child, demanding logic of reasons, glaring genes of mother! Will I ever be skipper of my own dream? Now as mother, I tend to those of my child, and guard against a father’s, over-powering love.
(10/15/17: for parenthood contest)

Copyright © taai tekai | Year Posted 2017