Sestina Food Poems | Sestina Poems About Food
These Sestina Food poems are examples of Sestina poems about Food. These are the best examples of Sestina Food poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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No mother would fill up her eyes with tears of woman...
if it weren't for God performing a miracle at dawn,
as she cried out in joy and held her baby in trembling arms
but shed many sweet tears hearing his laughter so loud;
oh, he couldn't see her mommy's face through his tiny eyes,
and it will be long before he'll will utter the first word, " Mom."
Now that baby sleeps under the attentive look of his mom,
who's too young to become a mature woman;
many visions of this birth crossed her gleeful eyes
she dreamed of the very same words whispered at each dawn,
repeating them in her silly head as if they sounded too loud...
while cradling a pretty doll in her folded arms.
Will she be welcomed home by her parents opening their arms?
Will they reprimand her and not consider her a legal mom?
Perhaps they will not be angry and speak not so loud:
girls are supposed to be girls, not suddenly turn into woman...
So this innocent girl, deceived by a bad boy, must wake up at dawn
when her baby cries and feed him with scary, childish eyes?
Nights seem longer for her, trying to stay awake rubbing her eyes,
what she beheld in those exciting eyes, now it's a burden in her weary arms;
she remembers that pain was too unbearable, but joy more sublime at dawn...
how will she learn how to care for the infant by watching her mom?
She must have seen a nursery or read a book how to think like a real woman,
and can anyone imagine how she keeps that secret instead of revealing it loud?
She must gather enough courage inside to feed her baby who can't cry loud,
but for now she must carry that baby without sighs of distress into her bright eyes;
and her parents can see the changes making her a loving person already woman;
they may ask questions to why she has gained weight and holds dolls in her arms...
no, they aren't anticipating great news and in doubt, they await a splendid dawn.
Mother and daughter closely together amazed by the coming dawn,
any concealed secret can be easily spoken...somewhat joyful and loud;
they imagine the infant's futures will be part of grandma and mom!
Their reunited hearts come together to show love in their delighted eyes,
and they'll take turns feeding the new-born, tenderly lulling him in their arms;
what if forgiveness hadn't been there to deny her all of the joys of woman?
Would a mother deny her daughter compassion as a good woman?
Even God hurried dawn to offer that gift into her gracious, tender arms...
and those arms accepted it with the gentleness and kindness of mom.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
You've got time to book free
So, in two weeks you're off
You've got time to pack up
You'll enjoy the travelling
Learn so much there
It'll be good for you to relax
We've got two weeks off
A count down to being free
We should pack it all up
It's stressful travelling
We'll unwind when we're there
We'll give ourselves time to relax
Today's the day I'm all packed up
I'm on my way two weeks off
I've got some time to be free
I get motion sick travelling
I'll take some pills when I'm there
Then, I'll be able to relax
No more travelling
Clothes are all sorted and hung up
What to do? I've got two weeks off
I could read by the sea in a hammock; free
I could wear sunglasses there
Have time to snooze and relax
She throws a blanket here and there
Catching the breeze as they're travelling
The parasol sways where it's put up
It's about time we shared two weeks off
So, she can let her hair go free
Bask then tan quickly and relax
You said we had no more time to relax
You didn't want to leave there
You said you were tired of travelling
You said you felt like throwing up
You'd enjoyed the time off
You said you were free
You are no longer free
We returned to a house with lights off
I say I'm fed up
I say I'm miserable from travelling
We share memories of when we were there
You say it doesn't matter where you are; just relax
Copyright © Zack Dicks | Year Posted 2016
Roxy as the loudest rottweiler in Waterbury, an historic town in Connecticut,
Roxy was a vigilante dog, which never let a stranger or a burglar in;
once this ranch home was a haven, thanks for the love she had shown!
While I was watching my favorite movie, she joined in with interest;
I padded her to let her know that I approved of her curiosity,
and I spoiled her with foods that dogs shouldn't eat: like cookies and pastry!
On the sunniest days of spring and summert, we spent many hours playing, I threw the ball
and she would find it anywhere on the lawn and bring it back breathing heavily;
whoever says that dogs can't be human?....They have already proven that to us
by being our best friends! A dog can rescue a child from a burning house,
and jump into the coldest pool and bring that baby unharmed to safety;
and many of them take risks that we wouldn't take, to protect us in dangerous situations!
Canines have been our bodyguards since ancient times...Homer, the blind poet, had one, too,
but what they don't have is a spirit like ours, that spirit which returns, upon death, to God;
and will they ever go to Heaven with us? Our answer should be no, but the odds of taking
them with us, wouldn't be favorable, so we must leave them behind in their earthly dwelling!
When we'll be resurrected by Christ, we'll remember these loyal and dear companions
that shared our affections, our joy of loving, and our same fate: living and dying like we do!
Roxy was the gentlest and the most affectionate dog that ever lived, Roxy kept me from harm;
and what she gave was more than anyone could ever give! And my appreciation and gladness
were demonstrated in my caring ways: making sure she was well-fed and had plenty
of water to drink, when I would be gone for hours...and on my return, she would greet me
with a loud bark, and licking my cheeks, she jumped on me and tickled me with her paws!
Roxy was a gift from a neighbor who died alone; she entrusted her to me, and called me son!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009