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Sestina Hope Poems | Sestina Poems About Hope

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

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Details | Sestina |

Revel Joyfully

It was on a cold night in Bethlehem that hope was born
A babe lay in a manger as angels sang joyfully
Above the nativity a star shone casting bright light
Guiding the paths of three wise men to welcome our Savior
As shepherds flocked toward the illuminated holy site
The warmth from within still touches the hearts of all mankind

In remembrance we pray for harmony among mankind
As we celebrate the first Christmas, optimism born
In the Mideast soldiers bow down, recalling this wondrous site
For just one night thoughts of war fade, hearts are filled joyfully
They lay down weapons, focusing on the birth of our Savior
As they huddle together, sharing good will by camp light

In many parts of the world, homes illuminated by light
Peace touches the hearts of those who seek blessings for mankind
Church bells ring, signaling the arrival of our Savior
Souls are touched as the restoration of joy is now born
Worshippers proceed to mass, sharing greetings joyfully
If only each day could be filled with such a loving site

How welcome to see the sun rise each day on such a site
Hearts abounding with humanity from our inner light
With angels in each of us sharing good will joyfully
If I live to see such days, I’ll have new hope for mankind
Trust and faith would emanate, celebrating a Child born
A Child, a Leader Who would give His life as a Savior

Cast aside the trappings, focus only on our Savior
Keep in mind this first Christmas, a blessed and holy site
How wonderful it would be to see new harmony born
Differences seem petty as we revel in God’s light
Join me in expectations for the future of mankind
Like the seraphs let us sing out in hymns so joyfully

Make our future one that finds families praying joyfully
No greater inspiration than the birth of our Savior
From a Blessed Mother’s womb sprang a babe to save mankind
Let us be wise men, finding cause to worship at this site
War and hatred cannot exist within God’s holy light
Acceptance of each man’s worth can in joyful hearts be born

Raise your hearts, revel joyfully in our Savior’s glory
In cheer mankind recalls the site of a manger at night
Where neath a star’s light was born a King, the Son of our Lord  
 



* Sestina written for the "Joy to the World" contest.  

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010


Details | Sestina |

Life Lesson

                                   
I love being young, getting to ride the roller coasters.
The sound, tick, tick, tick, tick-like a heartbeat racing to the top.
Then, surprised even when you know it’s coming, dropped into the abyss.
Something always pulls it down, like gravity.
It’s frustrating, riding something so close to being dead.
So far away but still so close, seating rows.

I hate being so close to, yet so far from the row.
She was in with me on this roller coaster.
Adrenaline rushed my body so fast almost leaving me dead.
The blood flowed so fast emphasizing the highs of the top.
But something keeps pulling me down, gravity.
Here I am again, back in the abyss.

In the ride, weeks of no communication, the beginning of the end, the abyss.
The scariest. My worst fear of my youth. Looking back at the rows,
I see her, with my own image, my heart sinks more. I hate you gravity.
But it’s the only thing that fuels the roller coaster.
Nothing makes me happier than bringing it back to the top.
Let’s hope this isn’t so abrupt, so fast, like the last one, leaving me dead.

How I hope so much, so much hope still not dead.
The heart, the love, the eternal abyss.
Strikes me back with enough momentum to reach the top.
Lines, love, flashing like an old film, with rows.
Showing me a movie, reminding me of, a roller coaster.
The movie explained that the only thing that keeps it going is gravity.

Thank you gravity.
My worries are gone and dead.
Just accept it, and love the roller coaster.
Appreciate the loneliness of the abyss.
The reason you’re here is for the ride, not the rows.
I just want to enjoy the youth and its happy tops.

This coaster, like love has its tops.
But something brings it down like gravity.
Distanced with rows,
Never seeing her again, thinking she’s dead.
But deeper and deeper coming out of the abyss.
The complicated life of the young, the love of roller coasters.

Get on the roller coaster, rise to the top.
Don't worry about the drop to the abyss, It’s because of gravity
That you’re not dead, and I don't care about the rows.

Copyright © Marcus Jjaks Reyes | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sestina |

MIRACLE AT DAWN

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


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 |

Sestina of Self

I am the center of raw and wild feelings.
Born from an ancient spirit of infant and child.
Falling back in a womb of darkness, myself I discover.
Hiding in an egg, I hear a whisper.
My shell is touched by a promise in the wind's soughing.
Infinite breath of wind caresses, I, who am little.

I am conscious of little.
A time before definition or feelings.
Warm, wild wind soughs.
Motion stirs the blueprint of a child.
God in every breath, every whisper.
Take form and discover.

A bud must open in order to discover.
Hesitation and fear cry out from a bud so little.
Inside a chameleon wears it's feelings.
Fright filters through the pores of a child.
Leaf and skin shiver in a dark wind's soughing.

The angelic songs of a river soughs.
Life's song for us to discover.
Along the riverbank runs the child.
Of the future she knows little.
Reflecting in water a spectrum of feelings.
Their sound is a scream, a laugh, a cry and a whisper.

As I grow the acceptable sound is a whisper.
My tears often mix with a shower's soughing.
Bodies aren't meant to cover feelings.
They should be naked dancers that discover.
Their steps are big and little.
Dance with the flow trusting child.

As I grow older, in my soul lives the child.
My heart is the room where she shouts and whispers.
It's a never-land where she will always be little.
Hope sings in a tear-river's soughing
With care and love we'll learn to discover.
We are courageous explorers of feelings.

The child, her voice a prayerful wind's soughing.
A soft reminding whisper not to fear discovery.
Oh little love I am with you always, experiencing together our feelings.

Copyright © Tamra Amato | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

What Thing More Beautiful?

If there be some one thing more breautiful
Than to lie with you in warmth and dark,
I would fear that it might burn my soul away
Before the purging purity of light
Its perfection must diffuse.
Your love is all the beauty I may stand.

I carry what we make within this dark,
Our human near-perfection, out into the light
Each day; each moment as I stand
Against the ravages of life I take away
Those stains that fall diffuse
Upon my careless soul, and mar the beautiful.

It is the love of you that brings the light
Into the confusion of my doubtings' dark
Securing what fitful fate may bear away,
That grants the strength to stand
Opposed to all things foul, in alliance with the beautiful,
Committed to a hope as noble as it is diffuse.

There is a light that will not pierce the dark
As we lie conjoined, our love diffuse
About us as the night in little measures leaks away;
It would but blind the eye, if seen, this sacred light
Before which no ill thought may stand,
This light that paints the unseen beautiful.

All worthy things are also most diffuse
As are the light, the dark, the beautiful.
Their meanings advance, recede, then turn away
From our poor apprehension's gropings dark,
Even as our hope moves us to apply what light 
We may, to illumine that before which we stand.

So in the end, my mind, struck dumb, turns away
From the mystery, in consult to stand
With the heart within the lovethick dark
Where you lie near and shining without light
Within that sphere of all good things diffuse
About us, incomprehensible and beautiful.


No; there can be to me no thing so beautiful
As the light of you shining in unbroken dark:
Your love is all the beauty I may stand.

Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2007

Details | Sestina |

Rubik's Cube Sestina

It has not once left me alone, the stubborn beauty,
It has called to me to be at last solved,
But I had left its secrets alone, the unknown pattern,
Colors telling stories left running around my head,
Every fragment remaining present at my side,
I've been left no choice but to learn the cube.

Subtlety not a strength of the cube,
It flashes its routine as a show of beauty,
A rotation giving some new meaning on every side,
It screams to me to be done and solved,
I cannot resist the call as it echos in my head,
As I am inclined to find the natural pattern.

It is not talent that I decode these patterns,
Wisdom pours from the pieces of the cube,
Strength to body, to my soul and head,
Until at last I can interpret that stubborn beauty,
New puzzles presented, new puzzles solved,
It remains with me ever at my side.

Others have put it from their side,
Trampled or mocked the power of pattern,
Convince their being that in their hands it can't be solved,
They self trap in the confines of the cube
Every aspect of both simple and dense beauty,
Lock and seal and throw away the key of their head.

Shame to me if trapped ever is my head,
With only ignorant misery to ever be at my side,
Gray-scale and dull would I find natural beauty,
Confusion certain to hold even with simple pattern,
Never would comprehension visit the cube,
Ever distant the problems from solved.

Joy to the heart that you may be solved,
Enlightenment to minds you posses our heads,
Wonderful truth in so small a cube,
Do not ever leave me, stay at my side
And whisper closely all your practical patterns,
Thank you for being such stubborn, stubborn beauty.

The pattern of the cube,
Can only be solved on every side,
If the beauty is in my head.

Copyright © Justin Benassi | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sestina |

L-O-V-E

Love is a four letter word,
A word that makes people act absurd,
A thing that we want,
A thing that we need,
A thing we always take with greed.

Love, that four letter word,
I cry out, but go unheard,
The thing I want most,
The word we search for, a ghost.

Love is a four letter word,
A word that causes hurt,
A word that causes pain,
A word searched for in vain.

Love, the four letter word,
You cannot grasp or hold,
A thing that may never be,
But you'll find it in Him who is in me.

Love, not just a four letter word,
It is something we all search for.

Copyright © Savannah McFarland | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sestina |

A Changing Heart

Longing for heart-quiet
in the inevitable fall
into Winter’s short days of sun
forwarding to Spring’s
longer days — a circling back
in the sameness of time.

Heart-and-mind-numbing time
with no respite. A longing to quiet   
those thoughts playing back
battle after battle. The awful
repetition. Mind and life wasting.
And, in the darkest season,

the conviction that the sun 
will only half-rise in this lifetime
of mine. Feeling that sting 
as from a bee’s disquiet
of green slumber. Swelling to a fault,
every damned day. Slamming me back,

season upon season. Holding me back.
Chilling me with doubt that sun-
shine can overcome rainfall
and that, invariably, given time, 
better times will come and quietly 
advance into Spring. Fast forward, past Spring 

to Summer, and onto Fall springing
back to Winter, and round again. Flashbacks
ever more glaring under the sun, then, quite
out of the blue — a glance, a nod. Overrun 
with fluttering, my heart paces in time
with fledging love’s free-fall.

And, with the passing of another Fall,
Winter heralds in the sweetest of Springs:
daffodils and Easter bonnets — a lifetime
of celebration ahead, no looking back.
Past risk and reason, I bask in the sun
that is love’s shine. Rain or shine, quiet

in the peace of it all, Fall after Fall, back
to Winter, Spring, Summer. Quiet as a Spring sun 
bursting through clouds. Love, for all time, requited.

Copyright © Ruth Sabath Rosenthal | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

The Wakening

The world spins kaleidoscopic, a whorl of color in revolt.
Oceans quake malleable, molding into fissures of tectonic hunger,
ravaging the deep, stirring the primal need depressing
populations’ unseen to the denizens of land, disregarded in man’s wake.
From the diatom, to the whale, from the single cell to the open hand 
from the sun, to the stars, to the mushroom bomb, we’ve light.

Within the orb of eye, retinal flares of light,
an inside-out, upside-down, yin and yang revolution
juxtaposing wealth with poverty, as throngs rise  asking for hand
outs, aching with a human need to know, hungering.
Childhood has ended, the tell-tale snake does wake.
Death’s rattle will subside, as the head eats the tail of depression.

Communication will become the global antidepressant.
Natives in aboriginal huts and Inuit in igloos will see the light.
There will be no holding back the tide for hand in hand, each cell wakes.
No longer can knowledge be withheld. “Phone home,” a revolutionary
cry, the tit will not be ripped from the lips of hungering
humanity, the tyrant and the saint juxtaposed, their time at hand.

Instant communication, shall scrape the barnacles of blight handily.
The stroke of finger tip to key shall depress
and ignorance will flee, freeing the hungry
for the way out ,the way up, the key, light-heartedly
heads bowed in prayer, we shall revolt.
Let tyranny be eaten, and righteousness wake.

On the egg of earth, we float in celestial wakes.
Solar tides stir the shards of glass raising death’s hand.
Round and round the top spins each revolution
forced by the pumping thump of rods depressed
rods magnetized and charged with lightening
for we all hunger.

Each evolution a revolution, each thirst quenched brings new hunger.
Repression will never depress the desire to wake,
nor, will the fisted hand ever bring the light.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sestina |

A Boatful of Hope

Day has sunk and the old fisherman, like a well-trained athlete, rows his rugged boat.
Defying starry night's turbulent waves,
It cruises seaward, smooth and swift, like an agile proud fish.

Then, into his net a shooting star drops; hauls he a thousand delicate, bright starfish.
Guided by remaining stars, he comes home with a boatful
Of glimmering soft, fleshy crystals of hope to his daughter's eager waving

At the murky, starless bay. Her voice rushes out in tidal sound-waves.
She puts a finger in, fishing
One live hope, stellar and warm, out of what used to be a champion's sailboat.

Rocking the boat and making waves, their laughter splashes like a floundering fat fish.

(Form: loose tritina)

Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sestina |

THE COMMITMENT OF TWO PARENTS

Choosing that faithful woman to fulfill this fate,
she'll conceive a healthy baby with a loud scream,
a sweet cry so innocent piercing air and soul,
touch him tenderly, he is the fruit of our seed,
may his faith shed light on doubt and darkness,
let's hope that his deeds and words will be fine!

Growing up learning the right ways, he'll do fine,
these parents with their love will brighten his fate,
he'll experience loneliness conjured up by darkness;
none of our arguments he must hear when we scream,
let's assure him that we are proud of this gentle seed:
he'll understand what satisfies a man's empty soul!

Some will try to convince that life is separated from the very soul,
putting doubts aside, he must persuade himself that all is fine;
he'll remember who lifted him up at birth: the hands of his seed
and he'll thank his mother for being born despite an uncertain fate.
A lot of wisdom in everything is needed to survive and not scream, 
never straying from those words that he must avoid all darkness.

And he immensely influenced by our righteous ways, will not know darkness,
even being tempted, he wouldn't allow a little disgrace stain his clean soul;
if nightmares replace dreams, nothing will have to make him fret and scream.
Our hope in him is greater than any opposing force that implies is not quite fine,
but he'll stare at these two smiles that give him a brightness so denied by fate;
isn't it such a triumphant joy to have grown and tendered a perfect seed?

How can uncaring hearts abandon and not nourish a promising seed,
letting shadows surround him with scary images of lethal darkness?
Even at fourteen, he is too are fragile to fight the forces of fate,
he may look mature, but he seeks adventure without fearing any soul;
we watch what he does and we are certain his day will be really fine, 
and perhaps with our understanding, he will have no reason to scream.

To bear a child every woman must feel a great pain followed by a final scream,
than she will hold that tiny creature who tries to smile as she cuddles her first seed; 
before he was in her womb with little room to move, now he's being fed and feels fine.
Wouldn't a mother call him by name and he' would respond even in darkness;
her voice and touch will leave that feel of tenderness, he'll keep them in his soul,
and like us, he'll teach his children to grow in love despite the unfairness of fate.

Joy was heard in your scream, a lightning through darkness;
you touched him softly, cherishing the beauty of your seed... 
this will effect his deeds, he'll be very wise in dealing with fate.     

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

'The Wakening World

The Wakening World

A new world spins kaleidoscopic, a whorl of color in revolt.
Oceans quake, molding into fissures of tectonic hunger,
ravaging the deep, stirring the primal need depressing
populations unseen to the denizens of land, left in man’s wake.
From diatom, to whale, from single cell, to open hand 
from sun, to star, to mushroom bomb, we have light.

Within the orb of eye, retinal flares of light
an inside-out, upside-down, yin and yang revolution;
juxtaposing wealth with poverty, throngs rise asking for hand-
outs, aching with a human need to know, hungering.
Childhood ends as the predestined ouroboros wakes.
Death’s rattle subsides, as head eats the tail of depression.

Communication becomes the global antidepressant.
Aborigines in Australian huts and Inuit in igloos see the light.
There will be no holding back the tide, for hand in hand, cells wake.
No longer can knowledge be held. “Phone home,” a revolutionary
cry, the breast will not be ripped from the lips of hungering
humanity, tyrant and saint will be juxtaposed, their time at hand.

Instant contact scrapes the barnacles of blight handily.
The stroke of fingertip to keyboard or keypad depressed
sends ignorance fleeing, freeing the knowledge hungry;
showing the way out, the way up, the key. Light-heartedly
heads bow in prayer, the we will rock you will revolt.
Let tyranny be eaten, and righteousness wake.

On the egg of earth, we float in celestial wakes.
Solar tides stir the shards of glass raising death’s hand.
Round and round the top spins each revolution
forced by the pumping thump of nuclear rods depressed,
rods magnetized or charged with lightening
will energize the populous for we all hunger.

Evolution brings revolution, each thirst quenched brings new hunger.
Repression will never depress the desire to wake,
nor, will the fisted hand ever bring the light.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sestina |

Angelic Callings

Words on a page, sounds, Mother's calling
soft tones rose from leather tomes sweetly,
through rouged lips they tumble with love.
Lullabies call through the coldest of nights
as frost haloes about the curls, open-hearted,
eager, a child of contested love’s joining.

What would this chimera become now joined.
Oh what would be the result of this clarion call?
Angels wonder at the blend of unformed heart,
as words of Our Fathers resound so sweet
for the thrice kissed lips of child and overbearing night.
May all who come from the light delight in love.

May the child addressed bring comfort, bring love, 
grow in service to the higher good and join
the wholesome hearts who warm the darkest night,
for bringing comfort, kindness, and caring is a calling,
which teaches every opened soul of sweetness
and heals the aching angry sores of forlorn hearts.

With words of joy, and a voice full of heart
let her hands touch, and sooth, each pain lovingly,
with the like-minded teachers and nurses sweetening
the balm smoothed upon the brow of man, enjoined
to heed the call, the ancient ever-present call
of majesty in morning and peaceful rest at night. 

Each life presents its morning and ends in eternal night.
Each soul stores fonts of happiness and heartache.
Conception buds and blooms, sending out a clarion call
enjoining all who have the healing gift to garner love.
Gentle ones, who plant the seeds, tend the hearts join…
be the humble gardeners of the meek and sweet.

What task could be richer or path sweeter
than that of those who doctor, and nurse, and warm night?
Tender hearts and helping hands come together, join…
in the higher consciousness of he’s and she’s heartfelt.
Raise the banner; fly the unifying flag of healing love,
make this your onward path the Way, the Red Road your calling.

For what is sweeter day or night for each are joined,
heartily we love and live to heed these fine callings.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sestina |

GRACE

The autumn sky attunes itself to hearts,
a sour grey murky wash where lost eyes tire.
with insubstantial dust it affects so,
that vision blurs and minds retreat to when
those aged weary organs last supped hope;
and still they seek to quaff before it fades.

Mere dregs they hunger as the last joy fades
to quench beyond their volume broken hearts
and rehydrate that desiccated hope,
rejuvenate the goals before lives tire,
that minds may ponder not upon the “When?”
but concentrate on “What next?” and “How so?”

To take uncertain step, and take it so
as not to fear the fall if stair it fades,
would stir adrenalin so’s not to tire
the fragile confidence of tender hearts,
that they might respond quickly, those doves, when
presented opportunity to hope.

This then the grace of God, the wisp that’s hope,
which we in arrogance might dismiss so
upon our slightest whim and if and when:
an employee who on our command fades.
this grace exists beyond the grasp, the hearts:
phenomenon which will not doze nor tire.

See now how eyes do genuinely tire
as surcease emanates from new-found hope,
providing respite for those weary hearts:
hammock of restful sleep delivered so
the love embattled souls may rally when
their combined lumen some dark agent fades.

Thus through harsh winter flare as daylight fades
with fuel of ‘the multiverse’ entire,
the essence of which Lazarus lit when
his sisters had begged balm of Only Hope.
Such embers must be stoked to fierce blaze so
The Darkness may not touch creations’ hearts.

Faith should not tire when allocated hope.
Our God heeds not the ‘when’ of our say-so,
but stokes each heart with love that never fades.

Copyright © Perry McDaid | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

Ingredients of Life

What's a sweeter gift than love?
What's the greatest wealth than hope?
What's a richer state than faith?

It behooves you to live by your faith,
And keep aflame the spirit of love,
Woe befalls him who derides hope:

Nothing is drearier than a life bereft of hope,
And he's a lost soul who's without faith,
But unfortunate is he of all who's without love.

All is lost when one loses love, hope and faith!

Copyright © Abdul Malik | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sestina |

TWO STARS IN A CHILD'S FUTURE

Choosing a faithful woman to fulfill this fate
to bring forth a baby with a loud scream;
sweet cry so innocent piercing air and soul,
touch him tenderly: he is the fruit of our seed!
May his faith shed light on doubt and darkness...
let's hope that his deeds and words will be fine.

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

Lament The Loss and Nurture Hope

Drought cooks a garden; 
foliage’s veins and arteries burn.
One wonders if rain will return; 
the ground, an abstract of cracks.
Baked by the sunlight, 
plants retreat; leave desolate dry land.

Miles of parched land, 
can’t share its lifeblood, with thirsty farms and gardens.
Farmers pray for rain and sunlight; 
when they lose crops, they feel nature’s burn.
Dying fields of cracks, 
pray in secret for rain’s return.

As the farmer prays over his tax returns; 
he lists lost crop overhead and pictures his dry land.
A tear falls upon the memory of dry, gaping cracks.
Unlike the gardener both feel the same burning.
Both are vulnerable; farm and garden;
to the ultraviolet blades of searing sunlight.

Many years of fiery sunlight,
Without rain, leaves a bleak tax return.
A farmer’s inner light still burns; 
he’ll see, if a job, he can land.
He and the gardener,
will have success; when the spring rain fills the cracks.

Over-achieving clouds spit; crops thrive in the sunlight.
Unlike the gardener; 
The farmer has a more interesting tax return.
Spring rains will fill the gaping cracks.
At one with the land,
his rage, no longer burns.

Come fall, his fireplace logs, will burn.
The coming winter, brings its own style of cracks.
Snow-blanketed land,
gleams in the sunlight.
When spring makes its return;
birth comes to crops and gardens.

Both celebrate, with anxiety burning;
formulating planting plans, for their land.
Land without cracks, 
will yield plants, upon the rains return.
Praying that the sunlight,
will be kind to their crops and gardens.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

Raven's Love and Hope Kept Alive

Part II



“I walk a decrepit graveyard alone, in mists stirred by contrast winds
As a storm brews, I am grateful that I know in my heart he's alive 
Skies bream with promise of torrent rain and shelter must be found
It appears; I’ve lost my shawl, and feel the cold chill even as I dream
I’m convinced it’s due to the storm; not because I walk amidst the dead
Further, I see through clammy mist a mausoleum, looms in the silence 

As I near those rusty iron gates, leaves rustle loud in the silence 
And I picture armed vagrants once here, perhaps chased by the winds
Now I rest assured, I am alone as I search this place of the dead
Painful moans erupt from within; my heart leaps; could it be, he's alive?
‘Who are you?’ My hear raced fiercely, convinced, this concludes my dream 
Intermittent moonlight cast upon the floor, My Ross, at last is found!”


In a tomb her Ross laid in the silence; by love and hope kept alive
Calling upon soft summer winds; manifested in persistent dreams 
Which resounded that among the dead, her beloved would be found

~*~
By Annalise Brigham
For: A Rambling Poet’s “Among the Dead” Contest

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

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 |

HE Brings JOY to the World

“Joy to the World : The LORD has Come”
I dance upon the clouds, racing to Glory
I look upon my life and smile ; Thank-YOU
Dear GOD , with utmost Joy I receive YOUR Grace
The Beauty of YOUR Creation, grasps the Heart
I can see Eternity; Everlasting, Forever and Always

“Joy to the World : The LORD has Come”
I climb the Stars to Heaven., my Savior : YOU
Jesus my Lord, Everlasting, FOREVER and Always
I Waltz upon YOUR forgiving Rainbow of Glory
Knowing Each Prayer Request, from a True Heart :
Joyously, HE answers ; with the Joy of HIS Grace

Do YOU see the Joy in the Smile of a Broken Heart?
Is the Everlasting Ballroom dance, a Dance to Glory :
To entwine in the Joyful, fulfillment of HIS Grace
I can see Eternity; Everlasting, Forever and Always
I look upon my life and smile ; Thank-YOU
“Joy to the World  : the LORD has Come”

Do You see the Joy , YOU  will receive in Glory?
When YOU  Entwine , in His Everlasting Love : Always
Knowing, that the path of Life, is the Joy of his Supreme Grace
Knowing He is the Joyful beat of a forlorn and lonely Heart
His LOVE and Salvation, the Love of  “Jesus”  :He offers YOU
“Joy to the World : the LORD has Come”

I  Pirouette : Toe to Heel , a joyful  path ; I dance to be with YOU
Knowing the Joy, of the Saviors’ Blood, knowing His Eternal Grace
How Joyously, I come to Thee  ; YOUR Liege , FOREVER : ALWAYS
Will this Dark Soul, this Blacken Heart , Forever know YOUR Glory?
“Joy to the World : the LORD has Come”
Almighty God has given me the LOVE and Joy of a Heavenly Heart

I can see , Eternity : EVERLASTING, FOREVER, and ALWAYS
“Joy to the World : The LORD has Come “
In the clouds, the Rainbows, the Stars to Heaven : all Life; HIS Glory
How Blessed, am I to know GOD’S Joyfulness of Infinite GRACE
I look upon my Life and Smile : Thank-YOU
The Joy of LIFE , in Sunshine ; in Shadows, Dances in my Heart

YOUR GRACE ; FOREVER and ALWAYS, Entwines my Soul
My HEART : FOREVER and Always beats as one with YOU
I Come Joyously to frolic In an ETERNITY of GLORY with YOU

Inspired By the Contest "JoY to the World" Sponsored By LIGHT and LOVE :
                                       " Deborah Guzzi "

Dedicated to my " GOD " and his Only Begotten Son : My Savior : Jesus



 







 

Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2010

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 |

Ode To Joy Of Changing Seasons

Sunlight at an angle dancing through colored leaves
Cool nights to snuggle beneath the sheets; warm days of ease
Last of gardens harvest; goodbye to summer's bees
Joyful time to harvest soon days a breeze
Pumpkins, winter squash, turnips, and peas
Food in bounty stored away for many days

Christmas will be upon us in just a very few days
The yard will be raked again and again to rid of leaves
Garden vegetables will be stored also cooking of peas
For right after Christmas comes New Years Day with ease
The howling winds will blow and it won't be just a breeze
But now all the bugs have disappeared_gone are the bees

We will not have to worry with yellow jackets or bees
As the night grow longer and shorter the winter days
March soon will come in bringing its strong breeze
Those indominable buds show forth on the trees soon leaves
We will float into warm days and beauty of  spring with ease
Now we will have eaten most of those delicious peas

Soon in the newly planted garden_those early June Peas
Newly hatched from their hiding places comes those bees
Just lying around in the hammock with all this ease
These wonderful times_joy of longer days
Joy, oh! joy and joy again with spring's green leaves
Soft and gentle comes a blowing spring's warm breeze

But there is one less chore now for there is no raking leaves
Afternoon in the lazy hammock oh what ease
Glad that in the garden and Pampas Grass stay those bees
These times in life are just fun and a zephyr breeze
Summer comes with the picking, shelling, and freezing peas
These times are wonderful long sunny days

But soon slowly fade, then the change in those leaves
Summer still has a lazy few days with comfy ease
Even if the pollen draws those hungry stinging bees
From the west and north come a much drier breeze
How thankful that we have those great peas
Soon fade those longer sunlit sunny days

No raking leaves in winter, only by firelight with ease and read
All those pesky bees gone now, on the currents winter's breeze brings flurries
Now dine on peas put away to eat on cold fruitless days of old man winter

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010

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 |

Sangina

Happiness be like the flower of my heart
Knowledge comes in soul
Surprised to see in the world.
The problem of the world to fight
Suddenly be scared in life comes strength
Feet be with hope has freedom.

Copyright © Ronjoy Brahma | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |

Gone Was The Night

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

Details | Sestina |

CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION IN MY CITY

Many Christmas Trees are seen
around the Yule season in my city;
they all are very tall and beautiful,
but the Rockefeller Plaza's Norway spruce
is the most gigantic and spectacular
with its multicolored, gleaming bulbs.   


Come to the city, where kids turn into angels:
they seem real cherubs being sent by Heaven itself,
and these angelic messengers love to play 
their carols to announce Jesus joyful birth;
come closer, look up and hear those voices greatly
rejoicing in this bright corner of the earth! 


Sit down in front of it and dream
of the gifts stacked underneath your pretty Christmas tree,
but the most precious is this one, only decorated with lights;
and its green color and sheer simplicity,
can begin making a glorious memory!
And which carol will you sing for the crowds?


Christmastime is a wonderful experience on New York City's streets: 
stores, pubs, restaurants and shops dress up with dazzling decorations,
every street has a Santa ringing a bell and spreading good cheers;
where else can you find kind folks wishing strangers a Merry Christmas? 
On Christmas Eve, Saint Patrick's Cathedral echoes with hymns...
and Child Jesus smiles at children as they caress His soft face.  


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

A GRIM OUTLOOK

Prices rising:  the reality of this plunging economy,
thriftiness and frugality are greatly demanded
in order to survive, and having less to spend
is a deterrent to those once-easily-obtainable luxuries;
I have become very frugal, to buy more for less,
and waste of food is not allowed to incur scarcity...


I squandered my money on items laying in unopened boxes,
never displayed:  I could have saved those dollars,
and not put on a grim outlook as dispirited as this;
so embittered and hard-to-get-used-to, and yet hopeful that
the New York's Stock Market will improve, by the bell's sound,
bringing stability to the Nation and the optimist's mind... 

  
The extended warranty on my Honda has run out,
and repairs must wait...back on jammed buses and trains,
standing up and putting up with noisy and naughty kids;
my savings account is running dry and worries amount,
repression or recession are bad news for an honest working man:
no planned vacations, and no expensive gifts for that matter...


Here, in the United States, Mega Millions and Lotto promise to make people millionaires,
but every winner has deprived himself of many needed things
before striking it rich, and with tons of money:  how will one handle it wisely?
For now, this fate remains unchanged...following the same routine:
getting up and going to work, just being normal and making ends meet;
being thankful to have a job to ease up this grim outlook:  not awfully dull and daffy...


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

AN ENRICHING EVENT

I ask for nothing,
just relying on Providence;
surprisingly I will experience
an enriching event
that fate has sent...
does anybody wonder why I sing?



I age, and furthermore I feel younger;
wrinkles appear to attest their reminder
that my troubles are of another sort,
and despite more unpleasant occurrences confirming my tort:
these upheavals are raging storms that will soon pass,
and this phase is the ultimate test!



Destiny, unfold this enriching event,
and usher in an age of contentment;
the vitality of these years don't reflect fragility:
resolute and strong, hopeful and diligent...
I can face any hurdle and defy tragedy,
and the hardest challenge is finding trust!  
 


An enriching event was predicted in my natal chart  
and astrologers are putting much effort in their research,
to assure me that a better tomorrow is coming;
and should I place my total trust in them,
and catch a rare glimpse and be content...
but Who has given me a last chance at living?



I could never be guided by the unpredictable stars,
what I am amazed about them:  is their mysterious glimmer,
but fortune and wealth is the damnation of the sinner,
of that one cursing God for all the plagues and sorrows
inflicted upon them...to punish them for all that was taken without honor
and appreciation;  and wouldn't they envy the one opening the golden door?



My harvest is finally ripe, and spacious fields offer their abundant fruits,
every bird has a more sonorous song to make me feel vibrantly alive:
o larks and nightingales, let your joyful ode reach the Heavens above!
My blessings have been too numerous to be counted and this joy exalts 
Him with a gratefulness that is equal to every breath I inhale and exhale;
when peace blends with silence:  a realistic Heaven is an enriching event!


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

Split Temptation

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