Sestina Inspiration Poems | Sestina Poems About Inspiration

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

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Life's Garden

Sometimes I get lost in my dreams,
just wanting to escape this stressful life. 
I lose my way in a garden full of flowers
and search for never ending love. 
The sun shimmers from the sky in the summer 
glorifying the beauty of nature.

Peaceful, unharmed, and experiencing nature 
while I am in God’s country, it is not a dream. 
The cotton clouds and fresh breeze of summer 
fill my mind and body with love. 
Woods full of animals; I didn’t recognize all the life 
that surrounded the creatures like trees and plants

growing every day like the blooming flowers.
The howling, chirps, and grunts of animals in nature 
searching for something, could it be love? 
Only pure happiness survives within a dream.
Danger lurks and protection is the goal of life. 
These living beings emerge for the summer.

A hoot from an owl in the summer, 
who is hidden in the dark trees like buds on flowers.
Up high, away from predators and saving its life, 
it looks down upon the traveling beasts of nature.
At night, the owl keeps eyes wide open and doesn’t dream. 
In the morning, eyes closed perched on a branch to love.

A deer is every camouflage hunter’s love. 
Killers mostly keep away in the summer.
A cornfield, apple tree, and salt-block dream, 
the elegant animal waltzes through the flowers.
The brush welcomes the creatures of nature 
to bed down and hide from the bullets of life.

You ask yourself, “What is life?
and respond, Full of living and love.”
To experience life and the miracle of nature 
reminds me of a perfectly warm day in the summer
full of a variety of exotic unspoken, colorful flowers
of which will always define a perfect dream.

I will always be a part of nature for it is my life. 
The open window in my dreams leads me to another love.
Sweet fragrant flowers pedal me back to the home of summer.

Copyright © Amanda Lipsinic | Year Posted 2015

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Climbing ladders

Keeping your mind, healthy and open and taking that big step through the opportunity door; you’ll find going up, the career ladder, easy. It’s not always easy, to keep and open mind. Going straight up the ladder, opens many possibilities; open doors lay at the top, of the steps. You may not be taking steps; the climb up so many floors, is not easy. The illusive door of the human mind, is hard to keep open. Mind locks itself up. Go ahead, limb on up, take those steps; many opportunities will open and it will be easy, for your mind, to open its own door. When elevators close their doors and they glide slowly up; as you get off, mind your first foot step. You’ll find it very easy, any door to open. The world is full of, open opportunity doors. You’ll find an easy path, as you gradually rise up. No one wants to go, back a step; that thought alone, can open any clam shelled mind. Secure files open, with a code, quite easily. Through many a doorway; you’ll advance your steps. Climbing success’s ladder upwards; is simply an act, of the mind.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

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Muse Burning

Muse’s raging fire burns, 
though it’s time to sweep 
out her attic; to make changes.
Her attic is full of silvery webs; 
time to clear them away; 
new ideas, must be born.

The act of being re-born, 
makes the creative fires burn.
The old must be cleared away; 
given a good sweep.
Clear out the musty cob webs 
and create your changes.

Every single new born, 
comes to this world of change; 
they weave their little corner web, 
of progress  of which, their passion burns.
This great creative sweep; 
clears the dirt and scraps away.

Muse flies away 
on the winds of change.
Muse’s wings, sweep 
the skies and new ideas are born.
Her passion fire burns 
best, when free of old stale webs.

Cob webs and spider webs 
are all gone away.
Creative fire burns; 
spread by the winds of change.
Come and be reborn; 
within a self-expressive sweep.

The sacred sweep, 
removes all webs, 
to make room for newborns.
Sweep away; 
create your changes, 
with soul-fire’s holy burn.

Make your clean sweep; be reborn.
Weave new webs, with the power of change.
Just fire your ideas away and watch the after burn.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

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My Studies, You Drive

My incentive, you provide
Behind me, your seat was
My mind, stolen by your thought
To help was my ask, accepted you did
Animosity, was it all in my mind
A fool like me, you are not

Stressed was I, as my entrance was made
A book, had I ignored its presence
Claiming that difficulty, there was none
Your settlement, showed no panic
Stability, was yours to own
Calmness did your sight, share

My questions, did I pose
Seeking answers, was I not
Importance were they little, to me
Your voice, the only motive for my ask
To hate, you showed no intent
My ignorance had not dissuaded your care

Glances, did I steal many
Awkwardness was it a conception 
Your beauty, a pride in itself
My wishes to bring back what was, intensified
A norm did I want renewed
Change was my belief, not you

To write my paper, were there no obstacles
My passion, no longer constricted by an absence I moulded
A shackled heart, unshackled by you being
Forgetting you, was a choice no more
Art would be nonexistent, if your image was smoldered
A driven pen am I, when my side is not alone

Confidence was my bask, a length
Idiocy had you relieved me of, through purity
My actions had you not reflected
A wrath remembered by myself, but forgiven in your eyes
Study did I, conceding that your genius was of heart 
Whilst mine, a stem of love

Changed had my pen's drive, only
Dissuasion of my love, had I attempted through belief
Your sight a root of the potential, a fool claims

Copyright © Keshan Govender | Year Posted 2016

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INSPIRATION SPARKS WHEN

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


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


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


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

Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010