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Sestina Music Poems | Sestina Poems About Music

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

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Details | Sestina |

When I Dance

I seize time when funky drummer songs break
into my body robbing feeling of nerves making me fly
off floors with hips bouncing and shoes sweeping soot on concrete
I leave my history on any ground wherever I scuff my hands
and greet earth beneath me made of cement and sand
roughening calluses in

my upper palm and never do I feel more alive in
doing anything other than breaking
dancing on the floor that my fingers sand
with blood thrashing through my veins till I push and fly
legs flailing toward the moon; only my hands
feel this field of concrete

within the hour, ridges of concrete
rub against my knuckles as I guzzle in
air gasping for breaths that hit my hands
feeling this warmth pat me does nothing more than break
any possibility that I might be dreaming, flying
somewhere or dead drifting with sand
dirt smears its calligraphy in an ink of sand

when my shoes scrape concrete
markings on the floor inscribe stories and time flies
I see scratches my palms and shoes make in
a canvas of floors where I dance till the break
of dawn meditating with music, the bandage of my hands

I read life through my hands
brush rubble or throw sand
dancing off feelings of being lonely breaking
nostalgia of home because I can find that in concrete
the ground teaches me of pain on my skin or inside
my mind as I wander into a song flying
and falling over pebbles that gash my flesh blood flying
all directions and while wiping blood from my hands

I feel my age seeping the years I keep anxiety in
on a path of exhaustion counting thuds of my heart with sandpaper
hands I forge on concrete
I will slide-spin-tap the floor in harmony breaking

my life into stories of me dancing in all worlds I touch, showing the world my broken
rhythm in handling pain with hands pressed on floors people walk on in concrete
cities where I fly into freedom, puffing out, dying breaths, and taking all, breaths of life, in

Copyright © Krysada Phounsiri | Year Posted 2016


Details | Sestina |

Life Music

Oh, hear the rattle of the rolling train; yhe clap…clap…clacking rhythm, beating like a conga drum; every trip it sings along, with the tracks repeating song; such simple, inexpensive music. Listen to that music, of the heart-beat, of the train. Sing along, with its melodious song. Come, join in the rhythm; don’t you love, to sing along; with the clack..clack…chugging, of that rolling drum. Run and grab your bongo drums; we’ll play a little music. A grand neighborhood, sing-along, to the rhythm of the train. Oh, what a wondrous rhythm, is the old, Iron Horse’s song. In the heart’s, always a song; the body’s beating drum. It keeps on pounding out its rhythm; the heart beats of its Chrystal music; beats with tempo of the train’ just clap…clap…clacking, on along. All the people sing along, with the old Iron Horse’s thrilling songs. If with instruments, you’re untrained; perhaps you do not own a drum. Still, you can join the music; just clap your hands in rhythm. Revel in that rhythm, sing and play along. Just be part of the music and belt out your own song, to your own heart’s rhythm and that musical old train. Lighten up that rhythm and revel in the music. Have a glorious, sing-along, to the many beating drums. There’s nothing quite as joyous, as the songs sung with the trains.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

Nature Music

Land, sky and sea, sing their songs. Land sings of rich soil, for growing seeds; as the silvery sea, sounds its gurgling waters. It sings a medley to the blue And cloud-puffed sky. I lend my ears to that cloud-puffed sky; listening to its songs. At first, it makes me feel blue, but joy quickly fills my heart-seed; fed by spiritual rain-waters; that ride the winds from the heavenly seas. The wondrous, singing sea, sings back to sky and I enjoy the waters; singing those sweet songs, to the seeds in the soil and to seeds like me, who get the blues. As the sky of blue, sings to the seas and my seeds; they stretch leaves to sky and its wonderful song intermingles, with that of the waters. All seeds need water, to relieve their thirst-blues. I hum along with the songs, that ride my souls seas as they crescendo with heavenly sky’s; to quench the thirst, of all Gods seeds. I am a proud seed; I drink spirit’s waters; am nourished by Heaven’s sky, of sacred blue and silvery seas. I am grateful for those songs. I listen to the songs, that nourish all of God’s seeds. I thank the Earth and seas for their generous, cleansing waters. No longer do I feel blue and like my plants; I am also grateful to the Heavenly sky.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014


Details | Sestina |

The Dance

Strangers undulating with rhythmic ease 
Igniting the air with ecstasy 
While lights flash in spectacular colour 
Hot breath creates an intensity 
Of steam rising up through delirious sound; 
While damp, red silk caresses my skin 

Sweat beading on my baking skin 
As I slip through the spaces with practiced ease 
I am captured by the rapturous sound 
Of collective want and ecstasy 
Immersed in a world of fevered intensity 
Exchanging black and white for oblivious colour 
 
Feeling the music radiate wild colour 
As I slide across his skin 
His gaze, unmasking my passion and intensity, 
Holds me with confident ease 
Contact sparking transfixing ecstasy 
Our words are lost in booming sound 

The vibrations of his voice, a captivating sound 
My eyes temporarily blinded by colour 
I am clothed in a shiver of ecstasy 
As his breath strokes my skin 
Pulled together with incredible ease 
By impetuous desire’s intensity 
 
Our breath shallow, we move with intensity 
Lost in overwhelming sound 
Moving together with unfamiliar ease 
Overtaken by scent, sensation and colour 
Passion radiates from our skin 
Building in agonizing ecstasy 

The particles between us electric with ecstasy 
The pumping music loses its intensity 
As we lose the barriers between our skins 
Touching with breathless sound 
I feel the rising heat and colour 
As our lips come together with ease 

Our touching skin deadening all external sound 
In the intensity of dark-lit colour 
Our passionate ecstasy gives way to comforting ease

Copyright © Jenni Munn | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sestina |

In The Celestial Music

Celestial music rings,
riding waves,
in the ethers.
every note,
of every song,
does its aerial dance.

As voices in prayer dance;
reverberating rings, 
echo each soul’s song;
upon Etheric waves.
Every note, 
a precious gift on the ethers.

Souls ride the ethers; 
swirling, twirling, they dance.
The resonance, rings every note, 
like a bell rings 
out upon the waves 
of air, to build a sacred song.

Spirit songs,
on the ethers;
oike ocean waves,
in celebratory dance;
play celestial scales and bells ring
out each precious note.

Each bell-like note,
echoes its own set of songs,
like church bells ring
through the heavenly ethers.
All life will dance
upon those heavenly waves.

Earths ocean, womb-waves;
swirl and sway to every celestial note.
Back and forth they dance;
in rhythm to the songs,
as upon the ethers;
the music of life rings.

Hear the ring, on the waves.
Ride the ethers and become one with each note.
Absorb life’s song and with all life…dance!

Originally Written: 3-2014

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

Timeless Songs, My Cure

As my finger, triggers the sound
My heart ululates, in intoxication
Remembrance, is a gift in itself
Indescribable feelings, leading me forward
Being described, through each line I hear
Nostalgia, a joyous feat

The world's halt, is known
My feet, the only moment shown
Care for those who see, denied by the symphony
Where profanity bears no existence
A freed soul, does possess me
The understanding; mutualistic

Each word, mine as it is theirs
My mind, so accustom that copyright is forgotten
Add my own, I try
Though they who brought fame, made it gold
Treasures, will I never relinquish
A reprieve from my pain, offered through their show

Adrenaline, does it move me so
Motions, are they mine to control
My clothes, never asking to leave
To love, a possibility told once more
As they speak of great loss
Findings do resonate, in my being

The group, one with the groove
With pride they express, not chasing the background 
Their voices, not guised by theatrics 
Their arrival, a grace to my ears
Excessive sales, a want at most
To empathize with the listener, their only goal

Their personal lives, unquestioned 
Hope is all I desire, from their shared experience
Never met, but always a friend
When others left, standing by in grief
Maybe my art, unmoving to them
Their art will remain timeless, to me

With my pain, have they empathized 
A resonating nostalgia, plays through their timeless words
My findings, a cure to a cause 

~Keshan~

Copyright © Keshan Govender | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |

THE SUNNY ISLAND OF CAPRI

The sunniest island,
with its Sea Stacks standing out
of the Tyrrhenian Sea,
shimmers as sailboats glide
in timeless serenity...
Paradise's duplication in man's heart.


Winter brings no drifts of snow,
only mild breezes from Sicily,
and the tourist is always on the go,
exploring, discovering and wondering 
how this small island came to be...
when God stopped and began creating.


The sunniest island
with pastel houses perched on cliffs edges,
and ruins of castles and villas on rocky hills;
the loveliest island
in the Mediterranean garden...terraces
decked with common brooms and oleanders.


And as the mists vanish towards evening,
the quails are seen flying above, while the lemons' 
perfume is hard to resist...the beautiful landscapes are revealed;
sail away in the bluest sea ever seen by the human's eye...
spend the starriest night gazing over its glistening waves:
a traveler's dream realized in the sunny island of Capri!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

SAILS GLIDING ON THE SHIMMERING SEA

Sails gliding on the shimmering sea,
don't be hasty to engulf silence 
as the chapel's choir engages in a spiritual oratorio praising Him;
an octave higher or lower brings
their inspirational hymn to a desired sound of felicity...
those tones that the loud organ makes!



We, as they, are lifted by the sustenance of faith,
too pure and orthodox to extinguish our oneness of spirit;
adhering to rigid standards and beliefs...forbidding sin
to feed on its vain opprobrium and oppress purity!
We, as they, dwell in this oracle to outshine indefinitely,
and outreach every unreachable and unconquerable limit!



Sails gliding on the shimmering sea,
watch the advancing sunrays osculate the waves of the harbor,
and the optical images that reality conveys!
See the ospreys which learn their skill by osmosis...
that even the ovenbirds can't acquire;
hear the believers's proclamation presaging and predicating unity!



Irreverent  and doubtful soul, don't pursue vanity:
don't be similar to a prancing horse that surprises the rider;
don't prattle when foolishness becomes a hangover!
You have put too much effort into exhibiting your valor...
hardly serving a purpose and be totally useful;
be like the sails gliding on the shimmering sea!


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

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 |

PAST THE GRAIN FIELDS

Past the grain fields clanks the old train,
and it goes beyond the fertile valley;
then it vanishes amid the swaying hills,
not too far from the massive castle
built by the Normans, and it's pelted by rain,
washing the pollen off the golden yarrows.


I saw many wild kids playing with the yarrows,
laughing and hurling them at the passing train;
these rascals weren't intimidated by the rain
as the scorching sun reappeared in the valley...
reaching the steaming walls of the massive castle,
all robins were happy to take flight over the hills.


Somehow the lilacs survived on the eastern hills,
and quick relief eased the discontented appearance of the yarrows,
their drooping stems struggle to stand erect by the stately castle
only to be brought back to life by the whistling train;
but many were taken away by the flood straight to the valley...
they were too feeble to challenge the fury of the rain. 


Some occasianal sunray invited the quails to defy the rain,
as if harmony had a chance to return to the misty hills;
and they fluttered their wet wings and departed from the valley.
By instinct, throngs of butterflies flocked to the joyful yarrows;
people returning from the big city saw that spectacle from the train,
dreaming of a quiter past life inside the protective walls of the castle.


Falcons were the quickest and safest messangers of the castle,
they carried letters in their strong beaks despite of the rain;
and they never were distracted by anything, but they were faster than a train...
the journey was long...many days not soaring over the andulating hills,
or watching the dames of many charms picking up lovely yarrows;
and those gentry faces missed their adored falcons gone to the remote valley.  


The early-risers, peasants with callous hands, left the semi-dark valley;
and climbing the rocky slopes abundant with olive groves that led to the castle,
and walking they captured meadows swarming with awakening, gleeful yarrows...
remembering how sad and miserable they were being soaked by the pouring rain!
They sought shelter, but no tree stretched their brenches like they protected the hills; 
oh, they didn't mind the whistling and the clink-clank of the early morning train! 


Valley subsidized to darkness, finally clears of the boring rain;
castle guarded by the falcons disappears in the tenebrous hills...
yarrows fall asleep and cannot hear the whistle the distant train.


Entered in Jared Pickett's contest, " The Sestina "






 

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |

Love Like Music in the Rain

I waited in the foam, alone on the coast.
You were who I waited for. Give
me songs in every key,
pining and desire; be a messenger
bringing love, and I will empty
my heart of everything but you. Skies rain

pleasure when I am with you; the colors drain
away, melting into hazy wetness. The coast,
that brink, stretches in my mind, empty
miles lacking everything. I forgive
the distance; I will send a messenger
to deliver parts of me like ivory keys

on a piano, and you will press the keys
with velvet fingers, you will strain,
letting the music ring as a messenger
to your love. My words coast
across time, floating confetti. I can forgive
the distance. This love won’t empty,

but fills like a warm mug of chamomile. I will empty
my heart of everything but you. Your keys
clink as you leave, as you forgive
my sleep, as your kisses fall like rain
pattering the distant beach, that coast
I left behind when you, a messenger

came to me and I let you in. A messenger
sent your love, filling empty
spaces in me with golden joy. I coast
into slumber, my worries now too clunky
to carry. I let them go, free from the reign
of nervousness, insecurity. I forgive

myself for being afraid, for giv-
ing into a kiss. Words are my messengers,
drenching you in a refreshing rain
of my love. I am giddy; I empty
my heart of everything but you. Your keys,
I hear them jingle from the far away coast.

I will forgive the miles, empty
of you. A messenger retrieves your keys,
while on the coast, it rains.

Copyright © Robin Lane | Year Posted 2010

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 |

ANGELIC LULLABY

She  holds you spellbound, tempts every sigh,

her voice sedutive by its lullabye,

Her meaning envoking the unspoken word

Ever tender the call of her lovesong

This angel who thrives on the air of your breath

The movements of her heavenly rhythm


Closer  calls the invitation to feel her rhythm

Succumb to her female sigh

Ever so gently she releases her breath

The gentle sleep of her restful lullabye

Bequiled you fall to the music of her lovesong

With nothing more than the unspoken word


What secret does she keep so closely guarded? the unspoken word

The mystery of her movements swaying to her rhythm

How could a mortal man resist such a lovesong

His resolve given in a surrendering sigh

Returning his words in anticipation of her lullabye

He barely manages to catch his breath


His chest bursting with the urgency to take a breath

Her eyes adoring yet still  there's the unspoken word

Her song intensifys a passionate lullabye

The wind caressing nature to respond in rhythm

His need urgent as he pleads with loving sigh

He know's the ending of this Angel's lovesong


This captivation held by the chorus of her lovesong

How could such an angelic understand yet allow such loss of breath?

Again his strength fails him as he hears the relentless sigh

A language alien yet familiar, the assurances of the unspoken word

Delicately the harps resound the perfect rhythm

As his soul escapes to listen evermore to the enchanting lullabye


The sensations of her sound unbearable as she continues her lullabye

What kind of music is this she sings, this immortal lovesong

That holds a mystery unto itself, the defiance of her rhythm

Still he holds to his last dying breath

As she witholds the saving grace of the unspoken word

And all he can do is sigh


As this lovesong continues to play, immersed within the lullabye

His breath weakened to the faintest heartfelt sigh

Surrendering completely to her rhythm, the beauty revealed, the unspoken word.

Copyright © julie Cottingham | Year Posted 2008