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Sestina Nostalgia Poems | Sestina Poems About Nostalgia

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

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Details | Sestina |

The Legendary Wild West

Back in the days, when men bold,
spun golden legends;
of exploits in the wild west;
of punch-in and herd-in cows
and saloon brawls where they’d shoot
and scores of bullets roared.

Stories of the Iron Horse’s roar
and gunfighters and marshals, bold;
Of gamblers, who’d go shooting
for the stars in cards; those were feats of legend.
Days when plains of cows,
fur-painted the landscape of, the old west.

These are the breed that won the west,
as across the plains, the Iron Horse roared.
those are the backs worn, herding cows;
the exploits of the brave and bold.
those brave and haggard legends
made of silver spurs and pearl-handled shooters.

You’re darn toot-in, shoot’in
like that, was what won the west.
While the Iron Horse died, its legend
lives on, belching out its roar,
across the plains, so bold.
Still, cowboys herd and rope their cows.

Modern day cowboys, herding cows
by truck and shootouts 
no longer ring so boldly.
Wild no more, is the west,
where now, only cars and planes roar.
Yet, there still live the legends.

They aren’t as great, these new legends, 
but it doesn’t phase the cows.
They calmly graze, amid the airplanes roar.
Though one may say, “shoot,
it’s spoiled now”, the legends live on, in the west, 
of heroes brave and bold.

The west will always, have its legends, Though trains no longer roar.
Cowboys will always rope their cows, as they did in the old, wild west.
Upon museum walls, stories of the shootouts,
are told; of ancient heroes brave and bold.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015


Details | Sestina |

To Find The Girl That I'd Love Best

To find the girl that I’d love best (A Sestina, 19 May 2014).

I thought to set upon a quest;
One that would put me to the test
So I left my cold and empty nest
And proceeded with vigor and zest
To find the girl that I’d love best.
Thus I left my castle in the west.

So proceeding from the west,
I set upon the aforementioned quest
To find the girl that I’d love best.
The trek was long, surely a true test,
That sometimes wore out my youthful zest
And made me regret my empty nest.

I did not turn back to my empty nest,
That was now far distant in the west,
Rather took heart to recover my zest
And with renewed hope continued my quest
Resolving to finally beat the test
To find the girl that I’d love best.

At a fork I chose the road that I thought best
Would lead to my fairest lady’s nest
But I was deceived by this beguiled test
And turned back around towards the west
To retrace my old footsteps of my quest
And returned to the fork with much less zest.

On the other road moving with less zest
I by chance met the girl that I’d love best.
She saw that I was on some kind of quest
And offered me sustenance within her nest
I desired to take her to my home in the west
And realized wooing her would be my final test

So preparing for this final test,
I pursued the charming girl with zest.
She consented to come with me to the west,
Therefore I won the one that I’d love best.
Thus I took her home back to my nest
And finally fulfilled my loving quest .

It never really was for me a test to tolerate the girl that I loved  best.
So I cherished her with love and zest; because she took the emptiness from my  nest.
Thus I never again set foot out from the west for another lengthy silly quest.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

WHEN LOVE WAS INNOCENTLY GIVEN

When love was innocently
given and this once gorgeous boy, merely fourteen,
choose a red-haired girl 
to be his special friend;
he offered her a smooch sweeter than honey, 
to find delight on her rosy cheek... 


She smiled back and shyly kissed me,
I plucked a blue lily from a meadow painted in green,
and put it in her soft hair resembling Autumn's auburn leaves;
some warm raindrops fell on her brown eyes so pretty,
decorating her lovely face with happy tears:
while a robin, with yellow wings, spied on us with curiosity...


Sweetheart, you certainly were surprised and much pleased
by the performance of my first, phenomenal kiss,
which lasted longer than it should have, indeed;
you thought I wasn't old enough to feel both affection and bliss:  
without knowing the meaning of their profundity,
but I felt a desire that couldn't wait until I reached puberty....  
  
  
My adorable darling, adolescence has endured, not passed,
and age has made you extremely charming and beautiful!
I have grown and look as handsome as a fair prince,
recalling that moment which never slipped into a time so vast: 
a memory cherished by a thought so fond and reachable,  
to relive that gallant gesture of warmth and innocence...
     

When love was innocently given and kisses
were the fragrance of delicate roses,
these lips touched to share tenderness;
oh, those young hearts were not vain, greedy and shallow;
all the spontaneous smiles were genuine surprises:
adolescents sharing laughter, cuddling under the splendid rainbow!    

 
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009


Details | Sestina |

MY NOSTALGIC MOOD

Abundant rains pelt
on the window's foggy glass
with a rhythm too sad;
mist, raindrops and dreariness
deepen my nostalgic mood:
when sunshine was felt at noon....


The orchard's petals 
adorn the small cupid's head
over the fountain:
an oasis for robins;
today, they don't warble,
but sip water from their well...
 

From this window-sill,
daisies, dangling from their vase,
struggle on their stems  
only to commiserate, 
with their sympathetic glance,  
my nostalgic mood of brighter days...


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |

THE CLOSEST COMPARISON

A cherub with a rosy face
and plenty of curly hair
that the breeze loved to lull,
more than the daises so fair;
and that was the closest comparison...
to the beautiful child he once was!


The youngest dreamer ever to be born
with eyes as bright and lively as stars,
such were his to take imagination
beyond every possible dimension;
and such was the closest comparison...
to see himself as the beautiful child he once was!


He grew up too fast with an instinct
that was immensely blessed;  so keen,
privileged and gallant seemed that fearless
kid not to be able to earn one's keep,
to make perfection the closest comparison...
to the beautiful child he once was!


The shady paths covered by the swanky pine trees,
were as dusty as any country road which needed rain,
and it came without ever wishing for it;  and he welcomed 
it by getting wet, to lose himself in its gentle peace;
and what other closest comparison would he have made?...
If not that of the beautiful child he once was without worry and pain!   


Entered in Deborah Guzzi's poetry contest


Copyright 2009  by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009