Sestina People Poems

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

The poem(s) are below...

Details | Sestina |
Alone, there I stood by the bench in the park.
On a leash by my side, my protective young hound.
In the distance I heard the echo of whispers;
As a dark hooded figure approached in a cloak.
She stopped and looked at me this beautiful maiden.
Rose like lips smiled gently, against skin bright and fair.

She took down her hood, released hair long and fair;
I offered my hand and on bench did we park.
We looked at the stars appearing so maiden;
As we talked of our youths and her company I did hound.
Then the moon cast its shadows and darkness did cloak;
Whilst trees bustled, rustling, the night timely whispers.

As we cuddled up close, to get warm friendly whispers;
It grew colder, I gave my jacket and said it wasn't fair.
So we got up to leave and she bunched up her cloak;
We walked to the car to the place I did park.
In the back did we place my faithful friend hound,
And we drove into the night on our journey so maiden.

We drove and we drove till the dawn arrived maiden.
To the rustling chorus of natures whispers;
And a fox searching for breakfast did stalk and did hound;
Saw chickens, roosters and hens such a fair!
In burrowed field did monstrous combine park,
Whilst autumn leaves rained tumbling natures cloak.

We went to my home and and we hung up the cloak.
Then I partook a chance to kiss the hand of my maiden.
While we spoke of the night at the park.
We enfolded ourselves to bodily whispers;
And I nestled amongst all of hair fair;
But when in heat of moment the barks of my hound.

A knock on wall from angry neighbors, please shut up the hound.
So I fed him, watered and let him outside; around me her cloak.
Then returned to my angel so beautifully fair,
Her skin looked so radiant my heavenly maiden;
That I caressed it so longingly, with gentle whispers,
Then stopped and remembered the leash in the park.

Then cursing the hound; I tell the dear maiden.
Dressed quickly, coats, cloak; and I love you whispers.
She tells me not fair, and we go to the park!!!

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |
Never will another season bring so much joy
A feeling of love, togetherness and happiness
Ring out them festal bells and let’s be jolly
A savior was born, condescended, we are happy
We go to church, offer praise most joyful
Screams of delight, Children playing happily

Lovers holding hands gazing happily
At the beautiful sites, mountain's peaks, rivers of joy
Birds singing sweetly in the air, their songs so melodious and joyful
Every home, through their windows flowing sounds of rapture and happiness
The drunk on the street had one wish to make him happy
Give me some rum, he said, that will make me good and jolly

I played this song last night and it is so fitting, for the topic says Joyful, Joyful
It’s the season of good cheer, a time to give, to dance, to eat and be jolly
Only you can determine your level of happiness
To give of your means it is easy, but to give of yourself many cannot do this happily
Give without grudge, with no intention to receive, that's how giving becomes a joy
To exercise these gems will cleanse the soul; give warm feelings, make us happy

Laughter in the trees, laughter in the breeze, season of laughter, everyone is happy
Gift for baby, gift for mommy, gift for daddy, even the cats and dogs had to be joyful
What the world craves, so elusive for some, thank God in His love, we find great joy
Come one come all let’s jump on the bandwaggon, riding the coach called Super Jolly
The invitation is out, don’t settle in doubt, cast off your cares, ride with us, happily
Great people great love, warmth, sharing caring, all things good gives you happiness

Take friends, co-workers and fellow poets, toss in this great soup pot of happiness
Recycle love, make this world wonderful, song writer says, ‘don’t worry, be happy’
The world needs people who are positive, will see the best in others happily
A smile, a word of cheer, a few words of encouragement, make another’s day joyful
‘Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way’, what good is that if we are not jolly
The Lord has come, so unto this world be peace, love, and most important of all, joy

There is truth and beauty in the person with happiness, looking radiant and joyful
I would give my money just to be happy, to see my loved ones and friends real jolly
Luxury of life I would trade off hapilly, to have the thing the world craves for, joy

Copyright © Joy Wellington | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |
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 |
My seed, I must admit I never even once wanted
Sitting unreallisticaly, at a doctors office
Waiting for my name to be called and to terminate this

Copyright © shane solomon | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sestina |
Christmas Sestina: Stage Centre!

A Child is born!  Of Life this is beginning.
His cup is to defend the truth and right.
A stable now becomes of earth the centre,
At this, as yet un-named but very first “’Christmas”.
Of pain and misery soon He’ll make an end,
For God, the Holy One, has entered time.

Some wise men saw a star, and said “It’s time
To see the newest miracle beginning –
A great King born – Oh what will be the end?
We thought that in the stars we had it right, 
But what is this new saga?   (Call it Christmas)
When stars show a new King at creation’s centre?”

And yes.  Indeed.  A scream erupts at centre
Of attention as the knife cuts deep in time.
Old Simon lives a happy day this Christmas –
Now satisfied with death, his new beginning,
While Anna cries rejoicing as the right
Messiah comes, to bring to death to end.

But this could never ever be the end
As baby Jesus will yet take stage centre,
As is his mortal destiny and right,
To come fulfill the prophecies in time,
To bring salvation as a new beginning.
Such a day will ever be known as Christmas.

Now men the whole world over celebrate Christmas.
Of blindness, ignorance now there is an end.
Of truth and life He brings a new beginning
As in the hearts of men he builds his centre.
Justice and compassion have their time,
And a man can set his Heavenly heritage right.

So know that everything will be set right
For Jesus came at night, on that first Christmas,
To start the final era – the last days of time.
His Spirit births in men who’re at an end
Of self, and who will gladly make Him centre
Of their death, and so engage the new beginning.

The earliest beginning was at Christmas.
Narcissism is right at its very end.
Now Jeshua has the centre of the stage of time.

Copyright © Helen Murray | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sestina |
All kinds of bills are piling up,
collectors keep on calling me...
making their threatening phone calls;
I would like to unplug the telephone wire
and have some peace at night...
but borrowing money is not one of the remedies!

My car insurance is due by the end of the month,
this paycheck only covers some necessities, 
trendy attire and expensive dinners with friends must wait;
God forbid, I do oversleep and I am late...
portion of my earnings is a tremendous loss,
and in deeper waters I'll swim, never reaching shore!

My cell phone is overused and is too invaluable,
it could spare me some headaches on some stranded highway;
I'm thinking of switching to a prepaid one to save me a bundle!
Even my haircut must wait, once a month, not twice;
ah, this economic really testing my sanity!
What should I do from preventing those embarrassing law suits?

Finally, I called on some friends, whose situation isn't that bad,
they said they'd help me...since I helped them when they needed a hand;
interest free and a long-term loan, and would like to know beforehand:
what I am going to tell those greedy and inconsiderate bastards from my bank?
" Keep your money in the vault, I refuse to borrow it and make you rich;
I have found a better way to improve my financial situation by making you itch! "

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
Education has never deluded me,
it is a rich mine from which my gemstones are extracted;
and all of them can adorn with its brilliance 
a king's crown, but the glitter on my silver pendant...
with my natal sign, not with my image, outshines it
and displays it very elegantly.

As skilled hands relied on mental deftness,
I depended on mom's provincial practicality, 
not on chances, but on her canonical guidance;
her words told no canards, only truthfulness:
an illunination of beatitude to encourage and fortify...
and that voice taught me acts of benevolence. 

Guessing what was the mysterious name it bore,
would have been quite easy to identify with sharp eyes:
examining the deeds I did and the actions I still compromise,
to conclude with certainty
that it fitted me so perfectly...
I learned that art by listening to clever people with more ardor. 

This is not a gift which is instilled
in the infant's brain at birth,
it is acquired by growing somewhat old...
who could have such a prodigious knowledge?
The Old Testament prophets for instance, or possibly
every learned man who studied philosophy.

Spend time with me, and observe how I peruse:
listen to the clear and incisive words spoken aloud,
riddling no mystery, or being derogatory...
proverbs might be included to give some clues;
and they were written in an inimitable way
to stimulate the minds of the unlearned.    

Is intelligence inborn or learned by chance,
or even isometric to astuteness?
Many admit it stems from accruing knowledge,
to increase the capacity of the thinker or genius... 
accumulating their ideas and earning praises,
while the uneducated struggle with rage.

Logical astutness is efficacious when it invigorates ability,
and exhorts a great deal of mental energy;
and will the proper words be used to that effect?

Happy New Year to all the wonderful Poetry Soup members!

Copyright 210 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |
Every soul on the planet knows that people are senseless.
You'd think we'd wise up some over time.
Time and time again people focus on being devious.
Is the way they play their way of being real? People
Who really try to make a difference sometimes spill
Their kindness on arid land when what it really needs is a flood.

And I've tried to provide a flood
Of kindness and love and values, but to them, it's so senseless
And pointless that I'd much rather spill
It on someone who'd give me the time
Of day and actually appreciate what other people
Don't even stop to consider because they're too busy deviating.

From what I've seen, all people know is how to be deviant.
They want to be the ones to unleash the beast, bring the flood
Of deception and drown the truly honest people
Who care enough to even reach out a hand to those senseless
And lost souls. I've lost many a wink and spent many a night time
Thinking of a way to save my blood from being the next to spill.

But I am not the only good-blooded one who posses what they wish to spill.
I am not the only one trying to out-deviate the deviants.
I know someone who, despite the lies she is told all the time,
And despite the pseudo-amorous atmosphere, sees the real flood
Of bull droppings thrown her way. She can see through the senseless
People's transparent lies. She will go farther that most of those people.

It is a skill to be able to feel my spiel about most people
And their mindlessness. I hope I'm not around when they spill 
Their mind and speak their hearts and rant and rave in their senseless
Talk. They think they make sense but in their quest to deviate,
They unplug the faucet of all that's bad. They cause the flood
That ruins those who want to bless the world with their time.

I wish someone would bless me with their time.
What do we have to do to rid the world of senseless people?
Shall we pray for another flood?
Or should we take it upon ourselves to spill
The guilty blood? I'm tired of all these people and their deviousness
Who take pride in being senseless.

I, for my part, will not waste my precious gift. I will not spill 
My knowledge upon deaf ears and closed hearts and devious
Minds. Because that, my dear reader, would truly be senseless.

Copyright © Jonathan White | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
In the teasing bouts of an early spring,
One must have patience to watch a flower bloom
From the municipal bud to the ripe decor
From which pursed pedals seek to open.
The contents of sweet pollen rise,
Sway, circle and drift like an aging spirit.

Watch closely; you may find a spirit
Splashing the waters from where life springs
Lively enough to make the ocean rise
Above old towns where civilizations bloomed.
Let your shields down; keep your hearts and minds open,
Permeating love with an earthly decoration.

Strive to laugh and decorate
The petty who set fire to spirits
With the same buoyancy that keeps our eyes open,
Veering from traps that devils spring.
Search beyond the vile bloom,
Taking pride in ashes that fall and rise.

I will soon see myself rise
High enough to cast my decorations
Far enough to make the deserts bloom.
I'll paint the coast blue to match my spirit
As winds grow warm with spring.
Hearts will sing and channels will be open.

Likewise, the pores of the Earth shall one day open.
As that molten lava rises,
Ancient fireballs shall spring,
Coating the ground with horrid decoration,
But we shall lie dormant as spirits
Awaiting new life's bloom.

Winds will cool and aid that bloom,
And, beautifully, we will open,
For every spirit
And, decoratively,

For everything that blooms, rises,
And every open heart is decorated,
And every loving spirit eventually springs.

Copyright © Mike Frampton | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |
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 whisper of beauty sets to the night
In ancient time of Autumn breeze
A flightless feather to soar the sky
Records the silent echos of sorrow
Carries through on seasonal change
Keeping time with history's eye.
   A feather passes a tear filled eye
The sacrifice before the night
The day of blood held in the breeze
As a gentle wind through summer sky
Pierced by the blade of sorrow
The Holy man of change.
   New land wandered for man to change
A wishful time to England's eye 
The eagle spies the foot step night
The pilgrims beyond the breeze
As children cry to burn the sky
A massacred Indian sorrow.
   A black man echoes sorrow	
The pain of life to change
Freedom from the blood stained eye
His cry seeks out the night
Caressed by Autumn breeze
As another feather floats the sky.
   Blood stench streams in horrid sky
The bodies of broken sorrow	
The feather sights upon the change
As delusions form in hatred eye
Secrets under night
Their souls become the breeze.
   Reaching upon the new day breeze
A scrape of cloud and sky
A world united in mornings sorrow
The view of landscaped change
Laments cry the tearful eye
Through restless lonely night.
   Unto the land of darkened night
The feather of recorded sorrow
A moments break awaits, the next Autumn breeze.

     September 25, 2008

Copyright © Darren J McMurray | Year Posted 2008

Details | Sestina |
Raised to believe she was beautiful and special
a look in the mirror reveals a ferocious beast,
with empty eyes and a sinister smile.  Wicked
thoughts fill the head of the angel
in disguise whose eyes used to sparkle until she became addicted
to booze and her best friend Mary Jane.  Origami

swans fill every nook and cranny.  Origami
creations, folded neatly from paper, hold a special
meaning to the girl who is addicted
not only to Mary Jane, but heroin, that ferocious beast
that goes around stealing lives like the one of that angel
in disguise, turning even the most innocent people into wicked

monsters who care only about themselves.  Wicked 
hangovers don't stop her from making origami
swans because they take her back to the days she was an angel,
when her mom and dad loved her, told her she was special.
Now when they see her, they weep at the beast
she has become and long for the days before she was addicted

to Mary Jane, heroin, LSD.  They wonder how she became addicted
to so many things when the little girl they raised didn't have a wicked
bone in her body.  They wonder who the beast
is that wrecked their daughters life.  Origami
swans, folded carefully, precisely, for someone special.
Every nook and cranny full, she fills bags full for her angel,

wanting to give the most amazing gift to her angel,
the gift of time.  Time is all she has on her hands.  Addicted
to shrooms, Mary Jane, booze, she knows she is nothing special, 
she longs for the days before that wicked
man came along and taught her how to fold origami
swans while smoking weed, snorting coke, turning her into a beast

that nobody wants to be with.  Now that she is a beast
she can't be with her daughter, her angel.
Her daughter loves swans.  It is her daughters birthday.  Origami
swans are all she folds, until her fingers bleed, addicted
to Mary Jane, she smokes herself to oblivion all because of the wicked 
man who never made her feel special.

The wicked man who got that angel
addicted to Mary Jane, and taught her to make origami
swans was her boyfriend Bobby, the beast who never made her feel special.

Copyright © Roxanne Schroeder | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |
The beautiful day begins in the house.
At the end of it, all that’s left of it is the moon,
Shimmering in all the night’s light.
A door to another world opens.
The only movement is a page turning in a book. 
Suddenly, without notice, an inconceivable object drops.
The thing jumps and twirls and once again drops.
A person from another time, the future, enters the large house.
The man, pacing back and forward, finally sends away the hovering book.
He magically transports it to the glistening moon.
Something like a black hole, a portal inexplicably opens.
The book vanishes in a fading yellow light.

The visitor sees something bright, a room full of light.
And inside, a piece of paper from the hands of a child drops.
The door of the room slightly, quietly opens.
A child and her grandmother are drawing and inscrutable house.
In a circle and a beam of inconceivable beauty appears the moon.
On the page, like the hovering object, once again, is the sight of a book.

The child explains that she has, many times that year, read the book.
But her grandmother slowly shows the girl the true “light”.
Now, the girl understands that she was wrong, and now appears the moon!
It comes closer and closer, and then, like a shooting star, down it drops.
The planet has gone down from the sky to have a conversation in the house.
The moon elegantly flies in, as large as an elephant, and its mouth opens.

And now all of the people come close together and a road opens.
The grandmother and child are guided by a rather large book.
In time, the home disappears; they have left the house.
The book vanishes, and all that leads them is a guiding light.
The key to a room, calmly, as if carried by the wind, drops.
“Come in and let’s have a talk,” says not a person, but a face in white, the moon.

The grandmother is surprised, for she is seeing the real, live moon.
A beautiful and long conversation through all the night opens.
Then as dawn arrives, blood-red, the tone of their voices drops.
Grandmother and child come out of the wonderful book.
Outside it is day, a new beginning, another lively light.
They walk o’er their field and talk till’ they reach the house.

In the morning, the otherworldly man leaves the house.
Also, he disappears in a now magnificent golden light.
That is the end; there are no more pages in this book.

Copyright © Alan Grinberg | Year Posted 2005

Details | Sestina |
The traffic was strident, lanes straight
the cars lined the street and froze rigid.
The cop with a glare of pure hate, directed
a line of gate crashers cutting.
The sidewalks segmented in rows, false
lure more tourists into a queue.

Cowed were young folk and old folks all queued
a ménage which was quite far from straight,
all had come for a peck at the Bard, false.
even a librarian or too, who waited with spines rigid,
and scowls on their lined brows like cuts
their critiques would be most direct.

Teens kiss in a clutch most directly 
their faces make braces of queues 
Scalpers hawk to the latecomers cutoff,
the elite meet and greet heading straight
for the red road with a rigid
line of bull filled with falsities.

Inside the antiquated theatre under false
the foot lights lining the aisles direct
Mayor and matron, gran and child in rigid
alleys to velvet seats also queued.
The stare of critic and patron glared straight
64 toward the author so pinned and cutting.

A bright white light cut
the chill air so false
and focused on drape lined straight
each fell open as artist directed
and orchestra swells filled their queue
and the author he sat stark and rigid.

His fate would he find in lines rigid
on the page of tomorrows review, they’d cut
make or they’d break his heart’s queue
these piranhas with smiles so false.
No fate could be more direct
this tonic he must imbibe straight.

So like dominoes, they fall lines rigidly, piercing cuts
Filleted be he by queues false,
in the end words directly aimed, straight to death cue.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |
Halloween is not just for kids...
what about those gorgeous pets
that we snuggle, love, kiss and willfully spoil?
Shouldn't they have their own
special Howlween and Meowween
with treats never tasted in a bright party hall?

I love pets as you all do, and with loving and tender care    
I spoil them with warm clothes and matching shoes;
a wool hat and tiny gloves to keep them from frost!
Look at them, aren't they adorable and look sharper 
than the less-loved pets that are bored with their blues?  
Can you compare a well-groomed one to a scruffy one? 

On this coming Halloween, dress up your pets for success,
disregard the dumb looks of certain unintelligent folks,
they never see humor in anyone or anything, and they can't laugh
at these cuties that have a ton of affection on their mellow faces;
what would they do to be patted or be cuddled in their embrace?
They would give them their howleen and neowween for a soft caress!

And on every street people walk their dogs and cats dressed like mine,
what a surprise to watch this parade of adorable pets that look up and smile!
They will never know who was the genius behind all this, but gently and happily they stroll!
So who's to say that Halloween isn't for them? They're like our children who delight our soul!
And on each Halloween night, let them out, and let them do their Howlween and Meowween,
to enjoy the Halloween celebration, but tomorrow they'll not remember where they had been!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
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 |
When a teen disobeys,
innocence becomes insolance,
but malice is caused by exernal influence;
banners with explicit sexual indulgence,
conversations with obscene words
and gestures that can offend passerbys.

There are signs that can detect
any danger, watch the sexy way they dress:
tight clothing and that glamorous look
so irrisistable and provoking; and it
may not go unnoticed, and some teasers
even approve of it...adding to their lustful taste.

Even before modern times left their indecent mark,
these teens had a plan to run from home,
hop on train or bus and head for the big cities; 
and on those thriving sidewalks, the predators 
wait and they know how despair can turn into need,
an urgent need to eat and sleep.

Beautiful children, why do you constantly disobey,
and refuse to listen to your parents and elders,
who were raised in kindness, respect and dignity? 
Innocent children, before that delusional fantasy
steals away more irreplaceable dreams...ask yourselves:
shouldn't a dream, such as yours, be trashed? 

Unpack your back-packs and stay in a wam environment,
before silly thoughts become your biggest fear
and you will follow them to their destructive end...
not ever feeling any absence of the parental heart,
where there is a happy home you don't consider 
the greatest place to nurture love with loving cheer. 

When a teen disobeys,
love loses its profound defination...
as its pure essence is taken away by the rampant indignation
of an embittered truant: cursing, mocking justice,
stealing to feed bad habits, and in doing so they allow grief
to overcome joy, and replace it with a tragic death.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
Materialistic things fulfill us temporarily...trifling with our emotions, 
but their shallowness is discerned with bitterness:
when they can't save a life even with invoked mercy so tense...
as powerlessness turns into hopelessness;
can faith help us make the painless transaction into the eternal realm,
without fighting the menacing darkness bringing in a tremulous scream?

Separating ourselves from the deceptive entity
is the wisest thing humans can do, to avoid
the misleading fact that anguish doesn't exist,
or that regret isn't stronger than sympathy;
sorrow is a passable trouble, which makes us somber,
and somehow deepens the furrows on our sour faces!

Prophets, saints and holy persons thought deeply and understood this,
devoting their lives to a more rewarding vocation,
which demanded great sacrifices in return for salvation; 
and today, in this era of sophistication and unbelief,
do we see any real ones, not the impostors who seek fame,
and proclaim their intrepid message to shelter themselves from blame?

Unscrupulous financiers, like Madoff, and bankers drain accounts with remorseless intent,
and when they are caught...they choose suicide over punishment;
is this the world you like to live in...with fraudulent individuals, who cause
tougher economic times to satisfy their greed at the expense of others?
Questions can become doubts that draw a negative response to any survey,
sacredness is valued more when we separate ourselves from the deceptive entity! 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
Nefarious faces with pale cheeks,
dulling your senses with narcotics;
and dangerously staring at others
whose clement destiny
isn't called squalid poverty,
or negligible neediness...    

All can be spared by the dint of astuteness,
making amends and becoming social;
you can be an atheist or an ungodly person:
you all deserve an assuring look of compassion,
to give up your attitude of indifference,
believing in yourself and forgetting every fault... 

Nefarious faces of rapists and assassins, you assail
blameless and innocent people without mercy,
and in their hurt and blood you express your atrocity;
Cain acted out of jealousy, you act out of madness
by vindicating an amatory act and a deprivation of wealth
that were never granted by an insensitive society... 

Come and drink of the water of holiness,
to purify your atrocious minds and your sinful souls:
turn to the Lord Jesus who forgives anyone
who's willing to repent, and be born again;
salvation is closer than you ever thought,
it cleanses your impure hearts with merciful love... 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
Noble troubadour making untrue verse,
while traveling from town to town on the dustiest roads,
reciting the lamenting lyrics to yourself,
and the echo is louder than words of folly growing within;
hold your anger inside, let it explode
in the castle's Great Hall, where all will listen, indeed! 

Monarchy is an undefeatable fortress,
and below you seem not to fret;
enter it when the trumpets announce
the king's arrival in a golden coach
pulled by stallions who snort at your sight,
but you fearlessly follow them before the wooden gate closes on the bridge.

Noble troubadour decrying a denied liberty, making
your living writing undesirable, undeserved odes,
you're forced to lie and please your demanding king
who manipulates your behavior by tight strings;
should you offer no praises or allegiance to the crown...
you'll be charged with disloyalty and treason! See yourself in the torture room!

There's a limit to your patience bearing the guilt,
and be able to lift it off your will crush you under its weight,
until your reason turns into discernible madness,
and rising up from your sore knees, you'll relinquish your duty...
to regain your freedom from a kingdom built on obedience and vanity;
and what will be the the outcome of your refusal to bow down?...The peace of a free spirit!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
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 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

Details | Sestina |
These verses breath life as I weep,
thinking of the shortness of the earthly life;
and they can eternally live, in ageless time,
on the lips of common people that seek
an extraordinary purpose in their subtle defeat,
to build many fabulous dreams out of nothing....

Sorrow can't be masked by joy:
it's a temporary and distressing disguise, 
which nobody should hide behind it for long;
pretender, don't make up unconvincing excuses,
release your fallacious hand that clutches another prey:
it's the self-denial of a liar without courage...

Cry for yourself with ample empathy, remorse
has already shaken up your conscience,
and according to the sympathetic looks you received
by the closest friends who idolized your idealism,
whom you lured into your false kindness to achieve your egotistic dream;
now, you must feel the acute pain:  no guilt can easily be redeemed...    

An untruthful voice is only heard by deceitfulness,
it has an inner weakness that honesty awfully rejects;
purify your trust by the humblest spirit:
some are never forgiven by their foes and acquaintances,
Who will read me me these verses that breath life as I weep?
I have put on a Godly image without grief...  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
Will I live longer than I suppose to be living...possibly a centenary,
and struggle on a cane to sustain my weakness?
Those beautiful and vibrant years have fled to impose fears,
making my presence unattractive and more blowzy,
and in the present time, I am isolated and frowzy; 
a deteriorated mind feeling the burden of senility?   

My motto wasn't " Conquer and be invincible!" No-first mistake was allowed
to mar my perfect character; body and mind in full accord, blending together, 
so obstinate in defiance to obstruct any possible pleasure...
was it a deference to holiness?  Everywhere explicit posters encouraged promiscuity:
an indulging nation...diverging from the concept of morality!  

And however strong was urge to indulge in wrongful acts incoherently, 
my doubt gave no indication...that I would have gained from my inequity;
and ruin would have wrecked this conscience and wrenched my spirit;
alone to face the sure wrath of the Divine...while wrestling with my lost worth!
One-stand night didn't nurture a sensation so momentary and insipid,
many times, staring in the cold darkness, I was glad that my behavior wasn't lurid!

And today new pills promise to give more virility,
causing blindness and a probable, sudden death;
and Lord, my intention is not to use them to harm myself,
the gift of longevity was well-received and is well-kept by me!
Unlikely the times past, when my doubt gave no indication,
now it does so plainly and clearly... not swaying my attention!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
Folding and embracing someone in extreme pain
with the compassion of a merciful saint:
when those moribund eyes look downward,
as breath becomes heavy and life can't sustain
its heartbeat , but those hands are too weak to clasp;
give your last gift, say the softest word...

Comfort and be comforted when the final hour comes for all,
when a person suddenly dies, a conceived baby will be born;
it's a cycle that keeps our human race from extinction:
observe the animal kingdom, never inactive or slow,
even trees and flowers duplicate themselves in jollification 
by the kindness of every wind of the actual season...

Folding and embracing someone in extreme pain,
someone of a different race, not making distinction of color;
everyone of us is a beautiful and perfect creation of God,
so let the same love flow and leave your prejudice beyond:
see through the eyes of charity, never divide and compare:
the uniqueness of an individual can be shared by all...   

The greed and wickedness of Mankind can't control the relentless rush,
until immense harm is done:  wars are fought and lives are lost by the thousands,
and the spilling of blood is not regarded as guilt on their remorseless hands,  
many weeping mothers lean over their dead children, with more viable in their wombs:
summon the evil man to the Almighty God whose judgement is harsh,
and be assured that the Divine Justice will make them toss in their inescapable tombs...

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
A merciful and forgiving  soul
molds a person's character...
to lead that heart down the path of awareness,
to weather all difficulties with confidence and ease;
surly and sullen looks that plagued its thoughts can disappear,
when those open eyes ascertain every fault.

Battles are desperately fought, only some are won... 
accept a small victory, instead of a great defeat;
understand the mentality of the selfish man,
with his vanity exceeding its capacity,
to gain prestige and impose his superiority
on others who remain silent and weep.

Break down the barriers of injustice and greed,
never step back and fear the one who's preposterous and unfair;
embody the mind of the Almighty in yourself,
and He will guide you through each struggle without hatred or anger!
A flower must grow for us to admire the beauty of its planted seed,
so is courage rapidly growing...fortifying our inner strength.   

A merciful and forgiving soul
abides by the fairest and justest laws,
those laws set by the Supreme Ruler, who posses the holiest mind;
and whoever obeys, regardless of past disobedience, reaps its rewards in this lifetime. 
A merciful and forgiving soul...
doesn't wait for tears to fall, or pitiful words to wipe clean anyone's offense.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sestina |
Here living in the city of New York,
Those who oppose me will fall
Even though many are kind to me
People and its city must perish
Great damage was done to me
The only option left is to destroy everything

O you were so kind to me but I must destroy
The life in New York City is harsh
Whatever was done now will be undone
Opposers will stumble like falling angels
Sorry my brothers but you must perish
Kindness is not enough, you must show love

That’s what the world knows less, “LOVE”
Destruction will fall upon its ruins
In battle brothers died without shame
Harshness is what describes death
Angels look up to me to make peace
Time will tell if you deserve it

I, the one justice holder have been damaged
Enough is never enough unless you’re soft
The one thing I hate to do
The ruins of a building never come back
But the phoenix is the ultimate price
Bombs did their job, the city was left alone

The people were sorry
I’ve been a coward my entire life
The price to pay is really high
Softness is the weakness of the heart
Everything seems so weak and disproportioned
Falling stars will support who I am

Like snow melts, people will hate
Dust covered the brothers and buried their bodies
Hope did its job, keep people on their toes
I became brave and overcame my fears
Love gave me strength and made me fierce
Living here in New York, the war is over.

New York City will fall,
But the kind will not perish
For one option left is done destroying the rest.

Copyright © joseph berroa | Year Posted 2008

Details | Sestina |
If I were the Eternal God,
nothing would be impossible to me,
but a human being, like me,
can't give more that he can afford;
and what kind of strength
sustains me, when I'm deprived of worth?

The compassion,concern and sympathy 
flow from me like a sparkling spring
in the remote and peaceful wilderness,
to be soothed by a sweet reward
and claim my share of gladness;
tap on this caring heart and see my generosity... 

I have lived for others, and without regret,
I still refuse to be crowned with honor:
that's the least foolish thought
to manipulate an unbearable pride,
which I will surely put aside;
that's not the glorious moment I'm after...     

If I weren't too sensitive, all the ugliness,
madness, deception and lies
would have no impact on me:
my adversaries have to completely know me,
to sift the unrevealed truth from my thoughts;
and my truth is not something that dies...

My share of gladness
is that diamond which kept its luster
after it was unfairly hidden into the dreaded darkness,
but perpetually kept from dust:  to shine beyond compare;
and envious eyes can angrily stare,
to discern their harmful awareness...  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009