Sestina Seasons Poems | Sestina Poems About Seasons

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

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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

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Joy to world within

Omnipresent is Joy
Barefoot morn walk in garden
Soothing sight of silky blanket of grass
Morning dew globules sparkling 
As if bathing Blades in freshness
Greenery splashed on earths canvas 

Buds swinging, radiant Natures canvas
Eager to unlock youth freshness  
Flowers gleeful as butterflies perch joyfully 
Esoteric on pollination in garden
Fragrance radiating, amidst grass 
Aroma filled atmospheres sparkling 
   
First Rays splashing golden on natures canvas 
Aiding photosynthesis,energy joyful 
Plant and human balancing ecological freshness 
Plants in orderly arrangement in garden 
Seeds germinating in silence with invisible sparkle
Sacrifice, seed for tree, uneven blades for uniform grass    
 
Mountains, rocks forever fresh
Treasure of minerals,herbs,grass
Wall to rain bearing clouds,life of many gardens
Mother to many rivers, oasis in natures canvas
Treasure of minerals, herbs, grass
Seat of saints for Peaceful joy 
Protecting ecological sparkle

Changing of Seasons add sparkle 
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, varied freshness 
Spice to atmospheric environment joy
Enthusiasm for new clothes, cuisine, party on grass 
Nature bestowed different seasons canvas 
Knowing, human love variety as desert love garden

Compassion garden
Love dotting rest of emotions as on blades dews sparkle
Inner light dispelling darkness in lifes canvas
Smiles, hugs, kisses, pats, way forward fresh
Individual joy as gardens each blade of grass 
Spreading garden of cosmic joy  
     
Futile is garden without dews sparkle  
Cheer is soul of lifes canvas, inner search only lends freshness   
Inner bliss smooth as silky grass, search futile for outward search of joy  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 
© Hitendra Mehta
(Entry for Members Contest - "Joy to World” by Deborah Guzzi)

Copyright © Hitendra Mehta | Year Posted 2010

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Joy Of Different Seasons (Worst)

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 fo 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 have to be raked again and again to rid of leaves
Those garden vegetables will stored and put aside a cooking of peas
For right after Christmas comes New Years Day's fare 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


On New Year"s Day we will have those delicious peas
We will float into spring with all ease
On the day we will not have to worry with yellow jackets or bees
As the nights grow longer and shorter the winter days
Those indominable buds show forth on the trees and soon leaves
March will come in bringing its strong breeze

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

These times in life are just fun and a wonderful breeze
Then summer comes with the picking, shelling, and freezing peas
But there is one less chore now for there is no raking leaves
Out in the garden and in Pampas Grass thick with those bees
These times are wonderful long sunny days
Afternoons in the lazy hammock oh! what ease


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

Old man winter slips in with ease, now we'll eat those dry peas
Blow wind with swift breeze, time to kill all lingering bees
By th warm fire spend our days, soon snow covers all those leaves

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010

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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

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Autumn Breeze

   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.

     BY: DARREN J McMURRAY
     September 25, 2008

Copyright © Darren J McMurray | Year Posted 2008

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Mid July

When the clock ticks towards the end of July,
I begin spending all too-hot summer days painting the blue-jay,
A rare and almost-majestic mini, hard to find the right color paint
For.  But on good days after sunset the air becomes crisp
Enough for me to enjoy the change in temperature corresponding with my change
Of mood or palette, all-encompasses occurring under

That unfabulous shroud of melancholy, that, under
Which I cannot keep safe-keeping in July.
When the colors on the page scream for need of change,
I ignore the plight of the real blue-jay
As he exists in this reality of crisp-
Air-fragility which causes my paint

To dry and crumble like the immature cheap paint
Of a five-year old hanging just under
My incomplete summer canvas crisp
With hopes of an increasingly hopeful July.
I stroke the brushed-over blue-jay
Feathers fake on canvas which changes

With every motion of my hand, changing
The color of my paints
As I allow them to drip over the image of my blue-jay,
The reality now out of sight making reality more clearly hidden under 
The lie of a canvas in late July.
It lies hidden under remorse of lies, crisp

With not-yet-oncoming autumn crispness
Teasing me with surreality which changes
With every movement of a hand this time of July.
I methodically repetitiously move my hand to paint but what I thought was real 
was revealed as not under
The surreal thought of the canvas as the actual blue-jay

Who fluttered his meaningless blue-jay
Wings a long time ago out of sight—crisply
Seen crawling around or over, when it should’ve been under
The hammock tree in the rain, recently changed 
To my favorite willow peaceful-painting
Locale no matters the month, even July.

The time the blue-jay wants most to be changed
By the crisp stroke of a masterful painter
In the yard, under the hot sky just after mid-July.

Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2007

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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

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A REMOTE REFUGE

A calm morning with the nippiest breeze of October,
the moss-covered rocks shed the surf:
as it is thrown back into the tumultuous surge,
and on the glimmering and soggy sand... 
the writhing shellfishes won't survive without the salty water;
they will helplessly hang on life, only to perish on land!  



With wool gloves and cap I'm still cold,
and still my skin is exposed to sunburn;
a motorboat crosses the hazy horizon,
emitting a sharp blast from its noise horn,
but the silent sea-gulls lack the urge to flutter away,
there in throngs they fight off the chilly day!



Sullen as a turbid ocean, I tumble down the soaked dunes,
slammed hard by a ferocious wind not offering solace;  
I swirl in agitation reaching for my warm cap,
which gently lands into an abandoned basketball's net!
Why is everything so tuneless as the surly larks...
the sluggard's eyes snap with anger as a hound barks!   



The early sunset turns crimson, then gradually swarthy,
warning the haggard fisherman to pull the fishing rod
out of the foul water...to make him feel too forlorn;
suddenly...the windstorm increases the swelling of the rolling waves,
and the beach-goer, so serene and supine, has to leave hurriedly:
this was a remote refuge for his earnest prayers and quite thoughts!
     

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

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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

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MY CHARMING CAMPANIAN TOWN

Baiano is my charming Campanian town,
at the foot of the Paterno's mountain,
noble roman settlers came to build their villas,
but the barbarians and Spartacus ransacked it;
then other invaders: the Normans, the Hungarians,
the Swedish and Spaniards occupied it!

Baiano is an ancient town, not as widely famous
as many northern towns, but  keeps up with the modern times;
come here in springtime, and see the season's enchantment:
sunflowers and lilies fields spread out in the misty distance...
as the orange and apple trees dress in green and wait
for the magical summer for that palatable fragrance! 

In the soccer fields, kids play in the hot afternoons
while their parents watch them from colorful shades;
the elders sit in their comfortable plastic chairs,
napping under the shade of a casual oak tree,so tall,
planted by a student on Earth Day many summers ago...
and he proudly stands by it counting its living years!

O adorable town, left by me, for social reasons when
I was forced to flee and leave this youth undone,
with friends I hung out in the church's yard...
to kick that ball in the net, and become elated;
could I have gotten all that energy from the southern sun,
which has nothing to envy the colder northern one!

From the wide steps of the Gothic church with a sturdy door, 
I raised those childish eyes and gazed at the beautiful facade,
and wondered what inspired the architect
to build such an immortal monument 
so heavily damaged by the last earthquake,
but the Baianese people brought it to its previous splendor!

In my charming Campanian town without a stream,
there is a large square with oak trees on both sides,
and right in the middle the Fallen Soldiers' monument...
for the brave ones who went up north to fight the invaders;
and the blood they shed was for my freedom,
and these verses will be read by everyone in the land!

Neighbors and friends you have gotten older or passed away,
and all of you who are alive:  lament with me its by-gone glory!

Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2008