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
I saw the noble kind young girl last night—
The Virgin's robe was blue; her dress was Light.
“Hail, Mary, full of grace,” I prayed to her;
My soul's petition I believe she heard.
Though silent she remained, not saying words.
My gaze upon the vision was quite strong.
The apparition was so clear and strong—
The sun seemed one with me; gone was the night.
I was struck mute; from my mouth came no words.
Around the Virgin shone such dazzling light.
My soul believed she wanted to be heard,
So I stayed silent to give ear to her.
Although to pay attention full to her,
I had to put aside that I was strong—
For I was weak but wanting to be heard.
Before she came, it had been a bleak night.
But now I saw her Son the Christ's bright light;
He clothed the Virgin Mother with His words.
She finally to me spoke some few words.
I listened quite intensely then to her.
She said, “Let Jesus shine upon you Light.
For now you need no longer be so strong.
The demons will not torture you at night.”
For this I was quite pleased; my prayers were heard.
For far too long, I wanted to be heard.
I was afraid my prayers were just some words.
No longer would I fear the dark of night.
My soul was ever so glad it heard her.
I was revived; my faith and hope were strong.
For I had seen her Son's and Mary's Light.
I bathed in wondrous grace and love and light
Desire had been fulfilled; I had been heard.
As human I had not been truly strong.
I had relied on thoughts and deeds and words.
Yet now I gave heed to advice from her.
She had appeared in my soul's barren night.
I saw such Light; I heard such loving words
My prayers were heard; I listened unto her.
The Virgin was so strong; gone was the night.
Copyright © Alvin Thomas Ethington | Year Posted 2008
Writing deeply and avidly
is another way of coping,
if seeing that not-so-pleasant reality;
and feeling the presence of truth,
encourages one to reveal oneself
and being true to all words:
perfectly thought out, not hesitant to burst out...
Many write for profit,
modifying their sentiment,
to make it fit into the demanding times,
so that cunning stories can pay off
without considering whom they hurt;
I am very polite when I express myself,
discerning what is worthwhile telling or not...
Will I strike it rich and be lauded
for my work, which strays from the required trend?
Fortune may make me happy...never complete;
my role is not to act out sheer vanity, but to implement
the importance of greatness
that awaits me after my death...
And with pen and intellect, my ideas
flow on paper delighting my readers
who are continuously amazed by its insight!
I can be hostile, bitter,sad, infuriated, unsympathetic, happy or kind,
but these emotions have stirred those who proceeded me;
to get their message across: for the sake of Humanity....
copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009
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
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