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Sestinas

This version was saved 16 years, 11 months ago View current version     Page history
Saved by PBworks
on May 8, 2007 at 11:27:22 pm
 

This is the page that anyone who wrote a sestina for extra credit can post his or her sestina. Please follow these directions:

  1. Leave several lines of space between the beginning of your sestina and the sestina above yours, but don't leave lots and lots of white space.
  2. Begin with the title of your sestina and the byline (by......)
  3. Copy and paste in your sestina, adjusting the margins to make it look right on the page (compare it to the spacing of the sestina by Elizabeth Bishop in your text). It is important that you sestina be easily readable.
  4. Be sure to proofread it and run a spell check.
  5. On Thursday, May 10, everyone is welcome to read and comment on the sestinas. Please do not comment before then.

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Life's Love

by Brianna Finnegan

 

Her love,

and reason for life,

great happiness

would come from just one kiss,

for many years

she had admired him from a distance.

The distance,

that split love

for all of it's years,

that life

without that kiss,

is void of happiness.

His form of happiness

while watching her from a distance,

was imagining that kiss

that came with her love,

picturing their life

together for years.

The passing of years,

made their happiness

less, as they continued their life

with the distance,

for both of their love

still needed that kiss.

That kiss

that lingered on their lips for years,

but still that love

was their happiness,

It was the distance

of life

that made it so hard. The life

they gave up for that one kiss,

the distance

is gone now with all the years

their happiness

so tied with their love

No more distance, No more life,

the fulfillment of love, with that one kiss,

giving all of the years, the greatest happiness.

 

Troubadour Sestina by John Taylor

 

They seem to behave as fools

as they take to the road.

Focused continually on tomorrow

they ply their passion.

They defy that characterization as they work,

to make tolerable noise.

 

That noise

which those fools

put to work,

is carried along the road

fueled by that passion

which spurs them inexorably toward tomorrow

 

What tomorrow?

The one which is ruled by noise,

and filled passion.

Those fools,

who stand by the side of the road

toil, resigned to their method of work

 

Is work still work,

when one looks forward to tomorrow?

Is it labor to ride the open road?

Is it toil when the noise

abounds, and makes men like fools

in the throws passion?

 

It is that passion

which has led them to forsake acceptable work.

Derided as fools

by the future leaders of tomorrow.

But it is noise

which leads the children of today, down the road.

 

So at the end of that road,

one finds the sum total of the passion

that surrounded them. The noise

which drives them to work

toward a tomorrow

of their interpretation. The product of those called fools.

 

Do not dismiss that noise, which emanates from the road.

Do not ignore the fools, nor their passion.

Their work, is the music of tomorrow.

 

 

 

April

by Erin Kuntz

 

 

I remember like it was yesterday the water,

glistening in my dreams.

The beams cast by the sunlight

bounced over the waves and met the blue

eyes of a little girl with golden hair

and a mysterious, far-off smile.

 

I come to reality, but that smile

and silent water

and golden hair

start to feel real, and not so much a dream.

My heart goes cold and blue

as out comes the moonlight.

 

She loved to laugh, so light-

hearted and with an angelic smile.

We played together every summer, til the bright blue

sky turned to stars that seemed to dance like water.

But now, only in my dreams

is where I still see her velvet, golden hair.

 

When her cancer hit, first went her hair

then that laugh, then her light.

She was more and more far-off, slipping into dreams

where she could pretend to smile.

Smile as she watched the heavenly water

turn waves of green and blue.

 

The hospital room with its dull, blue

wallpaper became too familiar, and nurses with their long hair

taunted her bare head silently when they came by to offer her water.

Sometimes through the shades seeped light,

but it was always temporary and smiles

became only visible in dreams.

 

One day she slipped permanently into a sweet dream

As her frail, tiny body grew cold and blue.

Many cried and cried, but I knew she was smiling,

for I could see her finally dancing free with her long, velvet hair

draped around her shoulders, her angelic light

once again sparkling and her eyes bright with blue.

 

Sometimes in dreams I still see that smile.

In the reflective water those blue

Eyes and long blonde hair shimmer in the sunlight.

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