The Sestina

The sestina is an unusual poetic form that comes from the Middle Ages. It consists of six stanzas of six lines each and a three-line envoi. The rule is, each line ends with one of six words, their order changing in a spiraling pattern. The order is ABCDEF, FAEBDC, CFDABE, ECBFAD, DEACFB, BDFECA, and for the envoi, each of the three lines contains two of the six words: B and E in the first line, D and C in the second, F and A in the third. It is extremely complicated, but it's also an extremely fun form to compose. Beyond the repeated words, there are no fixed rules regarding line length or meter.

Sestina in Winter

The snow is falling silver.
Evening gives way to night.
Out of the clear blue, a solitary raven.
The valley stretches a snowy ocean
To the mountains, islands of pines.
I am longing for you yet.

The world is a world of dew, and yet
We madly rush to gather silver.
Everyone toils and secretly pines
For a life without a sleepless night,
Or just to drown in an ocean.
My kingdom for the wings of a raven!

"Nevermore" quoth the raven,
Coined in Eden, existing yet.
Nevermore returns the traveler to the ocean;
Its surface a mirror of silver,
In its depths eternal night,
The ever-unknown for which our soul pines.

Not the friends of long ago, Takasago's pines.
Lady of my dreams, with hair of richest raven,
Within my heart is melancholy night.
A blossom of the deepest hue, and yet...
The moon is polished silver,
A boat in a cloudy ocean.

I've grown fond of strand and ocean,
Silent paths between ancient pines:
For them I would barter my gold and silver.
My mind's a skittish hatchling, my heart's a raven.
And are you sleeping yet?
Wasting hazy days, alone night after night?

The tide is at its neap tonight.
There's a moving point of light on the ocean.
There may be hope for us yet.
In times of snow we learn the true nature of pines,
Over scorched battlefields flies the golden raven.
The frost comes, painting everything silver.

Listen to the night breezes through the pines,
The crash of the ocean, caw of the raven;
My heart moves yet, though it's hard as silver.

Sestina in Autumn

This time of year, the painted leaves
are red and gold: it is fall.

For this I take up pen and write

into the nights, which are growing long,

by moonlight or by candlelight

until my tired hand sinks down.

The colors falling, falling down,

the bright door closing as the season leaves.

The dust falls mute as they alight.

Like lives, the leaves decay and fall.

We say we knew it all along,

but the falling never feels right.

I wander from my front door, turn right

at the street, and then walk down

to the riverside; the road’s not long.

Winter is cold, but it relieves

our selfish pride before the fall,
and gives a glimmer of our old delight.

You are my dove, my love, my light,
but I must insist that you go right
back where you came from, lest pain befall
you and me both. It's all down-

hill from here. Love only leaves
ashes in its wake, and strings us along.

There was once a time (it seemed so long)

my mind was daily filled with light.

I’m not sure anyone believes
how much I miss you, Mister Wright.

Nothing stirs. This town’s run down.

The path stops at the waterfall.

I don’t cry, but the tears fall

across my face. I don’t belong

here. I wish to be back down-

town in that city where windows light

the skyline each night, to be forthright.

But I should go, before youth leaves.

I let my sestina fall from my lips in the twilight.

I long for home, or him, for wrong or right.

And so my eyes are down, and my daydream leaves.

Valentine Sestina

This is the season for Cupid,

When snows finally melt into spring,

Branches adorned with flirtatious sparrows.

With such succor love blooms like a rose,

And eagerly beats every heart.

Won't you be my Valentine?

The dawn delivers a Valentine

From a secret admirer, or Cupid.

It warms winter's wanting heart

And bursts forth like a fountaining spring,

As from seafoam the Cyprian rose,

As comes her chariot hitched to sparrows.

Songs of robins, finches, and sparrows

Serenade this Day of Valentine.

Someone gave me a single red rose.

Was it you, mischievous Cupid?

At its scent, hope and laughter spring

From forgotten places in my heart.

Leaf buds furled in the shape of a heart

Please the hearts of winter-worn sparrows

Sure these are the first blossoms of spring.

Let them adorn my Valentine,

With those blossoms beloved by Cupid:

The lilac, the tulip, and the rose.

Her two lips are petals of reddest rose.

Her golden hair ensnares our heart.

She is the mother of that rascal Cupid.

Her arrival's announced by sparrows:      

Venus! Ruling Queen on Valentine!

Whenever she comes, comes spring.

What we keep locked she's here to spring.

At her touch, all we hoped to hide arose.

I predict a storm for Valentine.

Once content, here's chaos for the heart.

Feelings flurried as flocks of sparrows.

Thick as rain, the arrows of Cupid.

This is my sestina for spring, season of the heart,

Inspired by the song of the Rose, songs of Sparrows.

Accept my Valentine's Day gift, Venus and Cupid.