Poetry 2

 Sorry, Folks, this is as the sestina should be read.  The error was that I pasted the earlier version from Word.

I would add that the six words I chose ( Spirit/Breath/Life/Control/Others/Own/) were completely random; I had no idea how the poem would result.

Harry

Life Cycle. A Sestina

Tiny, vibrant, filled with spirit

Out of the warmth of the womb I gave my first breath

Thus, I began my bloody, skinny, miserable life

Foul stools and rancid vomit were beyond my control

My existence totally dependant on others

From the break of dawn to the dusk my life was not my own

                                    *******

I learned the hardest task of all - to walk on my own

I stumbled at every step and frequently lost my breath

Though my success was assured by others

I resolutely refused to lose my spirit

Finally, my ambulatory skills were under control

I was on the verge of an exciting new life

                           *******

Scholl was an entirely different way of life

Day after day I felt the teacher's breath

At my ear - trying to break my spirit

I mastered the three 'R's'. I was now in control

I refused to follow in the path of others

And fall by the wayside. My life was my own

                             **********

As a teenager I could not accept the role of Mothers

Domestic affairs were beyond my comprehension

"Come, son, tidy your room ... that's the spirit"

The words spoken in a gentle, soft breath

My childish possessions I now disowned

With abandonement I approached my bachelor life

                             **********

Then, no longer was I a single man - a free spirit

With a wife, two daughters, and their two brothers

Two boys and two girls almost beyond my control

I would now take a deep breath

As I entered the penultimate stage of my life

My possessions no longer mine alone

                          ***********

As I reach the closing stages of my life

My body aches - I quickly lose my breath

I am so much more dependant on others

My children's children now fully grown

Once again, my bodily functions are beyond my control

Never have I been so close to the Holy Spirit

                             ****************

Before my final breath I give praise to my Creator for allowing me to control my humble life

And now that I have grown old I thank other's for the spirit of happiness in which I will depart this earth.

Hi Harry... your poem reminds me of this...

The Power of Art, The Burden of History,and the Peculiarities of Self...(.found in the introduction of a book I found in the ferry gift shop...)

"The End of the Alphabet ~ Questions of Travel"  C.S.Richardson

Lovely poems Anna - great to have you on board!

Harry your poem brought tears to my eyes. Wonderful.

Thank you, friends, for your comments.  I wrote the following poem with my tongue firmly in my cheek, and at a time when my daughter was watching one of THOSE black and white movies ... you know the ones !

Harry

Of Days Gone By

In days gone by - of innocent love
When chivalry became, and magic wove
Spells of healing, and to beguile
Lone, exhausted rider, paused awhile
Then made his way on familiar land
Brave horseman, dirk in hand
Hastened o’er terrain of hills and lochs
And bracken where the pheasant mocks
He came upon a Highland lass
Sitting - in her hand, a looking glass
‘Dear sir,’ she asked, impertinent
Of the mounted, well dressed gent
‘Do you find me looking well?’
Enticing him into her woven spell -
Searching for her perfect knight
In shining armour and horse of white
She brushes strands of golden hair
As he gazes at her complexion, fair
‘Why, yes, my dear,’ he replies
Unaccustomed to telling lies
She arose and feigned to fall
He stood beside her, strong and tall
‘How badly are you hurt?’ he begged
As she tried to stand, uncertain legged
‘Oh sire,’ she cried. ‘I’m sorely hurt’
‘Don’t move,’ his manly voice crisp and curt
As he lifted her gently onto his steed
And encircled her waist, slender indeed
Her billowing dress and Chantilly lace
Scented, flying in his face
As they sped toward his distant stronghold
With rolling lawns and flowers of gold
‘Who have you there’? Called the anxious maid
‘Go woman; have a bed well made,
That I may care, and save the life
Of this sweet woman, my future wife.'

I am slowly rummaging through a box of old stuff that I haven't seen in 15 years...some of this stuff I thought was lost for good; including a couple of poems that I had forgotten I wrote. Here is the first one:

The Fallen Hero

Just as he would have had it
Onward we will go
Hoping in Camelot
Never out faith shall lull.

For he gave us this hope
In sincerity and truth
The honor with which he spoke
Zealousness did evoke.

Good people do beware
E're the mind it slip
Remember long and hard
A man so proud in spirit.

Laboriousness, truth and
Diligence should have a
Knighthood bequeathed...but...
Enmity did abound -

Now and still it's here
No one noticed in the crowd
Enemies all around, till
Death slipped in and did
Yield our hero's crown.

Diana Elise Sinclair
16 April 1992

The second poem must have been when I was in one of my Edgar Alan Poe moments. LOL:

Waiting

A century separates our sojourn upon this earth
You have been waiting.
From beneath the cold dark soil
Your hands reach...
I am waiting.
Your voice comes through the veiled depths,
Imploring, calling.
As I close mine own,
I see with the sadness of your eyes.
The beating of your heart,
A pulse death could not still,
Pulsates within me as it merges in my breasts.
I can feel you; I feel you longing,
desiring, craving, wanting.
All my life I have dreamed this ethereal liaison -
For an eternity you have waited.
"What is your name?"
"Alone." You say.
"No longer." I promise.
It is accomplished -
We are one.

Diana Elise Sinclair
1992

Written last summer, in a sun sparkled afternoon,whilst listening to a harp and violin duet, playing under a gazebo at the outermost point of a dock.

Were You Here

O were you here

with me, tonight!

the waves, the waves,

strings so sweet!