Contents
 

 

 

Sketchbook 

Sestina

 

 An End Without End

John Daleiden, US

What's the difference? Either now or later. 
It's all the same; in the end we all die
and there's no changing that eternal fate.
From dust to dust is what the Good Book says.
So! To every thing there is a season
and I have patience to endure that end

with meditating that all life must end.
My last breath must come sooner or later.
It's certain death comes in its own season—
A time to be born, and a time to die—
as I cross my last river, Charon says,
"It's certain there's no escaping this fate!"

I know that men cannot outlive their fate;
history must run its course, have an end
when it will end. It's useless when man says,
"I beg your pardon Lord, I'll go later—
for you see now—I'm not ready to die
just yet. Oh, Sir, please! Just one more season!"

When ripe fruit falls from trees, it's sure season's
course has rounded earth's corners; lord, my fate
is like some old brontosaurus who dies
when one giant galactic event ends
the daily round of ancient life later
than sooner, as the antique saying says.

I ruminate—the eye of my mind says:
"blink not—the face of the final season
hears with deaf ears those pleas for a later
departure. The mind's lips cannot mute fate—
for bloody life will end when life will end.
One event happens to us all—we die!"

To be a man is to have lived and died.
Is there now among us a man who says,
"the rivers have filled all the seas. The end
of life is at hand. Behold! Life's season,
is scratching its doggy behind like fate
on Eden's last apple tree. Don't be late."

Later, I'll return—a gnat, or rose. I'll die.
"Fate is eternal," some witless sage says:
"Seasons turn endlessly—begin and end . . ."



 

 Crossroads

Craig Tigerman, US

I'm at a bittersweet crossroads in time,
A rose horizon, summer turning fall.
All innocence of nature thrives on love,
Yet what is ripe must too soon lose its hold;
And when likewise shall I in fading light
Make my final descent into the night?

For in the secret sweetness of the night
My heart has journeyed far 'cross space and time,
A gypsy moth attracted to sweet light,
Reached untold heights of wonder, then free-fall
Forever, as with music taken hold
By rapture's rhapsody of endless love.

But summer glories innocent in love
While many streak-red sunsets slip to night,
Till soon the ripened fullness cannot hold;
So to the unrelenting troubler, time,
The picture-perfect solstice-world must fall,
Toward humbling numb December's slanted light.

Now wistful in September's blue twilight,
I see the coming cold the price of love;
But winter's chill can't change the splendid fall!
I'll say I've had my day when comes the night,
And turn with tear-bright eyes to Father Time,
Extend my hand, eternity to hold.

For there is nothing greater to behold
Than ever-vernal heav'n-eternal light,
A glimpse of which I'm blessed with, for a time
In this unlikely life, an angel's love
When I was blind: "You'll make it through this night;
Just look my way, I'll never let you fall."

I know the glow, and it shall show, this fall!
Through winter, and beyond, nothing shall hold
This love in chains, no forces of the night
Shall lay claim to this tender sweet delight.
This crossroads, there is only one road: love,
Where angels travel with us, all the time.

I see it clearly now: fall is the time
For growing love, to share and bring more light,
To hold us closely through long winter's night.


 

A Swan Song's Coda
(Duckling's Dance)

Craig Tigerman, US

The heart, obscured in occidental mist,
Let show in glancing smile its golden state
Of sweet decision, turning from its place
Of safety, wireless wonder-message sent
To eyes enchanted, gateway to a mind
No less obscured, and equally entwined.

The danger of existing elf-entwined
In fleeting fantasy is what is missed
By not sustaining starlight—do you mind?
At sunrise dies the dream, that liquid state
Of inky bliss. Where are you? Have you sent
A swan song's coda, fade-out taking place?

At bay straight way, how many fools would place
Their hearts in jeopardy, at risk, entwined
In softly smiling signals sweetly sent?
Do wise men know the mystery of mist?
In whispered words we hear the sages state
The secret: that the heart-ace trumps the mind,

How sparkle-eyed enchantment haunts the mind,
A tender-kissed contender to replace
All reason with a love-enlightened state.
No wonder, then, how easily entwined
Are hearts in hopes of holding what is missed
When dreams so sweet and dear to death are sent.

This garden stroll in ever-sweeter scent
Seductively intoxicates the mind.
It revels in the pleasure of the mist,
A quiet fact; yet there's an end, a place
Beyond which strollers are no longer wined,
Awakened to a sadly sober state—

Repeat and fade, last bars!—a sorry state
Of such affairs. But with each coda's sent
A new and different tune: freedom entwined
With chance, a duckling's dance, and I don't mind!
How sweet to savor each note in its place
Until my swan-song fade within the mist:

For out of misty thoughts, words scarcely state
The truths of time and place, the heaven-sent
Delight and pain of heart and mind entwined.

 




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