Man Stands at the Crossroad and Contemplates Humankind Making
its Way Beyond the Cosmic Machine. Cecilia Bustamante

Literary works by leading poets and thinkers of the English world


Sestina:  The Low-Bent Sun
Villanelle: Dainty
Modern Sonnet: Deborah Sampson
Free Verse: Come, Enter my World


The low-bent sun kissed her flesh,
As if beholding to her right,
To dabble without protective mesh,
While pursuing the gardener's plight,
Pulling weeds in order to grow fresh
Sprouts and greens to nourish her might,

The neighbor offered her his might,
No overbearing clothing touched his flesh,
The sun low-bent, soon she saw her plight,
As he covered the berry bushes in mesh,
His lean muscles pumping left to right,
Lifted her eyes to look at him fresh,

She offered thanks of iced tea made fresh,
He answered after a shower he might,
Come back to strain lemons through mesh,
Iced tea without lemons; a tasteless plight,
She waited for his return in the flesh,
Quickly showering; it seemed only right,

She arranged a fruit tray till it was right,
All the fruit was, by store standards, fresh,
Her hands shook, her breath caught at her plight,
As her heart fluttered under it's mesh,
And she began to think that soon might,
Her and he become one flesh,

She set the table in scarcely clothed flesh,
Hoping he'd know, in the sun this was right,
And he wouldn't know her dreaming of mesh,
No, this would make a nervous plight,
Perhaps she could keep the talk fresh,
If she controlled her thoughts with her might,

He arrived in time to wrestle with might,
Against all the dreams of her flesh,
She was dazed in the low-bent sun's plight,
As it beat down on her tearing mesh,
Which had kept her heart from seeing what's right,
And picking the fruit that's fresh,

They ate the fruit with raptured might,
The low-bent sun kissing their flesh,
His muscles gleaming from left to right.


Footfalls hushing piney land,
Dainty treks the narrow path,
Searching for her father's hand,

She had sifted through the sand,
Divided time, added math,
Footfalls hushing piney land,

Feet the journey does command,
Conquer the havoc of wrath,
Searching for her father's hand,

Sun through canopy's have tanned,
The old man's gray epitaph,
Footfalls hushing piney land,

Hope for acquiescence fanned,
In love's soft, eternal bath,
Searching for her father's hand,

She leapt across the bridge grand,
Daunting as traversing a lath,
Footfalls hushing piney land,
Searching for her father's hand.


Historically, she double-clenched enslaved,
Tethered between a slip knot and a noose,
Lead the fight to die with all men enraged,
Or die while yet breathing, what would she choose?

Bravely, she cut away her vanity,
Stepped straight into woolen freedom he-pants,
Held her musket against atrocity,
And whispered adieus to the tired dance,

For Deborah Sampson exclaimed "Hey, No More!"
She shouted it with every living breath,
No longer silent as in the past score,
To allow another to writ her death,

She fought, bled, Revolutioned a fine kin,
Of oppression fighters dwelling within.


Here is where
time is not yet born,
So I create it
with a scrolling line,

It's the land of
golden streams,
And I sail them
on ink so fine,

The frail are free
to choose from love,
Life's nectar;
not death's rind,

I see you teetering
pale and alone
Likeness lost,
I am your kind,

Here is where
rules are fair,
Easily navigated
towering piers,

I've slain fear,

Join me here,

Come, enter my world.

© Tami Krueger,2005

Tami Krueger Tami Krueger is an American writer living in Oregon. Her motto is "Consider the Source". She has recently published her first book of written work which includes a smattering of poetry, biographies and short stories. The title of the book is "The Canvas Between The Lines," and it can be bought directly at in Electronic form as an e-book, or as a traditional paper-bound book. Not all of the poems in these pages can be found in the above mentioned book, but all are equal in quality, and charming. Ms. Krueger is a devotee of Roman and Greek classics and specially she is fond of 17th Century poet, John Donne, one of the most important precursors of modern poetry.
And as an admirer and follower of classical poetry, most of her poems are in the traditional forms like sonnets, villanelles, sestinas, etc.
She also delves into free verse with all the passion and honesty that the form demands. The theme of the villanelle Dainty  appearing in this page is the lost love of a father, and the significance is nicely worked in with the form - no forced lines to achieve music and the rhyme A,B,A.
For more poems by the author, go to her web site: An American Woman

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