As eloquently stated by Wikipedia:
A sestina is a fixed verse form consisting of six stanzas of six lines each, normally followed by a three-line envoi. The words that end each line of the first stanza are used as line endings in each of the following stanzas, rotated in a set pattern.
I am generally a free-verse poet all the way, wishing to be half as good as Walt Whitman, where I draw much of my inspiration. However, I wanted to branch out so I gave a sestina a go. I am fond of it, I hope you are too.
Ex-Mormon Boy
Twisting through the hills of Oakland,
passing the treacherous beacon—the Mormon Temple.
It looks so ominous from the front porch at night.
Two missionaries came up the steps last summer,
the dogs barked and snarled,
the sound hit the young men like lightening.
Submersion in water by a sweaty man felt like cold lightening.
They will take all the newly cleansed to Oakland,
Watch out, for they believe the natives here may snarl,
but it’s the closest Temple.
Feeling the icy touch of God’s water in mid-summer,
teenagers now play chased board games at night.
Boys, if you get that urge, get up and make a snack—eat all night.
Eat to keep the demons at bay, eat or God will strike you down with lightening.
If you don’t keep your hands off, you’ll never feel God’s haunting chill in mid-summer.
Then you’ll have to live in Oakland.
far away from the Temple—
where the natives snarl.
The Bishop’s bosom burned so much it made him snarl—
he had stayed up eating all night.
He was supposed to baptize the dead at the Temple,
but God’s heart burning revelation hit him like lightening.
He was late arriving to Oakland.
Praise God for giving us more light in the summer.
Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday in the summer
do your priesthood duties or Dad and God will snarl.
When you are eighteen get your Scared Underwear in Oakland,
they will help keep you chased at night.
Double date to eliminate temptation, it can sneak up on you like God’s lightening.
Keep your God-given underwear on, until you marry a pretty girl in the Temple.
The newly converted wait outside the bus that will take them to the Temple,
the air-conditioning is broken so they are drenched in hot summer,
when they get off the stench hits the native bystanders with lightening.
If they don’t baptize them, their dead relatives will remain in purgatory, and upon seeing them will snarl.
Rituals are done into the night,
though they say it‘s dangerous to stay so late in Oakland.
Those living in Oakland fear the Temple’s blinding light.
On a deep summer nights good teenage boys stuff their faces,
while God’s minions fly over make-out spots, snarling and spitting lightening.
Chestnut Cowboy 