Another interesting variation through the mixing of cultures. This time
combining the Petrarchan Sonnet form as the octave, but uses the Rima
Alterata a variation of the Sicilian as the sestet.
Spanish Sonnet Posts
Oh, some see love defined as want and need,
and wait for someone else to make them whole,
a scarcity of trust that takes its toll
and starves on apprehension as they feed.
But love is never this, a grasping greed
where bitterness invades and takes control,
that suffocates the lifeblood from the soul
and spreads until it thrives as strangle weed.
No ~ love is freedom, music to the dance,
releasing expectations to the flow,
an opening ~ a risk of pain to chance
while nurturing the seed inside to grow.
For only singing hearts can keep romance
by holding tight, yet freely letting go.
So Turns the Wheel
Carefully she tapped my outer cover
Slowly she poured me into a red pan
I wish I could feel the breeze of a fan
As a sizzling spatula did hover
Too late as I lay next to my brother
If I couldíve just slipped into a can
And in its darkness plot my escape plan
Before the heat has its chance to smother
Forget it, here comes the whole family
My luck is about to run out big time
The old oak table is set so lovely
In my shell Iíve lived a life free of crime
I refuse to surrender quietly
All rise for this Spanish omelets last rhyme
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Spaniards would thank the lofty Pyrenees
For keeping pure the royal blood of France;
The inspiration for Flamenco dance,
Being not French princes, but French prince's fleas!
And I've no doubt, they'd thank the Portuguese
For sailing forth in pantaloons, not pants;
So proving brave enough to take a chance
Building empires despite their bony knees.
And thank goodness Spain was in position
To save the European from the Moor;
Then of course there was that Inquisition;
They'd thank you not to mention, por favor!
Their word for thanks is grace; a condition
Cervantes in his humor, would abjure.
Have you ever walked in empty streets,
After the night has conquered the day?
Each measured step, took you a special way,
And yet there was no way you could retreat.
Further away from where you felt complete,
Questioning the will that led you astray,
Is there an author of a greater play,
In which you were the victim of deceit?
What is the purpose of any emotion,
When all that is promised will be denied?
Just cast out on fates whimsical ocean,
Where presenters of truth blatantly lied
Thus cynics were given their promotion
And what was true and right just simply died.
Wraith or Faith
When clouds are weeping, drops of silver fall
and touch the inner heart without remorse;
her spread-out petals bear tearsí gentle force-
as penetration lingers, it enthralls.
A hundred shining mirrors show to all
the multi-coloured rainbow and her source-
a rising sunís reflected gold- endorsed.
A yellow flowers sparkles, standing tall.
The morning dew adds flavour to this kiss,
provided by the touch of tears on leaves-
a sweet, nostalgic moment, filled with bliss.
In autumnís bloom, a spider starts to weave,
its web will catch the raindrops and dismiss
the loss of summerís golden days- conceives.
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