SPANISH SONNET

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.
The meter like the French sonnet, normally comprises of ten syllables.
The rhyme scheme is .a.b.b.a...a.b.b.a....c.d.c.d.c.d.

To my Brothers

Small busy flames play through the fresh laid coals
And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.
And while for rhymes, I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fixed, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep
That aye at fall of night our care condoles.

This is your birthday Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly.
Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise
May we together pass and calmly try
What are this worlds true joy, - ere the great voice
From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly.

John Keats

Spanish Sonnet Posts
Contents

Gloria Carpenter: Music to the Dance; So Turns the Wheel
Lorainne Dafney: Spanish Omlet
Kevin McKinney: My Rubicon; Spanish Steps
Ryter Roethicle: Deceit; Media Truths; Poetic Musings; Un-perplexed; Wraith or Faith
Leny Roovers: Flowers

Gloria Carpenter

Music to the Dance

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

Oh, some may see this sight as autumn’s blood,
beginnings of an end as scarlet spreads,
asplash beneath her feet, her dress in shreds,
surrendering a spill wherein she stood.

Her limbs exposed, so fragile, bare of bud,
attired in remnants, thinly hanging threads,
now shiver-clinging, soulful bowing heads,
as memories release in wistful flood.

It is a time for strength, a time between,
when scarcity of warmth brings wintry feel.
Still beauty graces silhouette, serene,
for stark reality cannot conceal
a sweep of crimson complements the green;
as opposites attract, so turns the wheel.

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Lorainne Dafney

Spanish Omlet

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 could’ve 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 I’ve lived a life free of crime
I refuse to surrender quietly
All rise for this Spanish omelets last rhyme

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Kevin McKinney

My Rubicon

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.

-----

Spanish Steps

In Ireland, there are monuments to Spain;
In Rome, there is a staircase that's quite grande;
In Texas, there's a mariachi band
With full sombrero hats in case the rain...

Should chance to fall elsewhere besides the plain.
There's hardly a square acre of dry land
Where someone doesn't speak the language and
Recall past glories of the Spanish Main.

When Nun~ez first swam in the Pacific;
Planting flags and crosses as he went,
Initial projections were terrific;
The Aztecs thought Hernando heaven sent!
Till gold lust seized him like a narcotic,
Exposing, pure, the vein of his intent.

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Ryter Roethicle

Deceit

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.

-----

Media Truths

A Tarantella upon the written word,
Treadings once woven become a snare
Creating in some a desire to lay bare
Pursuits of lies, and none events occurred.
Biased paragons of truth speak the absurd
Catching the unwary in their vacant stare
Hammering non essentials til they swear
That black is white and always was preferred.

Now games are crueller than realised in youth
Portraying the predator as the prey.
The innocent having to dig for proof
And justice does the blameless betray.
Sociology just breeds uncouth,
And read ignorance what the press portray.

-----

Poetic Musings

I tried to capture a feeling today,
It fluttered away on butterfly wings.
On a nearby flower I let it cling,
Never to disturb these things of beauty.

I tried to capture someone’s soul today,
She evaded my words, loudly laughing.
As though someone else had made her sing,
Then she hid not willing to hurt me this way.

I tried to catch all my wild thoughts today
And to corral this herd of emotions.
Exhausted, I rested and watched them stray,
Wandering off on hair brained notions.
Slowly they returned their own sweet way,
Once again putting my pen in motion.

-----

Un-perplexed

Sometimes a wanderer may see many things,
And just as often many lessons learn.
Experience found as homeward he turns
In apprehension, to the past he clings.
Yet hope still lingers and once again he rings,
Words spoken, promises made, he returns,
And casts his lot with chance, still fearing burns.
Will she be the one who will make his heart sing?

Her smile speaks more than words could ever say,
And her eyes speak volumes of her intent.
How can there be doubts, no desire to stay,
Only his touch will say he is content.
They wine and dine, and meet love all the way
And finally fate gives her willing consent.

-----

Wraith or Faith

Countenance haunted by dreams unfulfilled,
The hollowed eyes of veiled doubt and pain,
All the symptoms of a soul torn in twain,
The body grown thin, muscles cannot rebuild.
All once lively essence has been killed
Useless now, has been flushed down the drain
The wraith only remains alive on this plain
Everything else remains unfulfilled.

Why must we be yoked to such sorrow,
Offered again would the same choices be made?
What are the values offered tomorrow,
Are ideals so priceless they never fade?
Morals and ethics, what do we borrow,
Or just like the rest, we wait in the shade?

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Leny Roovers

Flower

When clouds are weeping, drops of silver fall
and touch the inner heart without remorse;
her spread-out petals bear tears’ gentle force-
as penetration lingers, it enthralls.

A hundred shining mirrors show to all
the multi-coloured rainbow and her source-
a rising sun’s 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 autumn’s bloom, a spider starts to weave,
its web will catch the raindrops and dismiss
the loss of summer’s golden days- conceives.

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