Given to whimsical fancies,
Immersed in the realm of the limitless.
Led by innate passion,
Pulled, never pushed.
Upon toes which propel
Her graceful form to heaven.
Embraced by floral perfume,
Laced with poetic expression.
Woven dreams, intertwined desires,
A willing captive to all, and to none.
Sheltered by each moment in dance,
Heartbeat united with song.
She is the dance.
The dance is she.
The same entity.
Poetry will find it’s own way,
Once it receives the poet’s breath.
Dancing with wings to life’s ballet
A poet’s heart to be confessed.
When by beauty, it’s been caressed,
Poetry shares it’s gifts of light.
Opening minds which were oppressed,
So heart and soul will reunite.
A Spanish form of poetry, the huitain revolves around the number eight – there are eight lines in the poem, and each line contains eight syllables. The rhyme scheme is ababbcbc. That’s all there is to it! (http://www.elfwood.com/farp/thewriting/27brianforms/27brianforms.html#ethere)
Palm trees in the Las Vegas,
Brought from far away.
Transplanted into sandy ground,
About which, they had no say.
Yet they seem to be quite happy,
Despite the lack of rain.
They have the loyalty of the sun,
And winds to help them sway!
And how about the late night music?
The lights that make them glow?
The crazy things they get to witness,
That the world may never know?
It is true what they say,
At least in many a circumstance.
What happens in Vegas stays there,
Where many happy palms dance.
Untamed, unfiltered, unbound,
Seeking expression upon void canvases.
Coloring a world within an ornate frame,
Embellishing life with elegant song and dance.
Emotions unfiltered, internal truths revealed,
Romantic strings strummed upon the heart.
Echoes of times past and to come,
Mirroring the surrounding world through art.
A flame, an inferno,
Producing immense heat.
Which scorches frozen souls,
With the warmth they crave and need.
No cap, no max, no attempts to bind,
A voice lubricated by inhibition.
Unwinding in a flow of erupted energy,
Feeding on inspiration’s gifted nutrition.
Poetry is the medium,
Which intently selects it’s vessel.
Received with acceptance or not,
A poet’s passion cannot be quelled!