THE WORLD - What is lyrical prose? by jrqc

I always rely on imagery and sensory language when writing poems, short stories and whatever else I can tap my imagination and feelings with.

Lyrical prose blurs the line between prose and poetry and it is, in my humble opinion, the perfect way to make reading a sensory experience while focusing on the emotions and feelings of the character / narrator and in this way creating an atmosphere and the mood through which the story or prose is developed.

There is also a sense of musicality, since the rhythm and sounds of the words contribute to the overall effect of the writing. Simultaneously, the use of imagery is for me of utmost important in order to create that sensory experience for the reader. Just saying "Maria was tired" does not convey imagery but more of a statement. The notion of sensory imagery falls, I believe, in the concept of "show not tell" making the experience of reading richer and soulful.

Letting feelings set free, allows the narrator to express them with no limitations or narrative constraints, which at times might be difficult to comply, that is to the "rules of writing". Feelings consist of a natural and essential part of writing a poem, a character, etc.

All in all, set free your creative writing, explore feelings and emotions through imagery and sensory descriptions. I can assure you, you will see the difference and most importantly, is just a beautiful experience.

Here is an example of a piece I have just written. Once I read it outloud, I could identify the elements described above.

The world is an extraordinary place and brush strokes of colors adorn it in whimsical splashes,

the beauty of the greens and the arms of the trees, bewildering, calling me,

and I heed their call and take the hands of solace upon mine,

and they let me be part of their light, and within me grows a struggle, subtle.

I behold its difference and indifference, and I become a part of it,

the light bouncing everywhere, playful, pervades my flesh,

its caresses, gentle and powerful quenches my thirst, making me whole.

The other world, capricious, bathed in greyness, merciless,

chained my soul, with rattling shackles, bringing decay,

no, no more of it, no more of its fumes,

I long and yearn for my wings to be spreaded, let me fly.

As I paint the silhouette of the wind, my mind flows in waters of calmness,

idleness finds no refuge within me,

I let go,

the world of colors,

sublime,

free.

Comments

LA CHICA DEL CALLEJÓN - Descripcion de personaje de ficcion - de jrqc

Ese día el sol brillaba como siempre, bañandola en su resplendor, tornando el color de su piel en tonos de miel y nuez. Su juventud perfumaba la calle y los ojos de los espectadores no la perdían de vista. Ella era simplemente la frescura de la primavera y el calor del verano combinadas casi perfectamente en las carnes y la figura de su cuerpo. Sus senos firmes dejaban entrever las aureolas de la juventud, mientras sus piernas daban paso a ese menear característico de su coqueteo, al que daba rienda suelta así como su castaña y ondulada cabellera. Su mente anidaba la sed de ver el mundo, de ir más allá de embriagarse del placer que éste le pudiera ofrecer y sin escatimar en ambiciones y sueños ella simplemente se dejaba ir. Era la carencia de estas vivencias y posesiones que la presionaban a sumirse y ser esclava de ambiciones que a veces eran malsanas y mezquinas, pero a ella eso no le importaba. Deseaba agarrar al mundo y hacerle su esclavo, deseaba ser complacida y en su parece...

THAT EVENING - by jrqc

You once said that we are entangled to death since the moment we are born, that we are chained to this earthly prison and that there is nothing we can possibly do about it, that all joy sinks countless times and that lovers will always mourn their dead love swallowed by neverending grief. It seems somehow that sadness in all its complexity lingers within, it extends it branches all over without distinction, with no regrets for who the victim is. Some branches seem to be so rooted that it makes the heart break, it makes it bleed tears to the point that you can barely function. Yes, I do still remember that evening when you said that and I noticed your face sinking, your spirit broken. However, you wouldn't divulge the reason of your torment. Your beautiful darkened eyes were bloodshot and you observed me, intently, your eyebrows would frown at times and your stare would grow deeper as if trying to snatch my soul. You stood close to me, I could feel your cold breath, I could feel you...

DESPIERTA

DESPIERTA - Despierta del umbral del sueño amada mía, ya haz visto la lluvia caer y mojar tus ropas sin enjugar tus lágrimas, mientras tus pies descalzos se pasean sobre la balustrada de piedra, y sigues en tu andar sin rumbo fijo. Tus ojos entreabiertos, rehusan el despertar y prefieren sumergirse en la tranquilidad, ya haz visto las figuras de porcelana resquebrajdas y bañadas en lluvia, y las rosas que tan hermosas son bañadas en tus lágrimas, hasta ellas lamentan tu tristeza. A que se asemeja tu sueño con tu vida preciosa mia? ya haz visto a los gemelos con sus ropas finas y su buen hablar, mas no disciernes la fantasía de la realidad, en un sueño del que al parecer no quieres despertar. Había copas de vino en los marcos de la ventanas me decías, había alegría vestida en música, en cantos, en esperanza, ya haz visto y aun así no disciernes, ya haz visto y no quieres despertar para hacerlo realidad. Despiert...

Articles, essays, poems, short stories and tips on writing

Search This Blog