Pictured Left : “The Old American Artist”, available on Amazon Books.
Fiction, 36,000 + words.
Also in process to become an Audio book before Christmas
“the intent of this blog is to incrementally build a body of thought that works toward integrating various topics, yoga, fitness, and the arts – it’s a process…”
Author pages for all titles (fiction, poetry, and images) for each major online outlet also on the top right of each page:
Amazon, Barnes & Nobles, Google Books, iTunes, Kobo, Smashwords.
Poetry in Fiction, Samples – The Old American Artist, Part 3 Chapter 19
Categories : Fiction – Poetry in Fiction
Linked to dVersePoets OpenLinkNight # 115, hosted by Grace
Lovely quote in Grace’s prompt today -
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” -Albert Camus
Hopefully, this week, I’ll have a new autumn header for my site.
Poetry in Fiction, Beginning a New Series of Posts
Several times, I’ve written about how poetry can lead to better, or, for the writer, a more interesting writing experience.
With this new series, I hope to show examples, from my own work, I feel are poetic. And, if not in a work of fiction, could stand alone as a work of poetry.
My only criteria will be: would I have posted this as a poem if I hadn’t written it into one of my fiction works?
Some will be short, some long, some very long or short.
I’ll post the fictional out take, including title it’s from, and any chapter information, if applicable.
Then, I’ll break it down, into stanzas, like a poem. With minimal editing. Respecting each medium.
Which, I’m assuming, will be very much like what it would also sound like, if read as a poem.
I’m anticipating this will be fun.
Fiction & Poetry, Pros & Cons
It’s kinda ironic that, the strength I see most in each, is in its context.
The fiction excerpt has much more power in its context within thousands of other words to give it associated meaning.
And the poetry rendition of that excerpt, gains its power, from its opening to whatever it is the reader brings to the lines. Isolated from everything, except the reader.
I like both.
Part 3 Chapter 19, The Old American Artist
At the city’s boundary wall, they stopped, looked back at the lights of the hotel, held each other briefly with tenderness, and quickly changed into the casual clothes Arturo had stuffed into his knapsack.
Ocean air cooled and chilled the art show’s sweet sweat of success on their skin and they ran hand in hand til their breaths were heaving in the heaviness of the night’s air.
From the road, they followed a foot trail they often took in the day.
“Here,” and Arturo spread their warm worn blanket, thin but protecting, alongside the fold-out windbreak meant for the winds in winter.
From the road, down the gradual path and incline that exposed the sea singing to the stars, the ocean fed winds blocked, they laid in their alcove of peace and began to kiss each other to the stars and the murmurs of distant waves. Church bells tolled nine times with seagulls singing through the dark while from the road, passing sounds of open air cars, filled with merry conquerors, headed to the city.
When quiet found a moment to be heard, their breaths warmed the scent of salt and moisture on their hands and thighs. They felt young again but more slowly. Anticipation was more patient. Trust, had found its reason.
© felipe adan lerma
At the city’s boundary wall
looked back at the lights of the hotel
held each other
and quickly changed
Ocean air cooled and chilled the art show’s sweet
of success on their skin -
they ran hand in hand
til their breaths were heaving
of the night’s air.
From the road
they followed a foot trail
took in the day.
And spread their warm worn blanket
thin but protecting
alongside the fold-out windbreak
winds in winter.
From the road
down the gradual path
and incline that exposed the sea
singing to the stars -
the ocean fed winds blocked -
they laid in their alcove
and began to kiss
each other to the stars -
of distant waves.
Church bells tolled nine times.
Seagulls singing through the dark
from the road
passing sounds of open air cars
filled with merry conquerors
to the city.
When quiet found a moment to be heard
their breaths warmed the scent of salt and
on their hands and thighs.
They felt young again
Had found its reason.
© felipe adan lerma
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namaste´- con dios – god be with you
*** INTEGRATING YOGA FITNESS AND THE ARTS