Poetry in Fiction, Samples – The Old American Artist, Part 3 Chapter 19

Pictured Left : “The Old American Artist”, available on Amazon Books.

Fiction, 36,000 + words.

Also in process to become an Audio book before Christmas 😉

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“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…”

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Author pages for all titles (fiction, poetry, and images) for each major online outlet also on the top right of each page:

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Poetry in Fiction, Samples – The Old American Artist, Part 3 Chapter 19

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Categories : Fiction – Poetry in Fiction

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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

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Hopefully, this week, I’ll have a new autumn header for my site. 😉

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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. 🙂

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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. 🙂

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Part 3 Chapter 19, The Old American Artist

Fiction

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

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Poetry

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

casual clothes

*

Ocean air cooled and chilled the art show’s sweet

sweat

of success on their skin –

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 spread their warm worn blanket

thin but protecting

alongside the fold-out windbreak

meant for

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 –

the murmur

of distant waves.

Church bells tolled nine times.

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

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Other Articles You May LIke :

Presenting New Creative Work – Through 2013 : Audio Books, Gift Items

The Indie Spotlight : “The Old American Artist, a Love Story”

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namaste´- con dios – god be with you

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