It’s amazing how well antibiotics work. My latest sinus infection may have taken up too much of my time, hence the two posts today, but I’m climbing back into the desk chair and getting back to work
Don’t let the look deceive you. The following is not a prose paragraph. It looks like one, but start reading and you’ll recognize the poetic features. To begin with, it sounds poetic. There is a poetic rhythm to each “sentence,” and I play with words to enhance and/or conceal meaning to affect the rhythm. I love writing poetic prose, but not everyone does. Maybe because it looks deceiving. Try it. It’s one of the hardest poetic forms I’ve played with because it requires the subtle use of poetic attributes.
She stands center stage, head bowed, spotlight gleaming on her silver-sequined gown. All is darkness. She opens arms in gestured ‘brace, sleeves drape to the floor like angle’s wings taking flight. The crowd hushes. Her face raises toward ‘even. Total silence in the concert hall. Red-gold tresses laced with crystal slither across her silky neck. Her right wrist turns her hand to the heavens. Boom! Boom! Boom! Go the base drums. She turns her left hand to the heavens. Tadum! Tadum! Ta-ta-tadum! Go the snare drums. She breathes in, the band lets loose. She glides across the stage to the rhythm of the music. She turns left. She turns right. The crowd is ecstatic. She comes forward. In a flurry the crowd moves forward. Bodies press against each other. Sweat flows from the pores of innocence. They cry. They scream. They faint. She moves closer to the edge of the stage. The crowd moves closer to the stage. Bodies crush. She hears the anguish, the moans, the pleas for release. She puts her hand in front of her face. She stops. Silence fills the auditorium. She inches forward, so slightly. The crowd inches forward, slightly.
She reaches down. Her gold tipped nails stoke the head of a blue-faced boy with bulging eyes and froth tinted lips. “For me?” she says with blushing pretentiousness. The crowd wails her name in the joy of the moment. “For me.” she says, “For glory!” she cries out. The crowd spins in a frenzy at acceptance of the sacrifice. And the band played on for Sister Superior of the Church of the Holy Hip Hop.
One thought on “Study in Poetic Form: Prose Poetry”
Good to see your feeling better. Prose that is poetry. I love it.