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About Me Senior Member Suspense Writer David Dykes18/Male/United Kingdom

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Aural Devices: A Guide, Part 2

Using Aural Devices in Poetry II: Rhyme
An Introduction: Why Rhyme?
I've decided to address this issue first, because I know for many people it will be the most pertinent. Why do we rhyme in poetry? Why do poets restrict themselves for the sake of sound? What can rhyme possibly add?
A lot of the problems people have with poetry is that it seems outdated. Rhyme serves as a mnemonic: the repetition of sounds imprints on people's minds to make verse more memorable. Because of this, before the printing press was developed rhyme (along with meter) was used to help people remember them. Now, with the printed w

Aural Devices: A Guide, Part 1

Using Aural Devices in Poetry I: Sound Units
An Introduction: What Are Aural Devices, and Why Should I Use Them?
Aural devices (also known as sound devices, aural imagery, or prosodic devices) are "a writer's strategic use of language...to evoke images and create sounds within his or her work." It's descriptive language that appeals to the senses--in this case, obviously sound--to re-create a sensory experience that the poet felt when composing their poem, or in the scene or emotions they're conveying, as well as being a powerful rhetoric device to let your words resonate with the reader.
The

viking

Funereal

The hottest day of summer came in mid-July. The heat slowed us down, so that days went on for far too long and the workers on the new bypass couldn’t manage more than an hour’s work. Heat seeped through everything, cooking our bodies; the sweaty, humid air by the river gave us our only respite.
Mrs. Dowd died sometime then, while our backs were clamped with sweat and our mouths dried. No-one knew, until her daughter's screams slipped through our open windows like the midges that infested our homes, shaking our hearts with its urgency. In her garden, around the burnt corpse, strangling the fading fabric of her mother

Sonnet II

I heard it once said that love's only lent so I'll enjoy it now; then when we part you'll remain in ruptured scars on my heart, carved by the thorns of young flower-love's scent.
Love tried to warn me of kerosene kisses, but I had these acidic bites before-- their bitter burns bated; I still want more. I'll never be finished with seeking small blisses.
I won't hold hearts vainly, but watch you fade from view, opening my hands to release and let you recede. Although my mouth may still taste loss' lust, my heart will feel peace--

:nervous:

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Ouch.

Journal Entry: Sat Jun 27, 2009, 3:17 AM

I counted my general body aches and pains today. I have FOURTEEN.

I do not wish to disgust anyone at this early hour of the day but at least two of these are in UNMENTIONABLE PLACES which REALLY FUCKING CHAFE A LOT FUCK FUCK FUCK.

Anyone with a large bottle of lotion is WELCOME to tend to me.

Also I really need to start writing again. And finish off the last part of the aural devices guides.

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