What poetry lends to commercial stories

Poetry is an extremely emotive way to tell stories. A poem works under our mind’s peripheral layers, at more subconscious levels. This penetrating quality of a poem comes from how it’s almost unadulterated emotion. Poetry is using emotions to tell a story in all honesty; a poem never explains, it rather makes you feel the story. Poetry triggers emotions through the careful disposition of words. It maps a story that can only be felt rather than 'understood’ through information. We know how important emotions are in decision-making and memory. Like Maya Angelou said, ‘Someone may forget what you said, but they’ll never forget how you made them feel’. This is the strength of a poem, and this is also where poetry and commercial storytelling begin to convene.

Emotions are the first language. You master it, you master language. Pay attention to emotions; they are the ultimate indicator of what’s going on between and behind the constructed facade of words. 

Poetry is an emotion-led art form. You work in the dark with your eyes closed, but your heart wide open. And, this is precisely why the heart also becomes the place where poetry meets the reader. For businesses that want to establish loyalty, intimacy and deep connection, poetry is a great way to communicate. Poems can trigger mental imagery, musical sounds and even a sense of place. A poem is an experience with the potential to surround and immerse. Ask a poet and they would tell you that poetry has a strict economy of words and a very precise geometry. Poetry is not description, nor is it definition; it’s pure emotion—like painting with words. But, it’s heavily reliant on language and culture, leaning into the subtleties and nuances of both.

Poetry is a feeling-first expression using words. Ask a poet and they would tell you that poetry has a strict economy of words and a very precise geometry. It’s not description, nor is it definition; it’s pure emotion—like painting with words. For businesses that want to connect through emotions, poetry is a fantastic art form to use.

But, remember that it works best with a niche audience identified by language and cultural connection. For example, we created the poem below for the Colombo-based sari retailer Rithihi; it was a story which focused on a product with an unusually striking colour; it worked as a way to draw attention to what made the product so desirable, in connection to emotions; it used scenarios and memories that the closely identified target audience which was geographically and culturally mapped out with the client. 

The Sunday white walls,

The blue glass sky,

And the only man walking slowly down the narrow sea road,

All barely alive.

The cat, the houses, and the street

Have all been put to sleep

In a warm, comfortable defeat

From the April heat.

But, the pink bougainvilleas!

Oh, those pink bougainvilleas!

They’re ringing dangerously wild, 

Impossibly alive.

Bougainvillea pink— 

Like laughter in the wind.

Another situation where we used a poem to communicate value was when promoting the popular surf town Kabalana, Ahangama. Although Ahangama is the current it-town on Sri Lanka’s south coast, it wasn’t always the case. A few years ago, when this poem was made to capture the wonder of the area, only a few retailers, restaurants and resorts that had recognised potential were set up there. With our creative safe house, and first-ever real estate investment being based there, we had a vested interest in promoting the area. This poem was written to evoke a sense of fantasy in connection to Kabalana, Ahangama. It aims to transport the reader and create a dream-like render or nostalgia for this place that we wanted more people to visit and experience. We drew inspiration from what makes the place interesting, as well as the folklore connected to the Deep South.

The ocean and the sunset are laws you learn to follow, when you're living in the south’s gravitational mellow.

And, you wonder what makes the peacocks cry the way they do; in a sound between laughter and sorrow—otherworldly and wild, earthly and divine—as they walk through the trees and the sun

in pairs of sisters or newfound loves.

The old man who sits by the sea said that peacocks belong with the spirit of the old god Kadira— a warrior turned forest-dweller, turned ascetic, turned deity.

The old man is a poet; so he must be right.

There’s a morning worth waking up to; but, it’s lost in the sky behind the Kabala trees.

There's something about showering under the palms.

There's something about walking under the stars.

There’s something about sitting by the sea with your heart held out.

There’s something,

there’s something…

There’s something about Ahangama days.

When a business uses poetry in its communication, it engages the audience directly through emotions, and this is great; But, is poetry for all brands? We don’t think so. When we work with clients, we first work out the framework of the business persona before we get into creating any stories. Depending on the outlined brand personality and voice, we create stories that would be appropriate for the client’s company and have resonance with the identified target audience.

Poetry is not for every audience or brand. Is your brand an emotive one, or a more cerebral one? Does your audience have an affinity towards literature and the arts? What emotional ranges do they enjoy? Does your business have a prominent Lover archetype in its persona? These are some of the questions you can answer before using poetry in your brand stories. 

In our story design process, we consider a few carefully chosen theories in human persona-based archetypes, aesthetics, and design thinking. When incorporating emotions into stories, we use the aesthetic theory of ‘Rasa’. Rasa is defined closest in English as ‘emotional flavour’ contained in creative work—it’s not what’s mentioned outright or described, but rather, evoked in the minds of the audience through a deliberate trigger of emotions.

If you’d like to find out more about how we use Rasa theory emotions to create compelling stories for businesses, read our short guide to using the Rasa theory as a brand storytelling tool and why emotions are a cornerstone in our story design process. 

Emotions are the first language. When you communicate with emotions, the message becomes more universal. 

Where the story goes

Hello and welcome back to another episode of the Designers’ Soup. This month, we are looking at the Explorer archetype. This archetype is known for its audacious curiosity and venturing into the unknown inspired by a sense of wonder. It's this thrill of encountering the unfamiliar that brings vitality to all the adventure stories we love. Sometimes, when we make stories—particularly ones involving a larger scope or team leaving room for more changes—I find myself leaning on my inner Explorer archetype and sensing where the story is moving through the inevitable changes.

Last year, we were invited to help direct the narrative of a Sri Lankan surf documentary. Early on, I decided to document my experience of working on this project. As the filming started, and I joined the film crew, I was faced with the dichotomy of presence versus documentation. I’ve been dancing with this paradox ever since. And I wonder, as someone who is part of building a narrative for the story, how do I become absorbed in the present, feeling out the moment to moment, while also recording it? To strike this balance, I keep a journal; it’s become a tool to reconcile the images and sounds captured from the day’s surf mission with the evocative emotions triggered by the experience. The camera encapsulates reality and the journal distills its essence. 

Some stories can be designed within strict parameters while others need room to evolve. Stories like documentary films are notorious for this need to take form through the changes that affect the team, place, resources and even things completely beyond the story makers’ control—like the weather.

The task of unravelling the essence of a story can be challenging, particularly when it’s ongoing. Since we started working on this film, there have been unpredictable weather changes, last-minute cancellations, and unexpected discoveries along the way; all these have moved us to adjust or make changes to the direction of the story. For these kinds of scenarios, we tend to let the story play out, keep the script open, and use a framework to tie the different pieces under a common thread later as the story gains more form. This approach works not just for documentary films, but also in shaping business stories. For example, in my company Public Works' case, the open script was intentional. We allowed the business an incubation period, enabling an organic evolution of its identity and persona. We knew our business would change as we settled into the market; we chose to wait before defining our story. This approach led to a more authentic representation of who we are and what we’re doing as a business; our narrative didn’t arise out of thin air, but rather from a deep-rooted understanding and real experiences. 

We use story maps as a way to keep track of where stories evolve, particularly when they’re complex or are forming a series. Especially in the case of stories that need wiggle room to evolve, story maps help us keep things on track and aim toward the end goal of the client. But, that’s a whole other story.

Change, like an uncharted path, demands preparedness. Packing for adventure is similar to a business gearing up for changes; you need to have an understanding of the basics you need and pack them; you must stay open and nimble enough to move with the tides. Everyone may not have the readiness, and this is where my work at Public Works usually emerges as a crucial ally to our clients. Most of what we did during COVID, was helping our clients stay in business. All the businesses we worked with, once they had the right tools and the know-how to use them, were able to adapt to the new landscape. As a consultant, I find myself channelling the seasoned guide aspect of the Explorer archetype. 

Coming back to this film, a good part of the work I’m doing on this documentary involves determining what is relevant to the story, where it’s going, and keeping us along that track. With the methods and tools we’ve designed to help our clients tell their business stories, I’ve been able to adapt and embrace the wonder of the unknown in documentary filmmaking. Let’s see where this story goes.

Our storytelling tools are designed to let stories evolve while making sure they stay on track to deliver commercial goals for the client. To find out how we use story maps to keep a story on track, drop us a message.

Why creatives should travel and forget about vacations

Years ago, I went on a vacation to recover from a stressful work period. It was a nice hotel close to a national park, and I had hoped being ‘somewhere nice’ would make me feel better. But in the hotel, I only felt the same urge I felt in the city, only stronger—which was to escape. I remember ditching barbecue plans with friends to go into the jungle, where I finally found what I needed. Walking into the jungle was like entering a sphere of tingling instinct. It was a world of supreme and honest danger. I needed the danger of the jungle because my mind was numb from the normalcy. And I needed a world that raged with life and reminded me of death being possible any minute. And in a way, I did die that evening in the jungle; because I returned as a new person. For the first time in a long time, I had actually travelled. This was probably the beginning of my now firmly-rooted aversion to vacations, and a growing reverence for real travel. 

Just like TV is boring if it just presents a cheap reproduction of life, vacations are dull if they’re just extravagant versions of the everyday. Vacations do little for the creative mind. But travel, on the other hand—that is, real travel into new experiences—challenges you and makes you new, doing wonders to your creative capacity.

When I say vacation, I mean those extravagant renditions of life, where you simply go somewhere else to do what you do every day (eat, drink, chat, scroll aimlessly, pee, poop, stare, scroll some more, sit, sleep); it’s your normal life, except with a giant price tag, obligatory pictures and different scenery. When an experience mimics everyday life, no matter how extravagantly, it’s just an embellished version of the mundane. I think we should question if the point of taking time off is to do the same things at a different location, in more beautiful or interesting surroundings. Doesn't travel have potential to do so much more than just jolt the same neuropaths? 

I find real travel is when you go somewhere that shakes you out of your everyday narrative. This kind of travel makes you a new person. It effortlessly chips away at your old selves that have grown irrelevant and in that process, you adopt new selves that are far more interesting, useful, and most definitely, good for your creativity. 

The best thing about real travel is that it’s way more accessible than a vacation; because it doesn’t necessarily involve resort bills or faraway journeys. Travel is accessible in our own backyard, in the next town, down the back alley, in the woods, on the beach, across the country or just across the neighbourhood—as long as it offers you a different story, there’s potential to travel there. 

Discovering the story of a place is not as easy as picking up a book and reading, or watching a documentary about it. You have to find it. You have to wait for it. You have to feel it in its people, nature, buildings, patterns, sounds, and most importantly, in its silences.

When you travel, you find stories in places. The language of place-stories is layered. Discovering the story of a place is not as easy as picking up a book and reading, or watching a documentary about it. You have to find it. You have to wait for it. To understand its story, you have to see a place unfold as you watch its people wake up and go about making their morning. You have to pick it up through bits and pieces in conversations overheard on the street. You have to catch it in the nostalgia of someone who was born in that place, but had to leave. You have to dig it out of someone who hated it. You have to taste it in a tea shop frequented by its street labourers. You have to feel it seeping in through your pores while sitting alone at dusk, in its oldest quarter. You have to hear it in its silence.

For minds that need to be creative on demand, as professionals, on a regular basis, this kind of travel gives access to the reservoirs of newness that we need. I find real travel experiences help me improvise, think beyond the echo chamber, and most importantly, to be open to stories that are not my own.

“Travel and tell no one, live a true love story and tell no one, live happily and tell no one, people ruin beautiful things.” 

– Kahlil Gibran

I leave you with this quote by Khalil Gibran, whose genius accurately penned the dilemma of today’s wanderlust epidemic about a century ago. I find this quote says everything about how travel should be a treasured experience that feeds our inner reservoirs.

To see how we translate travel experiences into stories, check this set of stories we made for the Colombo retailer Urban Island and these mini-stories on our former hometown Bambalapitiya.