z

Young Writers Society



Fire Dance

by canislupis


in winter in a frozen glade
their hearts and feet percussions made.
on earth as cold as winter's frost
as one their sanity they lost.
the sun, a single golden coin,
above the hills, the earth did join
the torches bright flew in the black
burning for the light they lacked.
without the sun, the longest night
with flames alone they hoped to fight.
though cold before them long will lie
their dancing feet in sharp air fly
about them shadows form dark cloaks
inside their hearts are hard as oaks
as time wears on but in a spell,
they stamp and twirl and cannot tell.
until behind the icy slope
faint dawn appears, they to dare hope
but not to stop their frantic dance
their future lives not left to chance
for with the songs, the flying flame
the seasons and the sun they tame
and when they break the trance they say
we've made it to another day.


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163 Reviews


Points: 4987
Reviews: 163

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Sun Feb 12, 2012 11:11 pm
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Kit says...



This is very good especially for a first attempt, I like the imagery, and it has a lot of natural flow as a poem. You based your line length on iambic feet rather that syllables, which is more conventionally accepted and rhythmic. My main concern is that there are a few places where the iambs and the rhyme are controlling your phrasing, rather than the expressive gesture. Lately I've been thinking of it in terms of ergonomics, if you're play something loud of piano by using only the strength of your fingers, it sounds forced and you get RSI, you have to use the larger muscle groups, your arms and back. Likewise, if you only use the rhyme to resolve the phrase, it puts too much pressure on it. A lot of it can be resolved by reading it aloud and play around with the bits that don't flow as naturally. The stresses are the heart beat, it controls mood and pace, you don't want it too obvious.


in winter in a frozen glade

their hearts and feet percussions made.


I love the first line, it is rich and evocative, it has contrast, bite and lusciousness. I do not know about the percussion, it is an odd way to use it. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it makes it sound as if the hearts and feet are striking one another, and the line is a little fragmented to fit the rhyme. Granted this is an old trick, in ancient sagas and the like, beware of using it too much, or it can feel artificial, put on. Work from your intuition, what is the most instinctive way to say it, ignoring the fact that it is poetry. From their,  you find the essential phrase that fits. You're 99% there.


on earth as cold as winter's frost

as one their sanity they lost.



the sun, a single golden coin,

above the hills, the earth did join


First line is fine. I understand what you are getting at with the sanity line, but it is a bit Yoda backwards for me. Likewise, "above the hills, the earth did join", you can see this is the rhyme, the phrasing is twisted around to suit. Easy solution, enjambment. It creates forward motion and smoothes rhyming ends.

(Terribly written example that doesn't demonstrate my point at all)
The sun, a single golden coin,
pressed to the hills to make the join.
The flame was too hot! It melts away
and burns to ash the dying day.



the torches bright flew in the black

burning for the light they lacked.

without the sun, the longest night

with flames alone they hoped to fight.

though cold before them long will lie

their dancing feet in sharp air fly

about them shadows form dark cloaks


Careful with punctuation with the first line there, or it says the earth joined the torches rather than the sun. This is good, just messing with the feng shui.

Without the sun, they hoped to fight
with flames alone the longest night.

It gets a bit breathless after that, it might be a simple punctuation thing, being sure of the most important part of each line, and letting nothing muddy that.


about them shadows form dark cloaks

inside their hearts are hard as oaks


Pretty. I like these lines.



as time wears on but in a spell,

they stamp and twirl and cannot tell.

until behind the icy slope

faint dawn appears, they to dare hope

but not to stop their frantic dance

their future lives not left to chance

for with the songs, the flying flame

the seasons and the sun they tame

and when they break the trance they say

we've made it to another day.


Phew, that is one sentence? What lungs you have. Read this aloud, see what happens. The ending is cute though and it certainly builds up tension to the point of release, well done.

In general, like I said, 99% there. There are poets who agonize over every punctuation mark and article, but essentially you want to draw the reader through an experience, you are controlling what they feel, and the little things are there to make sure you have complete control over their fragile mortal bodies, whether it be their heartbeat through pace and surprise, triggering the senses with vivid sense imagery, or engaging their imagination through allusion and narrative. You have great promise, keep poeting.




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42 Reviews


Points: 846
Reviews: 42

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Sat Feb 11, 2012 9:55 pm
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June3 wrote a review...



I love this poem! It was captivating, and amazing! the rhyming is beautiful it reminds me of the Cremating of Sam Mgee (I think that's is how you spell the title). The feel of this poem was very bold, and epic, which I've always enjoyed. I also love the story behind this, but also it makes me have a lot of questions. To me, as a novel writer, it's a good thing, you want people to have their questions. But, as for poems, I'm no expert in the field so, my thoughts are always subject to change. Some may ask you to expand on this. But, for me, I think the questions make it all the better. Keep on writing!





"For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which pursued its noise way beneath. The same lulling sounds acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed the giver of oblivion."
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein