night dancer

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So elegent and bright
She will fly all through the night

Like a swan she glides across the sky
With not a care and not a cry
As she glides through the night sky

As she fades so far away
Just the silence and nothing to say

The only mark she leaves behind
Is the words ,night dancer will be all we find
every 1 hates me
even myself




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I like this. Good Job Rachel! :D
Way hay!!!!




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Before I go ahead and start critiquing this, let me give you a gift : :D :) :( :o :shock: :? 8) :lol: :x :P :oops: :cry: :evil: :twisted: :roll: :wink: :!: :?: :idea: :arrow: :| :mrgreen: :xmas_wink: :xmas_happy: :xmas_cool: :xmas_evil: :dreidel: :menorah: :frosty: :thumb: =D> #-o =P~ :^o [-X [-o< 8-[ [-( :-k ](*,) :whistle: O:) =; :sick: :-({|= :-$ :-s \:D/ :-# :hearts_eyes: :love: :lots_hearts: :elephant:

Like a swan she glides across the sky
With not a care and not a cry
As she glides through the night sky


This is a fine example of forced rhyming and awful-sounding repetition. You could probably make this entire poem so much better if it was free verse. I hate rhyming with a burning passion. And the repetition of sky sounds clunky.

Is the words ,night dancer will be all we find.


What's wrong with this line? a) there's an obvious misplaced comma (most likely just a typo), b) you go from present to future tense. c) "Is" doesn't make a whole lot of sense, or d)all of the above. If you answered d, you win...a rubber chicken! Ok seriously, fix those things. They absolutely ruin what could have been a good last line.

Other than that, the only thing keeping me from liking this poem is that is rhymes. Rhyming tends to ruin serious poetry about 99% of the time.

Keep writing!
"You do ill if you praise, but worse if you censure, what you do not understand." Leonardo Da Vinci

<YWS><R1>




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Points 1212
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I agree with Tae, rhyming ruins serious poetry most of the time... She seems to have summed up everything. Practise is vital, it'll take a while before you get the hang of poetry. Keep on going.



Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
— Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights