Poem: Vail

[non-contradictor]

This is one of mine that I wrote for my creative writing class as an example of imagery. It's not very deep or thought provoking, but I like it anyway.

Vail

Golden rays light

A clorless ground.

Glimmering Crystals

Clinging

To green branches

A clouds breath swirls above

My covered head.

Puffs of silver

Mist

Escape my mouth

I fly down the mountain.

A strange new bird

With wings on its

Feet

Soaring on snow

Twinkling eyes

Masked by amber plastic

Gaze with great

Wonder

At this frosted world.

A smile unseen

Through layers of cloth

A laugh heard only by the

Wind

And the trees

Darting tiny pinpricks

Closer now they come

The village of

Vail

Is below me

Moving ever faster

I will soon arrive

I sigh and

Wish

That it would stay this way

Forever

[B. Royce]

non-contradictor, with all due respect, your "Vail" is not a poem. It has no pattern of rhythm or rhyme to aid in the vocal expression of the emotion, contained as an embryo, within the meaning of your sentences. At the very least I would say that you delight in the world around you and, implicitly, for your ability to see and ski.

What follows is just an example of what can be done in turning your prose into verse. Note, if you are interested in writing poems, try thinking in terms of song lyrics and experimenting with different rhythms to express the feeling underlying the meaning of your ideas.

Sun's golden rays light up the ground

And glimm'ring crystals clinging 'round

On branches dancing.

A breathing cloud above my head

From puffing mouth so glad and red

With mists a-kissing,

I fly on down the mountainside

A strange new bird---- --with wings of pride

My feet completing.

My twinkling eyes through amber mask

Gaze greatly on this frost-world passed,

Soaring and soaring.

I smile unseen to hold my path,

And no one hears my hard glad laugh

But breeze and trees.

The darting pins of stinging snow

Are closer now, like Vail below;

Oh, slow down, slow!

But moving ever faster I,

I know that I can only sigh

For staying, staying,

Forever, forever.

If your creative writing teacher is dismissive of metered, rhyming , real poetry you have every right to be dismissive of him as an unreal teacher.