From blossom to bottle (Edit 2)

[Brownlie]

Is there a bad guy in forrest gump? (do you mean the guy forrest punched or the Jenny's evil father?...the punched guy was just horribly misunderstood)

Ha Ha I just remember the hippy guy who was abusive to the woman. You're too nice Cider!

[Vistaldust]

Edit 3

Bottled elixir.

On that first morning you arose;
a freshly budded bundle of steadfast inspiration. great demonstration of innocence before life throws it's curves
Cream complexioned, translucent in a moonbeam;
a dream, tipped with pale pink lips.

An early promise of perfection seen within a foppish
five point crown; under liveried in British racing green.
Searching for the up lit skies, your creamy golden globes,
carefree in the playful breeze,
quivered with excitement, bright and keen.

You did not understand the art within the hands. this stanza makes me want to go to every flower shop in town and shout "BUTCHERS"
that grasped your tender parts,
wilfully they ripped apart all that you had saved
and set aside for a consummated start;

*

Fragrant in your wedding gown, you passed from hand to hand,
snip, snipped from maternal chords
you released your cream and gold abroad.
Halos of sherbet lemon burst
in clouds of dusted worth and from adversity, poetry was birthed.

A host of deserting hangers-on marched with micro steps
across the kitchen table top,
trapped in pains of darkened webbed deceit,
they hung like berried beauty; past perfection,
fit only for the birds to eat.

Set free from wounds that would not heal
you slipped into a syrup,
that soothed your bits of bruised confetti wonderful description illustrating a rebirth and new purpose after healing
wooing poetic pollen from your parted lips.

Aroma from your grace now flows,
summer eased ripples upon a stream,
perfect and smooth, an Elderflower cider ease;
effervescence that fuels the tongue of the poet’s creed.



* This stanza is out for this edit. See * for inclusion placement. (see note below)
Whilst the empty stalks of past support
exhale a fetid fragrance.
Maliciously dirty and caty,
dripping defiling pee. I have taken this stanza out for this edit. Tec thinks it is surplus to requirment. I quite like the sentiment for the metaphor and also it is part of the phisical processing issues. Comments on inclusion or to leave out please.


Edit 2.

Bottled elixir.

On that first morning you arose;
a freshly budded bundle of steadfast inspiration.
Cream complexioned, translucent in a moonbeam;
a dream, top tipped with pale pink lips.

An early promise of perfection seen within a soft and foppish
five point crown; under liveried in British racing green.
Reaching up lit skies your creamy golden globes,
carefree in the playful breeze,
quivered with excitement. Bright and keen.

You did not understand the art within the hands
that grasped your tender parts.
That wilfully ripped apart all that you had saved
and set aside for a consummated start.

Fragrant in white wedding gown, you passed from hand to hand,
snip, snipped from maternal chords
you released your cream and golden load.
Halos of sherbet lemon burst
in clouds of dusted worth – and poetry was birthed in adversity.

A host of deserting hangers-on marched a million micro steps
across the kitchen table top,
to be trapped in windowless pains of webbed deceit.
Like berried beauty, left hanging past perfection,
weathered and worn, they were only fit for the birds to eat.

Your past support was plucked and trimmed
and deflowered stalks dripped with green pee.
Catty and maliciously dirty.

Set free from wounded leaves that could not heal
you slipped into syrup
that soothed your shredded confetti bits
and wooed the poetic pollen from your parted lips.

Aroma from your grace now flows,
summer eased ripples upon a stream,
perfect and smooth, an Elderflower cider ease;
effervescence that fuels the tongue of the poet’s creed.




Edit one Thank to RC for cliche alert
[b]Blossom to bottle.

On that first morning you arose;
a freshly budded bundle of unshaken inspiration,
a youthful trembling of translucent cream complexioned dreams,
top tipped with pale pink lips.
The early promise of perfection seen within a soft and foppish
five point crown; under liveried in British racing green.
Reaching up lit skies your creamy golden globes
swung to and fro, carefree to play the breeze.

You did not understand the wilful hands
that grasped your tender parts
dashing your potential against the bloodied sun.
Ripping apart all that you had saved
and set aside for a consummated start.

Fragrant in white wedding gown, you passed from hand to hand,
snip, snipped from maternal chords
you released your creamy golden load.
Halos of sherbet lemon burst
in clouds of dusted worth – poetry birthed in adversity.
Deserting near neighbours marched a million micro steps
across the kitchen table top,
to be trapped in windowless pains of webbed deceit.
The snare of berried beauty left hanging beyond their peek,
fit only for the birds to eat.

Plucked and trimmed, the stalk
your support, dripped with green pee.
Catty and maliciously dirty.
Deflowered, but un-wilted your scent broke free
from the five wounded leaves that could not heal
and you slipped into a sloppy syrup
that soothed your shredded confetti bits
and wooed the poetic pollen from your parted lips.

Artfully matured, unstoppered words of grace now flow,
blessing and blowing effervescing scents
of a summer breeze and cidery elderflowered ease
that fuels the tongue of the poet’s creed.

Original post.

This is dedicated to a wonderful woman and an outstanding poet who has encouraged and inspired me in more ways than she could possibly know.

From blossom to bottle.

On that first morning you arose;
a freshly budded bundle of unshaken inspiration,
a youthful trembling of translucent cream complexioned dreams,
top tipped with pale pink lips.
The early promise of perfection seen within a soft and foppish
five point crown; under liveried in British racing green.
Reaching up lit skies your creamy golden globes
swung to and fro, carefree to play the breeze.

You did not understand the wilful hands
that grasped your soft hearted parts
and dashed your potential against the bloodied departing sun.
Ripping apart all that you had saved
and set aside for a consummated start.

Fragrant in a white wedding gown, you passed from hand to hand,
snip, snipped from maternal chords
you released your creamy golden load.
Halos of sherbet lemon burst
in clouds of dusted worth – poetry birthed in adversity.
Deserting near neighbours marched a million micro steps
across the kitchen table top,
to be trapped in windowless pains of webbed deceit.
The snare of berried beauty left hanging beyond their peek,
fit only for the birds to eat.

Plucked and trimmed, the stalk
your support, dripped with green pee.
Catty and maliciously dirty.
Deflowered, but un-wilted your scent broke free
from the five wounded leaves that could not heal
and you slipped into a sloppy syrup
that soothed your shredded confetti bits
and wooed the poetic pollen from your parted lips.

Artfully matured, unstoppered words of grace now flow,
blessing and blowing effervescing scents
of a summer breeze and cidery elderflowered ease
that fuels the tongue of the poet’s creed.

Great writing! I'm seeing this after several edits, and it works great as a metaphor for human growth after we have received our scars.

[tectak]

Yep thanks tec. I think this one is all over the place. back to the drawing board.

Sorry just read your last crit again. Can you give me any steer on why a dash should be in a pair. Not come accross this idea before, so genuine question as to why it needs this?

Hi cider,
Sorry I missed this query on dashes. I DID say it was a preference and I don't like to give the impression that when I so opine it is written in stone! I did all my research in the the years before today and so I have almost forgotten why I have some my foibles, but a great influence on my "sensible conclusions in grammar" comes from John Whales, the writer and English educator of the American student's of journalism. He knows a good deal about writing.
This is what he says:
""...(This) animus against dashes has no foundation in good usage: many first-rate writers--Hazlitt, Ruskin, Lytton Strachey--make extensive use of the single dash. Nevertheless, it is a pity to irritate even wrong-headed readers needlessly, especially if they happen to be your examiners. All in all, for our purpose of introducing an elucidation, it is probably prudent to follow this practice: use a colon where you can, and use a dash only where a colon won't do--as in this sentence, where a colon has appeared once already." So there you have it.
Unlike bracketted interjected comments (you cannot have one bracket) which may contain just that, a comment, the dash CAN be used on its own but risks leaving the reader unaware of where the interjection ends( John Whale again).
A pair of dashes--that is, at the beginning and end of a phrase--can and should contain additional salient information. My defence rests.
Best,
tectak
Put it in Writing, John Whale 0 460 04582 2 J M dent and Sons Ltd.

[cidermaid]

First off thanks to everyone who offered some opinions and ideas on this one...it has been a long journey from where I started out from.
@ tectak. Thanks for the info on your punctuation preferences. Just ideas but as you seem to be so passionate about punctuation have you considered putting up some punctuation guidelines on one of the threads (? where - will think on this).

I quite often have to go and have a look at some of the websites offering guidance so I think perhaps it might be helpful to others and at very least you can then add a link when you are giving crit to save repeating yourself on the common errors.

Just an idea

Thanks for your help AJ.

[tectak]

First off thanks to everyone who offered some opinions and ideas on this one...it has been a long journey from where I started out from.
@ tectak. Thanks for the info on your punctuation preferences. Just ideas but as you seem to be so passionate about punctuation have you considered putting up some punctuation guidelines on one of the threads (? where - will think on this).

I quite often have to go and have a look at some of the websites offering guidance so I think perhaps it might be helpful to others and at very least you can then add a link when you are giving crit to save repeating yourself on the common errors.

Just an idea

Thanks for your help AJ.

Hi cider,
Strange as it may appear, my passion is not about punctuation per se, but about consistency in poetry. Some poetry is written by exponents of that black art, free-verse. I understand the concept and dabble in it myself but note that it is increasingly taken to mean "free to do as you please to the detriment of the work."
If you want to punctuate to clarity then it is an onus on you to do it consistently well. Once you stick in a single comma, full stop or question mark, you have given the game away and yielded to common sense To then NOT punctuate when you aught'a is ridiculous....but if by trying the little squiggly marks you can add another dimension to your work, arrow to your quiver, thoroughbred to your stable...then why not really get stuck in and TRY to learn the right way.
It is the mark of the seasoned failure who decrees that punctuation is not a consideration....believe me, it is. It's just that such an admission of a skill gap is easier bridged by denial of need than by the effort of sustained progress. Once you know a great deal about punctuation (and believe me, I do not) you write with the swagger and the confidence of the communicator. Once you know enough about punctuation (and I am just about there) you can write with the swagger and confidence of the dilettante...but why not? the worst that will happen is that someone will correct you.
When you know nothing about punctuation you can still swagger confidently....but boy, in this forum we will laugh heartily behind your back in front of you, and tell you it's OK ; if you think you are great...go home happy No more on this lest the old retainer brushes us into the discussion forum...heaven forbid!
Best,
tectak

[soonforgotten?]

Bottled elixir.

On that first morning you arose;
a freshly budded bundle of steadfast inspiration.
Cream complexioned, translucent in a moonbeam;
a dream, tipped with pale pink lips.

An early promise of perfection seen within a foppish
five point crown; under liveried in British racing green.
Searching for the up lit skies, your creamy golden globes,
carefree in the playful breeze,
quivered with excitement, bright and keen. The occasional rhyming bothers me. I would be consistent with the non-rhyming instead.

You did not understand the art within the hands.
that grasped your tender parts,
wilfully they ripped apart all that you had saved
and set aside for a consummated start;

*

Fragrant in your wedding gown, you passed from hand to hand,
snip, snipped from maternal chords
you released your cream and gold abroad.
Halos of sherbet lemon burst
in clouds of dusted worth and from adversity, poetry was birthed.

A host of deserting hangers-on marched with micro steps "micro" sounds mathematical and doesn't match the style of the rest of the poem.
across the kitchen table top,
trapped in pains of darkened webbed deceit,
they hung like berried beauty; past perfection,
fit only for the birds to eat.

Set free from wounds that would not heal
you slipped into a syrup,
that soothed your bits of bruised confetti
wooing poetic pollen from your parted lips.

Aroma from your grace now flows,
summer eased ripples upon a stream,
perfect and smooth, an Elderflower cider ease;
effervescence that fuels the tongue of the poet’s creed.


_______________________________________________________
Apart from that, I miss some form, some symmetry... I don't mind the stanzas being different lenghts, but maybe some consistency would be in place and the number of lines in each stanza not completely random... or am I being too anal?