From blossom to bottle (Edit 2)

[tectak]

Edit one Thank to RC for cliche alert
Blossom to bottle.

On that first morning you arose;I like "arose". It has a subtle duality of meaning. To "emerge" is fairly succinct but it also means "to come in to being". On the safe treads of friendship, I would say respect for this choice...even if I'm wrong
a freshly budded bundle of unshaken inspiration,Now there is a problem of wordiness, possibly over-modification. The sentence structure is complicated in that there is a syntactical shift of tense. How so? Well, the cut-down version is "...a bundle of inspiration", but then you tinker with it by adding "freshly" (new, recent, comtemporaneous) in a composite link with "unshaken", implicitly extending into the past. I would go for "unshaking". Your poem.
a youthful trembling of translucent cream complexioned dreams,Again, you are getting wordy. The anthropomorphosing of a "dream" doesn't work. "..complexioned", of course, does not ONLY refer to a visage BUT once you begin with the--alright androgynous-- word "youthful" you add humanising to an ephemerality....an apple to a banana. I note the "cream". I will again
top tipped with pale pink lips.See. You can't stop it now. Now we have a dream with 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 globesMore cream, vicar? See below. Notwithstanding "Reaching up lit skies...."
swung to and fro, carefree to play the breeze. Gerund check. Reach-ing....swung(?) try:
" Swinging carefree to and fro, in the playful 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.A rush of drama but much ado about nothing. Are we purloining an apple here or emasculating males in a medieval bellum sacrum, a kind of gore-filled genocide. All this "wilful", "grasping", tender parts", "bloodied","ripping" would have Eve a reclusive hermit if she knew what she had done. Oh, she did know. I get the genetic proclivity in all this, and don't think it is a bad concept, but for me you are in danger of intentional obscurity.

Fragrant in white wedding gown, you passed from hand to hand,
snip, snipped from maternal chords
you released your creamy golden load.Holy shit! This is lacto-porn. Just google creamy golden load...I am not making it up!
Halos of sherbet lemon burst
in clouds of dusted worth – poetry birthed in adversity.
Deserting near neighbours marched a million micro steps So that's one step, then?
across the kitchen table top,
to be trapped in windowless pains of webbed deceit.
The snare of berried beauty left hanging beyond their peek,See. This is what I mean about intent to be obscure against obscurity as a technique. I am ready for the next enigma....what do I get. Is it peek, peak or even pique? I can relate (wrong word) to any of them. Even dear ol' brownlie I believe, machinated his porriged pia mater and queried "berried"....or do you mean buried. Enough with the intent to be obscure...how about intent to be clear, and if obscurity creeps in it will at least be obscure to us both.
fit only for the birds to eat.

Plucked and trimmed, the stalk
your support, dripped with green pee. I am not lost yet, but I want to be. Navigating through this is like driving with GPS. You are not lost but you have no idea where you are. Punctuate to clarity. " the stalk your support,..." needs help. Or is it stork? You know, the one's who bring babies?
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. I think this poem ended way back. This stanza is but, and, that,and. Syrup is sloppy. We know it has five leaves...you told us already. Un-shredded confetti is a sheet...though I do like "poetic pollen" we are getting lippy again. Cream is expected anytime now but even without it, you are exceeding Young's Modulus with this windy metaphor.

Artfully matured, unstoppered words of grace now flow, "Unstoppered" is the wrong word. The word refers to a "vessel", not the contents...and watch out for "un" words in general. The prefix is variable in intent. It usually means "not" as in "unhappy", but it is also a verb as in "to uncover". "un-wilted" is the demise of the muse. Does it mean "not wilted" or "to unwilt" by watering, say. Hyphen away all you like but it is unlikely to un-crit you
blessing and blowing effervescing scents
of a summer breeze and cidery elderflowered ease
that fuels the tongue of the poet’s creed. I really want these last few lines to hit me with a sharp object. See, now I'm doing it. You get hit with a blunt object and stabbed with a sharp object. Words that blow, "effervescing scents" 1.Give off bubbles.
2.(of a person) Be vivacious and enthusiastic.

Just needs a little calming down and pruning out of the dead stuff. There isn't that much to do but it's your poem. There are, though, areas of what could appear to be contrived innuendo, not the same as obscurity but often excused by the same arguements. Creamy golden globes swinging in the breeze and the release of the creamy golden load is just too much for reading before the 9pm watershead. That's just too obscure. Yes....you say!
Best,
a good effort, this is me liking it,
tectak






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.