From blossom to bottle (Edit 2)

[tectak]

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. Much neater, though still complicated at a different level. "translucent in a moonbeam" echoes on pensive reflection with "translucent AS a moonbeam.." "Top" is an unnecessary alliterative filler.

An early promise of perfection seen within a soft and foppish Picky point coming. If you are describing ANYTHING in terms of it's sensory attributes best not to mix 'em. So seen to be foppish is fine...but seen to be soft is not. It's like saying "She heard his touch." Anyway, "foppish" pretty well covers it on its own. Your poem"
five point crown; under liveried in British racing green. Envy
Reaching up lit skies your creamy golden globes, Still don't get what this means! "Reaching up", OK. "up lit skies", maybe OK....but "reaching up lit skies" is bad eough to need a hyphen
carefree in the playful breeze,
quivered with excitement. Bright and keen. Comma after excitement or "bright an keen" looks like a margin note for a reading!

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. Yes to all of this. Like it now

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. I have thing about the use of the dash. I like'm in pairs or not at all. milo?

A host of deserting hangers-on marched a million micro steps OK. It does what it says on the tin but a "mIllion micro" sums in my mathematical mind to just one!
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. I know you luke this stanza, but for me it adds nothing except the piquancy of an overpowering condiment. It is just too much seasoning, added too late and it will not cook out.

Set free from wounded leaves that could not heal
you slipped into syrup
that soothed your shredded confetti bits I am still not sure how "soothed" and "shredded shredded bits" works.A "syrupy balm" would soothe, but are we talking bits of apple or bits of elderflower? Either way why free from leaves? " that soothed your bruised confetti flowers" would be intentionally clear...refreshingly so!
and wooed the poetic pollen from your parted lips. and it would sit well in a trio. Soothed/bruised/wooed. Still lippy, though

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. For me....perfect

Liking it more and more. The edit went the right way. They don't always.
Very best,
tectak


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.