From blossom to bottle (Edit 2)

[Brownlie]

Edit 2.
I think it's great that you're editing, I just read some theory and then Billy posted a shitload of PDF.s that talk more about theory and all this stuff I didn't know about was for beginners! I'll do my best with your poem. One poignant piece of theory I'd like to share is that a poet may want to consider what type of poem they are writing. Is this supposed to be Humorous, Romantic, or Serious. Different genres are judged differently. I post this not just for Cider (I don't know how advanced cider is) but for everyone who is following the evolution of this poem. Now that you are out of breath I'll analyze the poem.

Note: I will be hypercritical and I may be a little confused, but keep in mind there are aspects of this piece that I like.

Bottled elixir. -- [b]The title suggests the subject of your poem, unless you're doing something more sophisticated.
[/b]
On that first morning you arose; -- Seems to be a double entendre. While I think it is clever many more experienced readers may find this double entendre clichéd
a freshly budded bundle of steadfast inspiration.-- Steadfast inspiration seems too abstract I would suggest cutting them.
Cream complexioned, translucent in a moonbeam;
a dream, top tipped with pale pink lips. -- Why use "a" A moonbeam/dream idk if it will mess up your grammar or anything.

An early promise of perfection seen within a soft and foppish --Perfection is too abstract.
five point crown; under liveried in British racing green. -- Is "under liveried in British racing green able to stand alone as an independent article?"
Reaching up lit skies your creamy golden globes,
carefree in the playful breeze, -- I'd cut playful and carefreequivered with excitement. Bright and keen. -- The only word that's working here is quivered because that refers to an action.

You did not understand the art within the hands - What art?
that grasped your tender parts. --Tender parts seems like a euphemism you may want to clarify what your referring to.That wilfully ripped apart all that you had saved
and set aside for a consummated start. -- I put these lines in italics, because I like the subject matter they refer to. I'm not sure if you could cut willfully or not I mean if he is ripping apart something he clearly wills it.

Fragrant in white wedding gown, you passed from hand to hand, -- How is a gown Fragrant? Is there a specific smell you can mention.
snip, snipped from maternal chords-- If you are going for a serious poem I would get rid of snip snipped it sounds to sing songy for seriousness.
you released your cream and golden load.
Halos of sherbet lemon burst
in clouds of dusted worth – and poetry was birthed in adversity. -- Are you being vague or ambiguous. If either, why?

A host of deserting hangers-on marched a million micro steps
across the kitchen table top, -- Kitchen table top is by far the strongest most evocative image in the poem that I can see.

I'm going to try to see if I can edit some things out...

trapped in windowless matrimony. -- Trapped in a web is a bit of a cliche'
A berry ripe and sweet, left hanging to soften and brown in the weltering sun. ( beauty is too abstract. Metaphors are always stronger than similes the edit was my vanity please pardon that. )
, -- Again perfection is an abstraction that I believe should be cut or replaced
Now only fit for the birds to eat.

Your past support was plucked and trimmed -- I don't like the word support there
and deflowered stalks dripped with green pee. -- Green Pee! Aliens?
Catty and maliciously dirty.

Dried leaves drained of moisture now shatter like glass into dust. (Again my vanity ) - A more vivid metaphor could more subtly lead the reader to the sentiments you are trying to express.
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.


Not bad, I mostly analyzed the thing ruminating on single lines so may comments may seem strange, I hope you keep editing or post a new poem.



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.