07-26-2013, 01:33 AM
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?
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?