Perfect Dusk

[RiverNotch]

I have a neat little backlog of poetry here, most of them made since my last two threads here (this is without considering my less serious poem of late, which I don't plan to touch until I'm done with the subject it deals with; education's being a bit of an asshole right now). I've revisited one of those already; I'll revisit the other one sometime soon, with its older, less stringent version as the new edit (I'm a bit stuck with the current one). But for now, I'll go on ahead and present most of my backlog, starting with the ones I'll take the most seriously in revising. 

Current draft (what notes I have on this are in a post below this):

We have our dinner outside the city,
among the trees. As I serve our dessert, you
burst into song: "Oh, the heavens are a glass
of parfait! The sun is the syrup-drenched peach
at the bottom; over it, a meringue of dew
carefully folded into the creamy air
floats; and then, a light sprinkling of green mint
and cocoa, the earth in all its richness!

"But we're always so keen to dip our dirty spoons
into the mess, to have too much of it,
and to poison it for the rest." In the distance,
the smokestack city harries its last hurrah
for the day; its digits of stone and steel
spew heavy smoke into the sunset sky.

First draft:

Sunlight falls all over the world
like the honey-water dripping
from the skin of a ripened peach
preserved in a jar of delight.
It mingles with the soft meringue
of syrupy dew carefully
folded into the heavy cream
of the chilly evening souffle.

I cough into the syrup-drenched
horizon broken by the city
silhouette, a mass of greedy stone
hands with fingers and tumors of steel
mingling their dirty, smoke-spewing tips
with the dusk's perfect confection.

The things I'm most uncomfortable with in this are the volta, which I sort of feel doesn't really work, and the title, which currently is just a placeholder.

[milo]

For the most part, this poem doesn't really work for me.  It is overly modified by forced flowery description of  what is essentially a pretty dull narrative.  Pound is famous for saying " . . Don’t be descriptive; remember that the painter can describe a landscape much better than you can, and that he has to know a deal more about it. " and I am inclined to agree with him here.


The narrative - as far as I can tell:  There is sunlight (mysteriously all over the world at the same time so perhaps this is the apocalypse?).  Our narrator coughs.  The end.  As close as I could come to a central metaphor was the "trite nature is wonderful, man's constructions are ugly."

Sunlight falls all over the world
like the honey-water dripping
from the skin of a ripened peach
preserved in a jar of delight.

so, I have a couple problems here.  First, sunlight should never fall all over the world at the same time.  Unfortunately, Pythagoras over-rode my theory of a flat earth several thousand years ago.  Second, everything is overly modified and described.  There are a lot of words here to say the rather simple phrase - there is sun.  For me, I would like to see poetry say more with fewer words.  Thirdly, I have no idea what a jar of "delight" is.  What would your intention be with this "jar of delight"?

It mingles with the soft meringue
of syrupy dew carefully
folded into the heavy cream
of the chilly evening souffle.

Here, our narrator continues to describe sunlight for another 4 whole lines but I can see no relevance to the descriptions.  Descriptions in poetry should /reveal/ something more than "this is what dusk looks like to me".  Once again, there is the continuation of overmodification - soft, syrupy, carefully, heavy, chilly, evening.

I cough into the syrup-drenched
horizon broken by the city

silhouette, a mass of greedy stone
hands with fingers and tumors of steel
mingling their dirty, smoke-spewing tips
with the dusk's perfect confection.

Watch what happens if we just trim away all of the flowery excess and faux-poeticisms:


Sunlight falls 
like water dripping

It mingles with
 the dew 
of the  evening .

I cough into the
horizon broken by the city
silhouette,  greedy stone
hands 
mingling  smoke-spewing tips
with dusk .


It is immediately better (though still not good).

Good luck.

Thanks for posting.

[RiverNotch]

First of all, thanks for the feedback!

For the most part, this poem doesn't really work for me.  It is overly modified by forced flowery description of  what is essentially a pretty dull narrative.  Pound is famous for saying " . . Don’t be descriptive; remember that the painter can describe a landscape much better than you can, and that he has to know a deal more about it. " and I am inclined to agree with him here.

The narrative - as far as I can tell:  There is sunlight (mysteriously all over the world at the same time so perhaps this is the apocalypse?).  Our narrator coughs.  The end.  As close as I could come to a central metaphor was the "trite nature is wonderful, man's constructions are ugly."

I wasn't going for narrative nor for a straight description of the locale. I was going for the expression of an emotion, first of a sense of wonder regarding the dessert-like quality of the dusk (with the whole thing being framed into an extended metaphor, hinted at by the title -- although I may have my recipes wrong), then a bit of horror with the city and all that. The floweriness is intended, at least for the first part -- the speaker expresses his elation not only through the words and the extended metaphor themselves, but through the soft, cloying, and excessive nature of the lines too. The coughing of the narrator is meant to be a transitional device for the following idea, that of "man's constructions are ugly", as one coughs when one is exposed to smoke.

Sunlight falls all over the world
like the honey-water dripping
from the skin of a ripened peach
preserved in a jar of delight.

so, I have a couple problems here.  First, sunlight should never fall all over the world at the same time.  Unfortunately, Pythagoras over-rode my theory of a flat earth several thousand years ago.  Second, everything is overly modified and described.  There are a lot of words here to say the rather simple phrase - there is sun.  For me, I would like to see poetry say more with fewer words.  Thirdly, I have no idea what a jar of "delight" is.  What would your intention be with this "jar of delight"?

The world as in what the speaker sees, but perhaps that could be worded better. The overmodification is intended, although I only see one instance of actual direct modification -- "ripened peach". "the skin of the", perhaps, is too much, but the other words simply continue the metaphor. "Jar" again continues the metaphor -- "of delight" is meant to continue the flowery elation of the speaker, although yes, perhaps that too could be worded more clearly, more directly.

It mingles with the soft meringue
of syrupy dew carefully
folded into the heavy cream
of the chilly evening souffle.

Here, our narrator continues to describe sunlight for another 4 whole lines but I can see no relevance to the descriptions.  Descriptions in poetry should /reveal/ something more than "this is what dusk looks like to me".  Once again, there is the continuation of overmodification - soft, syrupy, carefully, heavy, chilly, evening.

I agree that this is a bit overmodified, with "syrupy" already being implied in the meringue, and with "chilly evening" being something that could probably be said better (I did struggle with that line for quite a bit), but I disagree that this isn't necessary, and with the critique on "carefully" and "heavy". Again, this is meant to be lyric -- the constant show of sweetness from the comparisons is meant to continue the expression of the emotion -- and the extended metaphor actually depends on this part (to just relate the dusk to fruit would just be a third of the recipe!). "Heavy cream", I had hoped to evoke the image of evening fog, with the succeeding line clarifying this -- "carefully" is meant to enhance the sweetness of the emotion, as well as reinforce the metaphor (if you're not careful in folding the meringue into the cream, the dessert might not work).

I cough into the syrup-drenched
horizon broken by the city
silhouette, a mass of greedy stone
hands with fingers and tumors of steel
mingling their dirty, smoke-spewing tips
with the dusk's perfect confection.

Watch what happens if we just trim away all of the flowery excess and faux-poeticisms:


Sunlight falls 
like water dripping

It mingles with
 the dew 
of the  evening .

I cough into the
horizon broken by the city
silhouette,  greedy stone
hands 
mingling  smoke-spewing tips
with dusk .


It is immediately better (though still not good).

Good luck.

Thanks for posting.

Though I agree with some of your points, I disagree with your general sentiment regarding the poem. It really is meant to be excessive and flowery, and some of the parts you trimmed basically killed the extended metaphor. Although that could again be my fault -- the floweriness is out of date (I frankly don't mind out of date, however), and the extended metaphor isn't really clarified. There could also, perhaps, be a better, less rambling way of showing the whole thing, but I'll wait for more pieces of feedback before deciding on a full course of action.

And further note -- this will be veryfun to gut and revise, especially with the poem also following a meter, of sorts. It's all in syllabic verse. But again, thank you for the feedback!

[Leah S.]

I have a neat little backlog of poetry here, most of them made since my last two threads here (this is without considering my less serious poem of late, which I don't plan to touch until I'm done with the subject it deals with; education's being a bit of an asshole right now). I've revisited one of those already; I'll revisit the other one sometime soon, with its older, less stringent version as the new edit (I'm a bit stuck with the current one). But for now, I'll go on ahead and present most of my backlog, starting with the ones I'll take the most seriously in revising. 

Sunlight falls all over the world
like the honey-water dripping
from the skin of a ripened peach
preserved in a jar of delight.
It mingles with the soft meringue
of syrupy dew carefully
folded into the heavy cream
of the chilly evening souffle.

I cough into the syrup-drenched
horizon broken by the city
silhouette, a mass of greedy stone
hands with fingers and tumors of steel
mingling their dirty, smoke-spewing tips
with the dusk's perfect confection.

The things I'm most uncomfortable with in this are the volta, which I sort of feel doesn't really work, and the title, which currently is just a placeholder.

I get your extended metaphor, but the whole thing left me feeling odd. Mostly because the sentiment you are expressing is familiar to me and I find it very poignant, and also often produces (in me) a kind of furious grief. I didn't like the comparison of the natural beauty of the world to a sticky sweet dessert that will make you sick if you eat too much of it. Also comparing the skyscrapers to fingers with tumors was okay, but then you had smoke coming out of the ends of the fingers. I've never seen that, and it exploded the metaphor and sent me flying into Who Cares Land. Sorry. A couple more examples: a chilly soufflé would be gross; a perfectly ripened peach does not drip from it's skin, it's rotten peaches that do that, and combining it with the 'jar of perfect delight' left me with the image of a rotten peach in a jar. (Like the kind you would see on shelves in a dark basement in a horror movie.) There's more.... a good meringue is never syrupy, so there's more food grossness. Then there's the turn. You just suddenly cough. So it's all that sticky undercooked meringue that you're trying to clear out of your throat? You have to give your reader some clue in the preceding lines that you are breathing some toxic fume other than burning soufflé. Last, but not least: In the beginning sunlight falls everywhere, but then suddenly at the end, it's dusk. When did that happen?
It occurred to me that this topic might be a perfect vehicle for a haiku, since it's all about an evanescent moment of insight and a perfect example of wabi-sabi. Unfortunately it can't support a full length poem, much less an extended metaphor.

[tectak]

I have a neat little backlog of poetry here, most of them made since my last two threads here (this is without considering my less serious poem of late, which I don't plan to touch until I'm done with the subject it deals with; education's being a bit of an asshole right now). I've revisited one of those already; I'll revisit the other one sometime soon, with its older, less stringent version as the new edit (I'm a bit stuck with the current one). But for now, I'll go on ahead and present most of my backlog, starting with the ones I'll take the most seriously in revising. 

Sunlight falls all over the world No it doesn't
like the honey-water dripping
from the skin of a ripened peach
preserved in a jar of delight. What is a jar of delight and how do you get honey-water "dripping" in to it from an immersed preserved peach. Metaphors should clarify, not obscure
It mingles with the soft meringue What is "it"? You do not say...peach or honey-water( whatever that is) or sunlight. "it" is an indefinite article which decouples from any reference  very easily. Clarify.
of syrupy dew carefully
folded into the heavy cream
of the chilly evening souffle. Should I know this souffle? You say "the", which is a definite article but I have not been introduced...so really, it is just an evening souffle to me.


I cough into the syrup-drenched I can imagine but choose not to. Inappropriate contextually.
horizon broken by the city
silhouette, a mass of greedy stone
hands with fingers and tumors of steel Some good imagery here but you go all Gothic too quickly. I feel your disgust and appreciate the comparison you are trying to make...but it doesn't gel so it ain't aspic, to keep in vogue
mingling their dirty, smoke-spewing tips
with the dusk's perfect confection. Hmm. Bit of a rush to the finish line...especially as I am a little queasy, myself.

The things I'm most uncomfortable with in this are the volta, which I sort of feel doesn't really work, and the title, which currently is just a placeholder.

Hi,
Where to begin. This is the serious forum where it is unusual to find work relying for form on a simplistic syllable count without any regard for emphases. I think you need to develop at least some sophistication to avoid this piece sounding like a mathematician writing prose. If you write ANY text string and then count the syllables, divide by the  number of lines you would like then split each line into the given quotient syllables you get...well...this. Any odd syllables left over you can just chop out a modifier here and you have it; but do you want it? I do not.

The whole thing reads a children's recipe book metaphorically and amateurishly linked to a jokingly metaphysical emetic.

Frankly, even as a gooey diabetic dream it shows no knowledge a priori of the creation or understanding of what makes a good pud. Syrupy  meringues may work for me once but syrupy horizons just say lack of vocabulary.

You need to pare this back to a lean core metaphor and hang on some well thought through descriptive treats. The idea which you are trying to express is completely buried in hyperbole of the worst kind...that is, deliberate...to the extent that even you, the writer, cannot decide what to call it although I bet Burl Ives could sing it.
Oh the buzzing of the bees in the cigarette trees, the soda water fountain...
Best,
tectak

[RiverNotch]

Thank you for the feedback!

[quote='RiverNotch' pid='188621' dateline='1428672258']
I have a neat little backlog of poetry here, most of them made since my last two threads here (this is without considering my less serious poem of late, which I don't plan to touch until I'm done with the subject it deals with; education's being a bit of an asshole right now). I've revisited one of those already; I'll revisit the other one sometime soon, with its older, less stringent version as the new edit (I'm a bit stuck with the current one). But for now, I'll go on ahead and present most of my backlog, starting with the ones I'll take the most seriously in revising. 

Sunlight falls all over the world No it doesn't

I'm rather surprised this line is being taken so literally.

like the honey-water dripping
from the skin of a ripened peach
preserved in a jar of delight. What is a jar of delight and how do you get honey-water "dripping" in to it from an immersed preserved peach. Metaphors should clarify, not obscure

I see your point. I'll need to clarify that the peach was already taken out of the jar -- I could perhaps establish also the glass, the dish of the whole thing, so that the image of the dessert will be more concrete. 

It mingles with the soft meringue What is "it"? You do not say...peach or honey-water( whatever that is) or sunlight. "it" is an indefinite article which decouples from any reference  very easily. Clarify.

It's sunlight. It's the only thing that can mingle so, plus I think it already very clearly follows from the subject of the earlier sentence. 

of syrupy dew carefully
folded into the heavy cream
of the chilly evening souffle. Should I know this souffle? You say "the", which is a definite article but I have not been introduced...so really, it is just an evening souffle to me.

Metaphor again, although in retrospect, a fairly bad one. I really have to rework this line, then.

I cough into the syrup-drenched I can imagine but choose not to. Inappropriate contextually.

I lol at that. Perhaps I should change the transitioning device then, from "I cough" to something else?

horizon broken by the city
silhouette, a mass of greedy stone
hands with fingers and tumors of steel Some good imagery here but you go all Gothic too quickly. I feel your disgust and appreciate the comparison you are trying to make...but it doesn't gel so it ain't aspic, to keep in vogue

Hahaha! That was a big problem I'd had with the whole thing -- this really doesn't gel, but at the moment I can't think of anything appropriate to show the disgust while keeping to the central metaphor.

mingling their dirty, smoke-spewing tips
with the dusk's perfect confection. Hmm. Bit of a rush to the finish line...especially as I am a little queasy, myself.

The rush is a good thing, I think. Something completely disgusting, then a rather off-putting twist back into the beginning. Although if you mean that the grey imagery should be elaborated on some more, I'll look into that.

Hi,
Where to begin. This is the serious forum where it is unusual to find work relying for form on a simplistic syllable count without any regard for emphases. I think you need to develop at least some sophistication to avoid this piece sounding like a mathematician writing prose. If you write ANY text string and then count the syllables, divide by the  number of lines you would like then split each line into the given quotient syllables you get...well...this. Any odd syllables left over you can just chop out a modifier here and you have it; but do you want it? I do not.

There is a show of the emphasis, I think, but it is soft. I don't intend to keep it that way, of course, but I have to note that some of the already existing emphases are, at least in my opinion, strong enough to be kept -- "meringue", "carefully", and "cream", though soft in terms of emphasis, did make those positions to keep to the recipe, and "city", "stone", and "steel" were meant to be very urban. Cleaving to the syllabic verse I think reinforces the lyric quality of the first part -- the second part, perhaps, can do away with it, but the issue doesn't seem to exist there. I'll continue following this meter until it really isn't feasible anymore, and so far, it doesn't feel so.

The whole thing reads a children's recipe book metaphorically and amateurishly linked to a jokingly metaphysical emetic.

Frankly, even as a gooey diabetic dream it shows no knowledge a priori of the creation or understanding of what makes a good pud.Syrupy  meringues may work for me once but syrupy horizons just say lack of vocabuary.

You need to pare this back to a lean core metaphor and hang on some well thought through descriptive treats. The idea which you are trying to express is completely buried in hyperbole of the worst kind...that is, deliberate...to the extent that even you, the writer, cannot decide what to call it although I bet Burl Ives could sing it.

I see your point. As I noted before, I'll clarify the metaphor of the first part to be more cohesive (and, alright, less wordy -- more dependent on actual dabs of paint than crayon), and reword the second part to gel better with the rest, as well as not be so unintentionally cloying. I'll still try to hang on to the syllabic verse, though, with the deliberate aura of sweetness still alluded to somewhat, and with the key metaphor being maintained. I do hope my next edit works better, although I am glad the basis of the work already shines a fair deal. Thanks again for the feedback!

[milo]

Though I agree with some of your points, I disagree with your general sentiment regarding the poem. It really is meant to be excessive and flowery, and some of the parts you trimmed basically killed the extended metaphor. Although that could again be my fault -- the floweriness is out of date (I frankly don't mind out of date, however), and the extended metaphor isn't really clarified. There could also, perhaps, be a better, less rambling way of showing the whole thing, but I'll wait for more pieces of feedback before deciding on a full course of action.

And further note -- this will be veryfun to gut and revise, especially with the poem also following a meter, of sorts. It's all in syllabic verse. But again, thank you for the feedback!

good egg.

[tectak]

Thank you for the feedback!

[quote='RiverNotch' pid='188621' dateline='1428672258']
I have a neat little backlog of poetry here, most of them made since my last two threads here (this is without considering my less serious poem of late, which I don't plan to touch until I'm done with the subject it deals with; education's being a bit of an asshole right now). I've revisited one of those already; I'll revisit the other one sometime soon, with its older, less stringent version as the new edit (I'm a bit stuck with the current one). But for now, I'll go on ahead and present most of my backlog, starting with the ones I'll take the most seriously in revising. 

Sunlight falls all over the world No it doesn't

I'm rather surprised this line is being taken so literally. If you did not mean it to be taken "literally" I am at a loss to understand how else a bald statemental opener could be taken...unless you mean that something written "not literally" is acceptably wrong.

like the honey-water dripping
from the skin of a ripened peach
preserved in a jar of delight. What is a jar of delight and how do you get honey-water "dripping" in to it from an immersed preserved peach. Metaphors should clarify, not obscure

I see your point. I'll need to clarify that the peach was already taken out of the jar -- I could perhaps establish also the glass, the dish of the whole thing, so that the image of the dessert will be more concrete.  If you need to expend considerable mental effort on the clarification of a clarifying metaphor then perhaps it is the metaphor which fails. Falling sunlight dripping eludes me...

It mingles with the soft meringue What is "it"? You do not say...peach or honey-water( whatever that is) or sunlight. "it" is an indefinite article which decouples from any reference  very easily. Clarify.

It's sunlight. It's the only thing that can mingle so, plus I think it already very clearly follows from the subject of the earlier sentence.  Honey-water (whatever that is) cannot "mingle" but sunlight can? Help needed here. I can subjectively accept the mingling of flavours  (honey, water/syrup, dew) as that is a common experience but even poetically sun light mingles not in my meringues...at least, not literally, which I am surprised (it is the ONLY thing) you are implying. Touche

of syrupy dew carefully
folded into the heavy cream
of the chilly evening souffle. Should I know this souffle? You say "the", which is a definite article but I have not been introduced...so really, it is just an evening souffle to me.

Metaphor again, although in retrospect, a fairly bad one. I really have to rework this line, then. Punctuate to clarity. Is it a "chilly evening" souffle or a chilly "evening souffle"? Now  re-examine what you are metaphorically aiming for.

I cough into the syrup-drenched I can imagine but choose not to. Inappropriate contextually.

I lol at that. Perhaps I should change the transitioning device then, from "I cough" to something else?

Yes, please do. Cough and syrupy are not good together...expectorant aside.
horizon broken by the city
silhouette, a mass of greedy stone
hands with fingers and tumors of steel Some good imagery here but you go all Gothic too quickly. I feel your disgust and appreciate the comparison you are trying to make...but it doesn't gel so it ain't aspic, to keep in vogue

Hahaha! That was a big problem I'd had with the whole thing -- this really doesn't gel, but at the moment I can't think of anything appropriate to show the disgust while keeping to the central metaphor.

mingling their dirty, smoke-spewing tips mingle mingling...get a new word.
with the dusk's perfect confection. Hmm. Bit of a rush to the finish line...especially as I am a little queasy, myself.

The rush is a good thing, I think. Something completely disgusting, then a rather off-putting twist back into the beginning. Although if you mean that the grey imagery should be elaborated on some more, I'll look into that. The problem with extended metaphors is elasticity. It takes effort to stretch the thing and one can detect that the writer is tiring of the whole piece and just wants to reach the finish line. A good way to prevent this is to write the last stanza first. Oh, howls of dissent from the "words just flow from my pen" pretenders. If you have a great idea you will find the exercise quite easy. Ipso facto, if you find it difficult you have not got a clear idea of your great idea. Note that this is an exercise in writing uniform poetry...it is a discipline. Once you feel good about the "way it is going" by all means tinker away. Of course, the other option is to fashion the stanzas, one a day/week/ month(if billy) until you are happy or dead...but things get in the way of continuity unless you have a very sharp focus. Circle squared...think it, write it, right it.
Best,
tectak
PS. If you do not like what you have written, the chances are the reader won't, either. Perniciously, vice-versa does not follow

Hi,
Where to begin. This is the serious forum where it is unusual to find work relying for form on a simplistic syllable count without any regard for emphases. I think you need to develop at least some sophistication to avoid this piece sounding like a mathematician writing prose. If you write ANY text string and then count the syllables, divide by the  number of lines you would like then split each line into the given quotient syllables you get...well...this. Any odd syllables left over you can just chop out a modifier here and you have it; but do you want it? I do not.

There is a show of the emphasis, I think, but it is soft. I don't intend to keep it that way, of course, but I have to note that some of the already existing emphases are, at least in my opinion, strong enough to be kept -- "meringue", "carefully", and "cream", though soft in terms of emphasis, did make those positions to keep to the recipe, and "city", "stone", and "steel" were meant to be very urban. Cleaving to the syllabic verse I think reinforces the lyric quality of the first part -- the second part, perhaps, can do away with it, but the issue doesn't seem to exist there. I'll continue following this meter until it really isn't feasible anymore, and so far, it doesn't feel so.

The whole thing reads a children's recipe book metaphorically and amateurishly linked to a jokingly metaphysical emetic.

Frankly, even as a gooey diabetic dream it shows no knowledge a priori of the creation or understanding of what makes a good pud.Syrupy  meringues may work for me once but syrupy horizons just say lack of vocabuary.

You need to pare this back to a lean core metaphor and hang on some well thought through descriptive treats. The idea which you are trying to express is completely buried in hyperbole of the worst kind...that is, deliberate...to the extent that even you, the writer, cannot decide what to call it although I bet Burl Ives could sing it.

I see your point. As I noted before, I'll clarify the metaphor of the first part to be more cohesive (and, alright, less wordy -- more dependent on actual dabs of paint than crayon), and reword the second part to gel better with the rest, as well as not be so unintentionally cloying. I'll still try to hang on to the syllabic verse, though, with the deliberate aura of sweetness still alluded to somewhat, and with the key metaphor being maintained. I do hope my next edit works better, although I am glad the basis of the work already shines a fair deal. Thanks again for the feedback!

I am glad that you are glad that the "basis of the work already shines a fair deal". That kind of optimism is surely a precursor to a massive application of editorial  polish. I wait with anticipation and sunglasses.
As milo has already pre-emptively plagiarised my closing comment I can only repeat...good egg.
Best,
tectak

[RiverNotch]

Here's an unpolished revision, without meter (I'll try to fit it to one if this gets mostly positive responses). I strained out most of the icky parts (the first line, honey-water, the 'mingles' part, the 'souffle' part, the weird peach part...), clarified the metaphor, added a frame story of sorts, and tried to smooth the transition into the volta, as well as make it (the volta) less Gothic. I hope this is the right direction!

We have our dinner outside the city,
among the trees. As I serve our dessert, you
burst into song: "Oh, the heavens are a glass
of parfait! The sun is the syrup-drenched peach
at the bottom; over it, a meringue of dew
carefully folded into the creamy air
floats; and then, a light sprinkling of green mint
and cocoa, the earth in all its richness!

"But we're always so keen to dip our dirty spoons
into the mess, to have too much of it,
and to poison it for the rest." In the distance,
the smokestack city harries its last hurrah
for the day; its digits of stone and steel
spew heavy smoke into the sunset sky.

[tectak]

Here's an unpolished revision, without meter (I'll try to fit it to one if this gets mostly positive responses). I strained out most of the icky parts (the first line, honey-water, the 'mingles' part, the 'souffle' part, the weird peach part...), clarified the metaphor, added a frame story of sorts, and tried to smooth the transition into the volta, as well as make it (the volta) less Gothic. I hope this is the right direction!



Hi,
Let's just cut to the chase. You are writing prose. That's what poetical aspirants call narrative text. I honestly believe that you should just write this out as  below. This exactly what you posted:

We have our dinner outside the city, among the trees. As I serve our dessert, you burst into song:
"Oh, the heavens are a glass of parfait! The sun is the syrup-drenched peach at the bottom; over it, a meringue of dew carefully folded into the creamy air floats; and then, a light sprinkling of green mint and cocoa, the earth in all its richness! "But we're always so keen to dip our dirty spoons into the mess, to have too much of it, and to poison it for the rest." In the distance, the smokestack city harries its last hurrah for the day; its digits of stone and steel spew heavy smoke into the sunset sky.

Now, to be fair, there is not much on the plate, nouvelle cuisine leaves most of us hungry. What you have written is a solidified  (that was your editorial intention?) condensate roughly roughly cut up into short lines to convince yourself that it is a poem. I have no idea why anyone believes that this methodology leads to excellence but no doubt someone will explain it to me...I have waited a long time.
So, why not try to make a piece of poetry out of it...you know the sort of thing.
I don't need to do this but I don't seem to be able to get my point across.

We have our dinner outside the city, dining amongst the trees.
I serve cool dessert, you burst in to song, like isles flottantes in a breeze.
"Oh, the heavens are light as a glass of parfait, the sun is a syrup-soaked peach,
slowly immersed in a meringue of dew and the cream air that stirs in the beech.
In a dusting of cocoa and chocolate-chip mint the evening takes on a new hue....

OK. Enough already. I don't believe I'm doing this Your poem...but you DID ask.
Best,
tectak

We have our dinner outside the city,
among the trees. As I serve our dessert, you
burst into song: "Oh, the heavens are a glass
of parfait! The sun is the syrup-drenched peach
at the bottom; over it, a meringue of dew
carefully folded into the creamy air
floats; and then, a light sprinkling of green mint
and cocoa, the earth in all its richness!

"But we're always so keen to dip our dirty spoons
into the mess, to have too much of it,
and to poison it for the rest." In the distance,
the smokestack city harries its last hurrah
for the day; its digits of stone and steel
spew heavy smoke into the sunset sky.

[Erthona]

heavens = glass of parfait!
The sun = syrup-drenched peach at the bottom of the parfait
? = a meringue of dew carefully folded into the creamy air floats
earth =  a light sprinkling of green mint and cocoa *

Desert = creation: Heavens, Sun, Earth.

Over it = over creation: a meringue of dew carefully folded into the creamy air floats;

*I am unsure if the green mint and cocoa is on the parfait, since combining those two items with a syrup-drenched peach does not appear all that appetizing. 
_________________
Second section:
Creation = mess

"But we're always so keen to dip our dirty spoons
into the mess, to have too much of it,
and to poison it for the rest."

Dirty spoons = ?
mess = creation?
poison it for the rest = make it unfit for all other? If humans are the ones who "poison it", who are "all others?" Animals. Why not say animals instead of this mysterious and undefined "all others?" Oh, of course, future humans who will continue to pollute, we are ruining it for them also.  

Therefore: So we dip into the mess of creation with our dirty spoons (undefined) and we poison it.
_____________________________________
Third section

In the distance,
the smokestack city harries* its last hurrah
for the day; its digits of stone and steel
spew heavy smoke into the sunset sky.

*definition: to harass, annoy, or prove a nuisance to by or as if by repeated attacks; worry:

Poison = pollution

Message: We are polluting creation and ruining it for everybody else.
________________________________________________________________
Outside of imaging creation as a sticky desert, nothing else seems original at all. The image of smokestacks belching out smoke is as old as the industrial revolution, while turning the images into stone fingers does not in any way enhance the image, but more importantly it confuses it. What idea is stone fingers supposed to convey above what the trite image of smokestacks belching smoke does not?
This also points out the problem with the flowery language, in that it is cliche and does not really add anything in most instances anymore than stone fingers adds here.

Overall what I get from this is a PSA against pollution in a similar vein as the Indian crying the single tear because of the pollution he sees around him. At the time, cira 1960's-70's, it was an effective commercial, today it would seem dated, and most probably be ineffective. What your intent was (if there was a deeper one) aside from this, never came across for me.

I unfortunately must concur with what most everyone else has said and though you have made attempts to exonerate yourself from their criticism, to me, it does not seem as though you have succeeded.

As I know you for an intelligent fellow, I know there must be more in your mind than what managed to arrive on paper. Hopefully you will find a way to make that more explicit.


Best,

Dale        

[Anne]

We have our dinner outside the city,
among the trees. As I serve our dessert, you
burst into song: "Oh, the heavens are a glass
of parfait! The sun is the syrup-drenched peach
at the bottom; over it, a meringue of dew
carefully folded into the creamy air
floats; and then, a light sprinkling of green mint
and cocoa, the earth in all its richness!

"But we're always so keen to dip our dirty spoons
into the mess, to have too much of it,
and to poison it for the rest." In the distance,
the smokestack city harries its last hurrah
for the day; its digits of stone and steel
spew heavy smoke into the sunset sky.

In your opening you might clarify whether the couple is at a restaurant or picnic.  Under the trees could indicate either but the “I” serving dessert indicates picnic – however, parfait glasses don’t feel like a picnic food – just a thought.  I do like how you’ve immediately tried to set the stage.

I can’t quite picture the date actually “singing” those words.  Maybe, she / he opens herself up and comments.  It seems like such an odd thing to say unless the person is slightly inebriated because it’s rather corny so maybe you could expand on the circumstances.  I like the food imagery.

Ok so this is a bit of finding the beauty amidst the grunge - which I like.  It feels like it could be developed a bit more for the reader.  Good job.

[RiverNotch]

After a bit of mulling over, I've decided to shelf this for now. I bet someday I'll have something more substantial to tie the image to (I did actually construct the image a good two months before I wrote this), but for now, this'll have to wait.