"effervesces" poems - Hello Poetry

I remember the first time you tasted champagne. As the golden nectar effervesces down your throat, you whispered my name. I raised an eyebrow and wondered why, you said, “You’re everything this glass contains.” They tell me the tale of Dom Pérignon who said, “I am tasting the stars” after a sip of his own creation. You’ve always loved me like I tasted of stars, and I loved you like you put the stars where they belonged. We made the mixture of magnificence, until we were twisted too much on the shelves. Pop, bubble, hiss--- all shaken up everything we bottled up spilled down until nothing else is left. I was champagne until I became your problem. And somewhere in between the lines, we got lost in translation I didn’t know where to find you, didn’t know how else to meet you halfway, but there was pain whichever path I take. I was already walking the track for the exiled, I didn’t realize right away. Others hide a ring in the glass, But we put the problem in the champagne, babe. Soon it will taste differently to you, All sweet and sparkling—no strings attached like it used to. But the stars are no longer where they used to be. Every sip will wash down any trace of me, until you forget. But it will forever linger on my lips; and I’ll always remember it all too well.

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Mar 27, 2021

Mar 27, 2021 at 6:23 AM UTC

iacustodio

Champagne Problems

I remember the first time you tasted champagne. As the golden nectar effervesces down your throat, you whispered my name. I raised an eyebrow and wondered why, you said, “You’re everything this glass contains.” They tell me the tale of Dom Pérignon who said, “I am tasting the stars” after a sip of his own creation. You’ve always loved me like I tasted of stars, and I loved you like you put the stars where they belonged. We made the mixture of magnificence, until we were twisted too much on the shelves. Pop, bubble, hiss--- all shaken up everything we bottled up spilled down until nothing else is left. I was champagne until I became your problem. And somewhere in between the lines, we got lost in translation I didn’t know where to find you, didn’t know how else to meet you halfway, but there was pain whichever path I take. I was already walking the track for the exiled, I didn’t realize right away. Others hide a ring in the glass, But we put the problem in the champagne, babe. Soon it will taste differently to you, All sweet and sparkling—no strings attached like it used to. But the stars are no longer where they used to be. Every sip will wash down any trace of me, until you forget. But it will forever linger on my lips; and I’ll always remember it all too well.

26

Matthew 19:5 …a man shall leave his mother and father and be united firmly to his wife and the two shall become one flesh… Are we simply stardust Celestial fallout somehow sentient The connection that effervesces between us Happy accidents Or is there that spark of the divine Helixes and Holy angels Spin a different plane Eternal DNA Existence beyond physical This side of forever Sacred accretion Boundaries blurred Do I begin then where you end The weak made strong Sight to the blind And love the ultimate healer For hearts torn asunder Broken parts made whole Bound by ties that set us free I cleave to you Under sparkling stars Gentle passion envelopes us Pulse and breath as one You surrender pleasure to me Wild moments sublime We scatter seeds of immortality Fertile earth Breath over water A single spark in darkness And the universe begins anew TL Boehm 11/3/07

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Oct 19, 2013

Oct 19, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC

tammy-boehm

Spark

Matthew 19:5 …a man shall leave his mother and father and be united firmly to his wife and the two shall become one flesh… Are we simply stardust Celestial fallout somehow sentient The connection that effervesces between us Happy accidents Or is there that spark of the divine Helixes and Holy angels Spin a different plane Eternal DNA Existence beyond physical This side of forever Sacred accretion Boundaries blurred Do I begin then where you end The weak made strong Sight to the blind And love the ultimate healer For hearts torn asunder Broken parts made whole Bound by ties that set us free I cleave to you Under sparkling stars Gentle passion envelopes us Pulse and breath as one You surrender pleasure to me Wild moments sublime We scatter seeds of immortality Fertile earth Breath over water A single spark in darkness And the universe begins anew TL Boehm 11/3/07

34

The incandescent Sun is eating itself alive They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The helium will compact to a carbon red giant's core They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The Earth's heat is depleted by geothermal extraction They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The geysers are drying up and the pressure sinks in subsidence They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The permafrost decomposes and prehistoric methane effervesces They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The Yellowstone caldera hisses plumes of taunting toxic gases They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The sea-floor volcanoes purge their way to the surface They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The aurora lights the sky as solar wind ravages the magnetosphere They said it's too small to matter too small to matter

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Jul 29, 2013

Jul 29, 2013 at 9:43 PM UTC

a-n-h

Geophysical Minimisation

The incandescent Sun is eating itself alive They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The helium will compact to a carbon red giant's core They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The Earth's heat is depleted by geothermal extraction They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The geysers are drying up and the pressure sinks in subsidence They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The permafrost decomposes and prehistoric methane effervesces They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The Yellowstone caldera hisses plumes of taunting toxic gases They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The sea-floor volcanoes purge their way to the surface They said it's too slow to matter too slow to matter The aurora lights the sky as solar wind ravages the magnetosphere They said it's too small to matter too small to matter

32

I lay here waiting in my skin for the tearing of the membrane that seperates this world from the next one and I let myself get carried along by a fresh stream of reasoning until I flare up in the dark like a new species of amoeba this balancing and spinning around on an atom and just not falling off it becomes boring at times and maybe because of that sporules once landed here to grant us the possibility of another possibility I lay here waiting and I manage not to drown just like only an almost newborn baby can and being born in 1983 means nothing here in the swelling infinity of the abnormal my skin has been waiting for new atmospheres for decades and the touch of unknown forms makes me shudder with raw impervious happiness because invisible energy effervesces alongside my arms and the eyes in my skull could be anyone’s right now suddenly the waiting is forgotten and I wallow myself in the gathered fairy tales of every soul that preceded me carelessly astonished and uncapable of understanding the seriousness of this absurd life inside me irrational poetry dances like a tribe jumping around a bonfire outside the universe dances her own eternity round and round

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Jun 4, 2016

Jun 4, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC

DimitriHillewaert

Psylocibine

I lay here waiting in my skin for the tearing of the membrane that seperates this world from the next one and I let myself get carried along by a fresh stream of reasoning until I flare up in the dark like a new species of amoeba this balancing and spinning around on an atom and just not falling off it becomes boring at times and maybe because of that sporules once landed here to grant us the possibility of another possibility I lay here waiting and I manage not to drown just like only an almost newborn baby can and being born in 1983 means nothing here in the swelling infinity of the abnormal my skin has been waiting for new atmospheres for decades and the touch of unknown forms makes me shudder with raw impervious happiness because invisible energy effervesces alongside my arms and the eyes in my skull could be anyone’s right now suddenly the waiting is forgotten and I wallow myself in the gathered fairy tales of every soul that preceded me carelessly astonished and uncapable of understanding the seriousness of this absurd life inside me irrational poetry dances like a tribe jumping around a bonfire outside the universe dances her own eternity round and round

26

A mysterious being of immeasurable force. She plays men like puppets made to stretch every molecule toward an unattainable fleeting notion of perfection, only to have it yanked ever so abruptly out of reach. She sends them spiraling into an emotionally sadistic cycle of perpetual pain, punctuated by brief moments of blissful ignorance. She is a siren of the soul, singing a song of promise that creeps out and lassoes the heart. Her flowery perfume of victory effervesces toward the unknowing sailor, filling the emptiness he has dug into himself. The smallest whiff spreads hope - an invasive vine through the body, wrapping around sinews, planting thorns like anchors refusing to ease up their iron clad grip. We hold onto this impossibly small beacon of light as if our very lives depend on the grip with which we keep this air of possibility, all the while this very thing is what is pulling us down into the watery crypt of depression – head over heels, plunging deeper into the darkness so we no longer know which way is up. It is here that she takes her prey. The once beautiful maiden is now the innermost fear of man. She engulfs her prey and the blackness follows.

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Jan 5, 2013

Jan 5, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC

cv

Beautiful Curse

A mysterious being of immeasurable force. She plays men like puppets made to stretch every molecule toward an unattainable fleeting notion of perfection, only to have it yanked ever so abruptly out of reach. She sends them spiraling into an emotionally sadistic cycle of perpetual pain, punctuated by brief moments of blissful ignorance. She is a siren of the soul, singing a song of promise that creeps out and lassoes the heart. Her flowery perfume of victory effervesces toward the unknowing sailor, filling the emptiness he has dug into himself. The smallest whiff spreads hope - an invasive vine through the body, wrapping around sinews, planting thorns like anchors refusing to ease up their iron clad grip. We hold onto this impossibly small beacon of light as if our very lives depend on the grip with which we keep this air of possibility, all the while this very thing is what is pulling us down into the watery crypt of depression – head over heels, plunging deeper into the darkness so we no longer know which way is up. It is here that she takes her prey. The once beautiful maiden is now the innermost fear of man. She engulfs her prey and the blackness follows.

22

Poetry effervesces from the soul Sparkling to the surface effortlessly in tiny Disconnected bubbles. No champagne can capture the Joy of rising bubbles from within. Sometimes it pops up Sweet and salty like popcorn; Exciting, fresh and crisp. Or it rumbles up from a deep well of fire And spits Out Red and hot, searing and purging From a swirling mass of magma. Fireworks don't come easily and fizz and pop and die- Champagne has to wait in cold and dark- Popcorn cannot nourish and bubbles simply pop! But diamonds deftly cut can clarify.

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Oct 15, 2016

Oct 15, 2016 at 6:52 AM UTC

mary-pear

poetry

Poetry effervesces from the soul Sparkling to the surface effortlessly in tiny Disconnected bubbles. No champagne can capture the Joy of rising bubbles from within. Sometimes it pops up Sweet and salty like popcorn; Exciting, fresh and crisp. Or it rumbles up from a deep well of fire And spits Out Red and hot, searing and purging From a swirling mass of magma. Fireworks don't come easily and fizz and pop and die- Champagne has to wait in cold and dark- Popcorn cannot nourish and bubbles simply pop! But diamonds deftly cut can clarify.

18

I may tend to the soil. At 21, growing flowers with my cries for help Feels criminal, ridiculous. Those ******* children, On their mute petals flourish jealously In more lush and verbal company, But their speak fades out as color and as light The last of the sounds is celebration and surprise. Of course, I am tied to this soil, watching waves And waves of new life rise in clouds of pollen, Migrating and impatient; New things seem to form, Divisions where there is only space barring austere tongues Their desired juices, but I command Myself, abstain, And keep the teeth and silence like fences Made of mockery, ridicule, and other forms of self-control. And yet, the time of false gods effervesces in a comforting dream When I feign sleep, vines creeping up while I regret their invitation Standing amongst them, beautifully crafted shapes, lacking color. I admonish quietly, I suggest furtively, I command passively And amongst plenty of others, I am one open eye, a slit for lamentations And they are the doomed recanters of permanence, forever happy Forever in death, there is no time to wither.

0

Jun 5, 2015

Jun 5, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC

jp-goss

Canto 1

I may tend to the soil. At 21, growing flowers with my cries for help Feels criminal, ridiculous. Those ******* children, On their mute petals flourish jealously In more lush and verbal company, But their speak fades out as color and as light The last of the sounds is celebration and surprise. Of course, I am tied to this soil, watching waves And waves of new life rise in clouds of pollen, Migrating and impatient; New things seem to form, Divisions where there is only space barring austere tongues Their desired juices, but I command Myself, abstain, And keep the teeth and silence like fences Made of mockery, ridicule, and other forms of self-control. And yet, the time of false gods effervesces in a comforting dream When I feign sleep, vines creeping up while I regret their invitation Standing amongst them, beautifully crafted shapes, lacking color. I admonish quietly, I suggest furtively, I command passively And amongst plenty of others, I am one open eye, a slit for lamentations And they are the doomed recanters of permanence, forever happy Forever in death, there is no time to wither.

21