Long Champagne Poems
Long Champagne Poems. Below are the most popular long Champagne by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Champagne poems by poem length and keyword.
My name is Betty the Butterfly, from a place called Wonder Wall
From deep in the forest I was born, beside a beautiful waterfall
This place you have heard of before, it's known as the land of the small
Where everything is micro, where the tallest is not even tall
Azures to translucent fall in the most wonderful of cascades
Where sprays of natures champagne, delight in organic mist display
Lush greens abound all around, whilst colours so radiate
Toadstools, grasses and trees in the most awesome of create
I Betty the Butterfly have the wings to see this at source
Gliding over the spectrum of rainbows, pollination is my course
Just as all the others like me, in proboscis search we furrow
We like watching the furries below us, in tunnel visioned burrow
We live in a carnival of colours, so different from anywhere else
To be ourselves we have to be, and protect our different self's
The sun’s sparkling streaks,
of sangria grace,
descend upon
the malachite verdant valley;
world of pristine mountains,
and evergreen tales of
rainbow hued meadows.
Where medieval castles
are guarded with a fragrant
fortress of blushing flowers,
enveloped in topaz gold beams.
She walks along the
fields of redolent reveries,
where hope sprouts
like the rising moon-
whispering secrets to
the whimsical wind,
in mystical musicality,
whilst butterflies
rest upon her ebony hair,
choreographing a
three dimensional
ballet in ethereal delight,
cradling and mirroring the
dancing spirit in
emerald elegance.
Her chrysalis heart
nurtures their sanctuary
with sanguine serenades,
for she is the queen
of azure wings,
dressed in timeless mists;
her mind is wrapped
in kaleidoscope clouds
draped in pearl crescent dust,
fluttering and twirling with
twinkling stars between
fragile thin veins,
like delicate petals
woven from a tapestry
of thriving dreams.
Yet the sound of
unsung songs drift
along shadowed skies-
of champagne and
rosemary rays,
fleeting like waning colors,
longing to spread floral arms,
to sketch watercolor
paintings from
dandelion desires-
to be heard and seen
beyond the creek of thorns
and thistles,
as peacock feathers soar
amongst petrichor leaves swaying
to the celestial tunes of her life-
amidst raining regrets
a devoted warrior never lets
eclipsed spheres dim
their light upon her sight.
dear readers
let me be an invitee to read these files
about the same place where you live but
chose to live in complete denial
don't be a traitor, don't ignore the cries
this place gave you oxygen, water, air and
every source meant for your survival
even in the adversity of times
dear readers
our house is on fire, the ice is melting
you're breathing smoke, and million species at risk
and each day a new revelation in these files
the man who drink champagne after
signing deals that harm your land
he lives in a palace built by his greed
while the future generations search for their place
write to me in wanderlust waves
of wakeful worship,
weave me a wish
with moon pearls and promises
as I bloom attached
to your aesthetic accent ~
amidst the soul’s pulse,
still questioning ~ quivering,
in need of a colorful
constellation of consolation
to erase the
fickleness of fading flames…
I know, love searches
for your name, breathing
into the warmth of my want,
like verses coursing through
the veins of irreversible ink,
and if, to feel you closer,
I must compose you a cosmos,
let me seize teardrop crystals
of champagne chandeliers
and light up your dusk
with deafening desire ~
recklessly awaiting the surrender
of your sky to my silhouette…
but what would soothsayers
know of the circumference
of a romance immeasurable,
unstudied and unknown
to fortune whisperers
forsaking fortitude and faith ~
yet preaching dissolution
and dissociation,
as if eagle-feathered ego feasts
on the nest that has no place
for the gossamer greed
of maggots,
manifesting mere moments
calculated through concave curves…
watch me waltz away from
the wickedness of bruised bluebirds
thirsting through cheap thrills,
seeking sunlight
beyond the barks of bravery ~
their tiny toes
perched in absolute desperation…
you are mine ~
O herald of hypnotic horizons,
wearing my poetry
perfumed with painless purity…
with you
the handles of heaven are nearer,
as the pilgrimage of you and I
is a visceral vision
of an unapologetic ambience ~
that no twisted tongue can tweak,
nor moulded monologue
can ever distort ~
the truth of tattooed fealty ~
a love letter left in the
arms of timeless flow…
Break out the champagne
Roll out the red carpet
This is going to be glorious
Soon to be hearing trumpets
Excitement eagerly building
Anticipation anxiously awaits
Soon the suspense will be put to rest
Hoping hopefulness translates
Forecasting future happiness
Projection primed for perfection
Not allowing for deviation
In reality it can go any direction
Impossible to predict the end result
Time to put down the crystal ball
Better to back off on assumptions
Easing up on expectations big and small
Antidote is taking comfort in any outcome
Loosening up the reins on speculation
No longer jumping to conclusions
Removing conjecture from the calculation
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea
To this chrysoberyl dawn rescue from chuted linen bedlam,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
She sits on her hands and shuffles her ugg boots,
And watches me toast, I'm butter, I'm smoked ham.
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea.
Pepper shakes, egg white eyes, her yawning toots,
Her champagne hair bubbles still of our liquory sham,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
The wonder to her sprite body and this morn in cahoots,
When I feels like I'm sunken, with lids like a sleepy clam.
Now for warm oatmeal and honey and sugarless tea.
Not flowers on feathers, hoodlums we are - munchy and moose,
Nothing much matters but her lippy kiss coat of strawberry jam
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
This first light and cigarette and her shuffling caboose
Closer, comfier, her smile on my shoulder, to the day be damn'
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
One day in May, I sat nearby a stream
where a few mulberry trees were flourishing.
I rested my head against the trunk of one
where clusters of white comfrey grew nearby.
Beautiful yarrow were also scattered there,
with pinkish-purple bells; some were yellow.
I must have fallen into a dream
because I saw the stream was rippling
with fizzy sounds of bubbles.
The stream was pink champagne!
The flowers around me performed a ballet,
swaying delicately in the breeze
as the bells of the yarrow rang a dulcet tune.
I woke up all a sudden,
noticing that many leaves of my mulberry tree
were not leaves at all.
They were actually butterflies coral streaked.
I’d startled them on waking,
and a cloud of them fluttered all together
away from my tree.
Other bright butterflies joined the throng,
partaking of the nectar of the once-dancing flowers.
Although the stream no longer bubbled champagne,
the reality of mulberry trees and butterflies
was more breath-taking
than what I ever
could have dreamed.
Yellow represents happiness and fun--
yellow brightens your day with the sun.
Yellow can reverse a sad day’s melody,
yellow can zap away your melancholy.
Yellow ribbons hope for a warrior’s return,
yellow heat from the fire where it burns.
Yellow roses for friendship and new beginnings,
yellow music from canaries singing.
Yellow--the sour taste of lemon in my mouth,
yellow--a sweet taste of peach from the South.
Yellow butter slides across my toast,
yellow champagne bubbles tickle my nose.
Yellow diamonds brighten the night sky,
yellow moonbeams wish you goodnight.
Alesia Leach © 2/2015
ONE WORD~
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis,
Running through my mind,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis,
Running through my veins,
A silica odor, dust walks through a fresh desert night
Cool air beneath and above the sea
A warm furnace smell, I don’t understand
Intricate to rise and receive without knowing
Up ahead in a virtue distance
A mysterious poisonous effluvium light-
My face feels like a leaf'
My sun holds up its own pendulum rods
Inflammation comes and settles in for the night,
There it stands in a pertinacious manner, with quality
I resurrect this air created from madness, all over again
Twilight, rain stranger than strange
Visions, pursue my path into an infested dark pasture
"From the red Heaven, I fell into the waters of a cobalt Hell"
Perhaps this venerable moment will pass slower than slow
PERHAPS NOT!
If I accept and then decline
Would this balance the precocious state I live in?
How about when wrong directions follow my promiscuous ways
Is my conglomeration of ideas, no longer safe?
When I no longer value the values of the young
Will I sleep at the mercy of his ancient heart
They're the voices give and take from our health
Today, those soft, perfect eyes are calling from far away,
Ashes high, vapors and infection welding me
The bright skies swallow every thin silver line,
Where the clouds sit somehow~ in bacteria
UNITY!
UNITY! Like a common curse
Always, wanting more than love can touch
We are living it up with no alibis!
A way to be and not to BE!
The champagne leaves their cup
Awaken in a life, disturbed ~ NOW INTERRUPT!
Only in this world, lava will reach her lips
Prisoners and doers;
All night…. Too late for a treatment
Lungs, decaying, evil rats
Direction, affection, ending all the inhalation
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis,
Running through my lungs,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis,
Flat-lined my life ____/\ /\___ ___/\______/\___ _______________
By: PD
The MP and the Gardener
She works for an M.P. who claims expenses
Gardener cuts grass, digs ponds and mends fences
The MP gets much more than he really needs
The gardener digs a hole lovingly plants seeds
The MP self isolates in a multi bed house
The gardener is starving living hand to mouth
The MP’s are saying we’re in it together
The gardener’s skint at the end of his tether
MP gets ten grand for laptops to work at home
The gardener starving so he takes a bank loan
Promises, promises were giving you a grant
You won’t actually get it, but it’s pointless to rant
Now if your self-employed we’ll promise more
But the money never leaves, the chancellor’s door
The MP eats steak and sips a glass of champagne
The gardener’s family’s cracking under the strain
The MP’s secretary. forced to use a laptop's screen
The gardener loses his house, but the grass is green
David Cox 22/04/20