They rise like little bubbles of carbon dioxide in a glass of beer
and there is nothing I can do to halt their progress
even though I sense their motion
and am unsure
whether now is the right time
or whether I have already said enough.

Archimedes had it right,
for they are more loosely packed, lighter,
than the matter through which they travel.

So rise, rise, rise they must,
until arriving at the surface
it is all they can do to burst forth,
exploding into the world
whether I like it or not.

(c) Tim O’Hare, September 2024

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About this poem: I attended the first virtual meeting of a new Book Club a couple of days ago – it was fun and interesting and as is usually the way with such things, I had a lot to say. This is something that I experience in all kinds of settings – meetings at work, conversations with individuals etc – my mind is always full of thoughts and ideas and I find it almost impossible not to want to make a response, add a comment, give my own thoughts, make a recommendation over and over again. It’s something that I am very conscious of and I frequently tell myself that perhaps I should speak less, share less and step into the background a bit more. I can imagine that I might come across as having an inflated sense of my own importance or simply a bit annoying because I just don’t shut up! Anyway, after the Book Club meeting I was reflecting on how it feels when I am in that kind of setting and I sense myself bursting to make another ‘interesting’ contribution. That reflection quickly turned itself into this poem in which I try to describe the way that even though I recognise and feel what is happening inside me I seem to be powerless to stop it.