#coal
A barbecue that provided the best of hot smoked grill
is now cold, soggy and still,
and at your height you were such a thrill.
The lesson is what is gone still remains,
in my thoughts you'll always be flames.
Apr 3
Apr 3, 2026 at 3:11 PM UTC
I see as grey skies start to cloak
In the embers of the burning oak
I feel black ashes under my feet
The mist and smoke of coal and peat
The body buried under a grave
Under the soil beneath a cave
The bones are lit in a dark flame
In a burning fire I can't tame
The heart alit in a brighter hearth
Buried deep beneath this earth
The mind's volcano would surely erupt
And the anger's wrath shall go berserk
Becoming a diamond is not my fate
For I am a burning coal of hate
I've been set to fire in a furnace
For years centuries and decades.
____Tsuki no ume~
Oct 30, 2025
Oct 30, 2025 at 10:02 PM UTC
Someone has thrown another coal,
It asked me to burn my worst
Bewitched by illusion
Like the little match girl—
But isn't that the dream I seek
To dive into the hole like Alice did
So was me being awake
Really the best that it could be;
Can't I stay here burning
Until the sun I became?
Mar 25, 2025
Mar 25, 2025 at 12:55 PM UTC
Swallow them down
Lumps of coal leaving dust in my throat
Cough once
Cough twice
Spit out black coal dust
Brush my teeth
In my chest
Or sometimes my stomach
The pressure builds
When I *****
And my stomach wretches
And my heart seizes
They'll climb back up my esophagus
Edges sharpened
Reflecting crimson gore
From the paths they cut as they came back out
If coal can turn into diamonds
Can my "self restraint"
Turn a bitten tongue into silver?
I cut my voice on diamonds
They looked like rubies when I spit them out
Dec 5, 2023
Dec 5, 2023 at 2:54 AM UTC
Grieving the living,
Envying the dead,
This world is one
That will **** with your head.
And like amber,
Time here will harden you.
But leave a beauteous soul.
As a hunk of coal,
They will burn you
And chide, as you go up in smoke.
Jun 18, 2023
Jun 18, 2023 at 1:52 PM UTC
I am charcoal cooking out for the summer
loading boxes into a freight truck
like coals into the furnace
powering America's materialist engine
the boxes rising like greed
until I've filled that truck's needs
exiting the trailer smoldering
like a coal in the furnace
powering corporate production
steam is all that rises as I melt into the ground
trucks leave like emissions into the air
obstructing my vision as I gaze down the street
through the haze of summer streaks
another truck approaches for repeat
a microwave set to reheat.
Jul 3, 2022
Jul 3, 2022 at 4:47 PM UTC
Remember, it takes a hell of a lot of coal, trees, and gasoline to produce and move electricity. It also takes a hell of a lot of electricity, trees, and coal to produce gasoline. Same can be said about coal. It takes a lot of trees, electricity and gasoline to produce coal. Hello? Knock knock. Anyone home? Add in helium and other gases too.
Mar 30, 2022
Mar 30, 2022 at 1:26 PM UTC
Eastern Montana Badlands
1930s....
Coal where one found it,
Scoria hills,
Layered lignite
Waiting near the surface.
Burning lignite beds,
Smoldering centuries old,
Scarring and turning clay to scoria,
Crumbling rock,
Testimony to lightning fires
Beneath the hills.
Crude mines backed into cliffs,
Pick and shoveled coal
Free for the risky taking
Heated homes.
Coal caves,
Low and gaping,
Horizontal shafts.
Wagons first, then
Trucks backed in.
Crowbars and picks
Brought lignite ceilings
Crashing in rotten shatters
Mounding, sometimes burying
Trucks below.
My father told me
How he helped
Chris Ginther,
Deaf coal miner,
Hammer holes,
Insert charges,
Long fuses, trailing.
Old Chris packing holes,
Tamping,
Tamping,
Tamping...
Lighting fuses,
Tamping,
Tamping,
Tamping.
My father said he'd yell
"We need to go!"
Old Chris
Seemed never to hear,
Tamping,
Tamping,
Tamping,
Until finally...
Sauntering out
Before the rumbling Thump.
I can see the two,
Chris and my father,
Just a boy,
Lost in lignite clouds,
Coughing.
Jan 28, 2022
Jan 28, 2022 at 9:21 AM UTC
Little lump of coal
In my stocking
I must’ve forgotten
how to be human
Santa saw me crying on the floor
Screaming and rocking
Back and forth
I forgot how to feel Christmas cheer
My reflection looks so tired
surrounded by my own fears
My mind is crippled
Shaken so hard
I malfunction
Too often
I suppose I’ve strayed too far
Away from god? Too far for Santa’s reindeer?
Nose bleeds and therapy
At least we have a Christmas tree?
I don’t mind coal
I can use it for my sketches
Maybe I’ll light a fire
Watch the flame flicker
Until it settles
And my eyes tire
This little light of mine
I guess I’ll let it shine
With my little lump of coal
My heart finds it’s own way
To feel full
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 2:44 AM UTC
did you know
that our love would be like coal
burning and burning
till the last flame
died out
Dec 6, 2021
Dec 6, 2021 at 11:51 AM UTC
I am not coal to be pressured
And form into a diamond
I am human,
Under enough crushing pressure
For ever so long
Never to let up
I will break
For I am flesh and bone
Not of rot and stone
If I am to break
My dear little bones
The pieces must be put back together
Held in tender care behind walls
Before they can heal again
To become stronger than before
So, mind the walls
For I am healing
They will come down when I am ready
When my bones have mended
Strengthened anew.
- Jay M
April 20th, 2021
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 12:21 PM UTC
He once saw the Universe,
in Her pretty Blue Eyes.
But now Her Tears keep falling,
like Rain from the Skies.
Tears all around Her,
splashed across the Floor.
When Her Mentor and Guide,
walked out of the Door.
Words, Stories, Memories
ran down from Her Eyes.
The promises He made Her,
we're nothing but Lies.
Never play with a Woman,
who Loves U and your Soul.
Have the Feelings of a Human,
U ain't a piece of Coal.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 3:05 PM UTC
Le Primtemps (“Spring” or “Springtime”)
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Young lovers,
greeting the spring
fling themselves downhill,
making cobblestones ring
with their wild leaps and arcs,
like ecstatic sparks
drawn from coal.
What is their brazen goal?
They grab at whatever passes,
so we can only hazard guesses.
But they rear like prancing steeds
raked by brilliant spurs of need,
Young lovers.
Original French text:
Jeunes amoureux nouveaulx
En la nouvelle saison,
Par les rues, sans raison,
Chevauchent, faisans les saulx.
Et font saillir des carreaulx
Le feu, comme de cherbon,
Jeunes amoureux nouveaulx.
Je ne sçay se leurs travaulx
Ilz emploient bien ou non,
Mais piqués de l’esperon
Sont autant que leurs chevaulx
Jeunes amoureux nouveaulx.
The First Valentine Poem
Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465), a French royal, the grandchild of Charles V, and the Duke of Orleans, has been credited with writing the first Valentine card, in the form of a poem for his wife. Charles wrote the poem in 1415 at age 21, in the first year of his captivity while being held prisoner in the Tower of London after having been captured by the British at the Battle of Agincourt.
My Very Gentle Valentine
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My very gentle Valentine,
Alas, for me you were born too soon,
As I was born too late for you!
May God forgive my jailer
Who has kept me from you this entire year.
I am sick without your love, my dear,
My very gentle Valentine.
Ballade: Oft in My Thought
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
So often in my busy mind I sought,
Around the advent of the fledgling year,
For something pretty that I really ought
To give my lady dear;
But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear,
Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay
And robbed the world of all that's precious here—
God keep her soul, I can no better say.
For me to keep my manner and my thought
Acceptable, as suits my age's hour?
While proving that I never once forgot
Her worth? It tests my power!
I serve her now with masses and with prayer;
For it would be a shame for me to stray
Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near—
God keep her soul, I can no better say.
Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost
and the cost of everything became so dear;
Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host,
Take my good deeds, as many as there are,
And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere,
As heaven's truest maid! And may I say:
Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer—
God keep her soul, I can no better say.
When I praise her, or hear her praises raised,
I recall how recently she brought me pleasure;
Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay
And makes me wish to dress for my own bier—
God keep her soul, I can no better say.
Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains,
Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain,
Your little feet—please, what more can I say?
It is my fetish when you’re far away
To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain—
Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains.
So would I beg you, if I only may,
To see such sights as I before have seen,
Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene?
I’ll be obsessed until my dying day
By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains!
Confession of a Stolen Kiss
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you,
That at a window (you know how)
I stole a kiss of great sweetness,
Which was done out of avidness—
But it is done, not undone, now.
My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you.
But I shall restore it, doubtless,
Again, if it may be that I know how;
And thus to God I make a vow,
And always I ask forgiveness.
My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you.
Translator note: By "ghostly father" I take Charles d’Orleans to be confessing to a priest. If so, it's ironic that the kiss was "stolen" at a window and the confession is being made at the window of a confession booth. But it also seems possible that Charles could be confessing to his human father, murdered in his youth and now a ghost. There is wicked humor in the poem, as Charles is apparently vowing to keep asking for forgiveness because he intends to keep stealing kisses at every opportunity!
In My Imagined Book
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In my imagined Book
my heart endeavored to explain
its history of grief, and pain,
illuminated by the tears
that welled to blur those well-loved years
of former happiness's gains,
in my imagined Book.
Alas, where should the reader look
beyond these drops of sweat, their stains,
all the effort & pain it took
& which I recorded night and day
in my imagined Book?
The next three poems are interpretations of "Le temps a laissé son manteau" ("The season has cast off his mantle"). This famous rondeau was set to music by Debussy in his Trois chansons de France.
The season has cast its coat aside
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
The season has cast its coat aside
of wind and cold and rain,
to dress in embroidered light again:
bright sunlight, fit for a bride!
There isn't a bird or beast astride
that fails to sing this sweet refrain:
"The season has cast its coat aside!"
Now rivers, fountains, springs and tides
dressed in their summer best
with silver beads impressed
in a fine display now glide:
the season has cast its coat aside!
Winter has cast his cloak away
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Winter has cast his cloak away
of wind and cold and chilling rain
to dress in embroidered light again:
the light of day—bright, festive, gay!
Each bird and beast, without delay,
in its own tongue, sings this refrain:
"Winter has cast his cloak away!"
Brooks, fountains, rivers, streams at play,
wear, with their summer livery,
bright beads of silver jewelry.
All the Earth has a new and fresh display:
Winter has cast his cloak away!
The year lays down his mantle cold
by Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
The year lays down his mantle cold
of wind, chill rain and bitter air,
and now goes clad in clothes of gold
of smiling suns and seasons fair,
while birds and beasts of wood and fold
now with each cry and song declare:
"The year lays down his mantle cold!"
All brooks, springs, rivers, seaward rolled,
now pleasant summer livery wear
with silver beads embroidered where
the world puts off its raiment old.
The year lays down his mantle cold.
Fair Lady Without Peer
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fair Lady, without peer, my plea,
Is that your grace will pardon me,
Since I implore, on bended knee.
No longer can I, privately,
Keep this from you: my deep distress,
When only you can comfort me,
For I consider you my only mistress.
This powerful love demands, I fear,
That I confess things openly,
Since to your service I came here
And my helpless eyes were forced to see
Such beauty gods and angels cheer,
Which brought me joy in such excess
That I became your servant, gladly,
For I consider you my only mistress.
Please grant me this great gift most dear:
to be your vassal, willingly.
May it please you that, now, year by year,
I shall serve you as my only Liege.
I bend the knee here—true, sincere—
Unfit to beg one royal kiss,
Although none other offers cheer,
For I consider you my only mistress.
Chanson: Let Him Refrain from Loving, Who Can
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let him refrain from loving, who can.
I can no longer hover.
I must become a lover.
What will become of me, I know not.
Although I’ve heard the distant thought
that those who love all suffer,
I must become a lover.
I can no longer refrain.
My heart must risk almost certain pain
and trust in Beauty, however distraught.
For if a man does not love, then what?
Let him refrain from loving, who can.
Chanson: The Summer's Heralds
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers
And carpet fields once brown and sere
With lush green grasses and fresh flowers.
Now over gleaming lawns appear
The bright sun-dappled lengthening hours.
The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers.
Faint hearts once chained by sullen fear
No longer shiver, tremble, cower.
North winds no longer storm and glower.
For winter has no business here.
Her Beauty
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Her beauty, to the world so plain,
Still intimately held my heart in thrall
And so established her sole reign:
She was, of Good, the cascading fountain.
Thus of my Love, lost recently,
I say, while weeping bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”
In ages past when angels fell
The world grew darker with the stain
Of their dear blood, then became hell
While poets wept a tearful strain.
Yet, to his dark and drear domain
Death took his victims, piteously,
So that we bards write bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”
Death comes to claim our angels, all,
as well we know, and spares no pain.
Over our pleasures, Death casts his pall,
Then without joy we “living” remain.
Death treats all Love with such disdain!
What use is this world? For it seems to me,
It has neither Love, nor Pity.
Thus, “We cleave to this strange world in vain.”
Traitorous Eye
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do you have in view?
Without civil warning, you spy,
And no one ever knows why!
Who understands anything you do?
You’re rash and crass in your boldness too,
And your lewdness is hard to subdue.
Change your crude ways, can’t you?
Traitorous eye, what’s new?
You should be beaten through and through
With a stripling birch strap or two.
Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do have you in view?
Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465) was a French royal born into an aristocratic family: his grandfather was Charles V of France and his uncle was Charles VI. His father, Louis I, Duke of Orleans, was a patron of poets and artists. The poet Christine de Pizan dedicated poems to his mother, Valentina Visconti. He became the Duke of Orleans at age 13 after his father was murdered by John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy. He was captured at age 21 in the battle of Agincourt and taken to England, where he remained a prisoner for the next quarter century. While imprisoned there he learned English and wrote poetry of a high order in his second language. A master of poetic forms, he wrote primarily ballades, chansons, complaints and rondeaux. He has been called the “father of French lyric poetry” and has also been credited with writing the first Valentine’s Day poem.
Keywords/Tags: France, French, translation, Charles, Orleans, Duke, first Valentine, rondeau, chanson, rondel, roundel, ballade, ballad, lyric, Middle English, Medieval English, rondeaus, rondeaux, rondels, roundels, ballades, ballads, chansons, royal, noble, prisoner, hostage, ransom, Valentine
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 11:33 PM UTC
To you, I return coal-dull
and as embers,
smoldering as their petals,
soft as their roots,
but rough as their stones
and to you, I become
gray.
Go back.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 9:03 PM UTC
They say we are made of stars.
But why does it feel like I'm made of coal?
The embers of my soul are dimming,
As my fire is soon to burn out.
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 6:18 AM UTC
wear shoes made of hot coals
to show that your mere
p r e s e n c e
can be dangerous
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 8:54 AM UTC
All the acrid smoke
And dust of the world
Fills my lungs
Burning
Burning like a fire
I can taste the sulfur on my tongue
And feel the charcoal sticking to my fingertips
I look around
And all I see is a wasteland.
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 2:00 AM UTC
Look down.
There’s a whole world below,
dug out and timber-framed,
mapped and named.
Its tunnels stretch for miles
under the mountain.
Once it shook with blasting,
screech of train, and whistles.
The coal was iridescent blue.
Headlights on a curved track
burst like shooting stars
out of the deep.
That mirror world is dark now.
The men laid down their tools,
and took the mantrip
to the surface, home.
In the quiet,
hear the mountain sigh.
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 8:09 PM UTC
He's so insecure about being loved
He feels as if he isn't worth it
Through his eyes he's a peice of coal
He can't see the beautiful diamonds he shelters inside
Through my eyes he sparkles brighter than the sun
Because even underneath all the pressure thrown at him by his peers
He never gave up or changed for anyone
Instead he became something that they could never come close to
If only he could see the beauty inside of him
Perhaps he'd love himself as much as I love him
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 3:19 AM UTC
Shepherds, cobblers, carpenters and joiners of all creeds and worldly dreamers
You troubled souls, the brittle spirits drinking spirits cleaner
Taunted workers of yore, farmers gone and industries endowed
Disseminating futures, who's gonna build your ***** barrels now?
**** it, I'm going to work in a call center
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 6:15 AM UTC
Every night I sit by a fire,
the only fire that keeps me warm:
red-hot coals,
perpetually burning,
not quite alive, but never really dying;
flaking white ash,
burned beyond recognition,
crumbling into nothing;
and gray smoke,
stinging my eyes, eating up my lungs,
as I breathe in the fumes
and lay beside the fire,
the fire of what was, and
what could have been,
and what never will be.
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 8:02 AM UTC
Dear diamonds, can't you hear us?
We're right here, buried underneath.
We look above and at you with lust.
You're loved and bright and sparkly.
We coals are easy to use.
We give electricity, we set fire.
We are not you, we make you.
Can't you see we're under 'pressure'?
You were bought for show off,
And show off you do.
For something that gets people robbed,
You sure have a high value.
When pressure does not work on us,
You turn away and sigh
Don't worry, we're non renewable.
Eventually, one day we'll die.
God bless our confused, non existent minds.
We're coals living in a dangerous coal mine.
We do not want to be like you diamonds,
But we do... at the same time.
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 10:47 AM UTC
You know how when you break open
some rocks you find crystal?
My heart is like that
break it open and you will find
all my love for you
I'm like a geode
I seem ugly and hollow at first
but after you break me apart
you will see all the treasure in me
that was hidden on the surface
Only now it is no longer yours
every touch from then on
turns my crystals to rust
one shard at a time
A geode turned to coal
for the next heartbreak
to reveal my hidden gold
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 1:04 PM UTC
I sit st my desk
stuck with a grotesque
feeling if writer's block
I can tell i'm loosing my stock
so i open my curtain to the window
just before sunrise
As the sunshine peaks
I look at my window
and to my my dismay
i see a charcoal black crow
and it said to me
You reap what you sow
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 8:17 PM UTC