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#mantle
I do care about your loose hairband that allow your tresses and mantle to flow in the soft breeze, Small ***** of sweat trickle-down from forehead, taking the route of the cheek, And your both hands occupied in books Effort vainly to subdue them- I sit and watch this battle from our college corridor, Dreaming and fantasizing to be your lover, And leading the army of affection Win this contest of tresses and mantle for you.
0
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 4:48 PM UTC
deep3z
Your Loose Hairband
I do care about your loose hairband that allow your tresses and mantle to flow in the soft breeze, Small ***** of sweat trickle-down from forehead, taking the route of the cheek, And your both hands occupied in books Effort vainly to subdue them- I sit and watch this battle from our college corridor, Dreaming and fantasizing to be your lover, And leading the army of affection Win this contest of tresses and mantle for you.
Continue reading...
13
Le temps a laissé son manteau ("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! The year lays down his mantle cold by Charles d'Orleans (c. 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. 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! Note: This rondeau was set to music by Debussy in his “Trois chansons de France.” The original French rondeau: Le temps a laissé son manteau De vent, de froidure et de pluie, Et s’est vêtu de broderie, De soleil luisant, clair et beau. Il n’y a bête, ni oiseau Qu’en son jargon ne chante ou crie : "Le temps a laissé son manteau." Rivière, fontaine et ruisseau Portent en livrée jolie, Gouttes d’argent d’orfèvrerie, Chacun s’habille de nouveau : Le temps a laissé son manteau. 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. The original French poem: 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. 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! The original Middle English text: Rondel: The Smiling Mouth The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray The breastes round and long small armes twain, The handes smooth, the sides straight and plain, Your feetes lit —what should I further say? It is my craft when ye are far away To muse thereon in stinting of my pain— (stinting=soothing) The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray, The breastes round and long small armes twain. So would I pray you, if I durst or may, The sight to see as I have seen, For why that craft me is most fain, (For why=because/fain=pleasing) And will be to the hour in which I day—(day=die) The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray, The breastes round and long small armes twain. 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! Original Middle English text: My ghostly fader, I me confess, First to God and then to you, That at a window, wot ye how, I stale a kosse of gret swetness, Which don was out avisiness But it is doon, not undoon, now. My ghostly fader, I me confess, First to God and then to you. But I restore it shall, doutless, Agein, if so be that I mow; And that to God I make a vow, And elles I axe foryefness. My ghostly fader, I me confesse, First to God and then to you. Charles d’Orleans has been credited with writing the first Valentine card, in the form of a poem for his wife. He 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. The Battle of Agincourt was the centerpiece of William Shakespeare’s historical play Henry V, in which Charles appears as a character. At age 16, Charles had married the 11-year-old Bonne of Armagnac in a political alliance, which explains the age difference he mentions in his poem. (Coincidentally, I share his wife’s birthday, the 19th of February.) Unfortunately, Charles would be held prisoner for a quarter century and would never see his wife again, as she died before he was released. Why did Charles call his wife “Valentine”? Well, his mother’s name was Valentina Visconti ... 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. 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 original French poem: Dedens mon Livre de Pensee, J'ay trouvé escripvant mon cueur La vraye histoire de douleur De larmes toute enluminee, En deffassant la tresamée Ymage de plaisant doulceur, Dedens mon Livre de Pensee. Hélas! ou l'a mon cueur trouvee? Les grosses gouttes de sueur Lui saillent, de peinne et labeur Qu'il y prent, et nuit et journee, Dedens mon Livre de Pensee. 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, season, seasons, winter, cold, snow, rain, summer, light, clothes, embroidered, embroidery, birds, beasts, sing, singing, song, refrain, rivers, springs, brooks, fountains, silver, beads
0
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 12:25 AM UTC
michael-r-burch
Charles d'Orleans "Le temps a laissé son manteau" translation
Le temps a laissé son manteau ("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! The year lays down his mantle cold by Charles d'Orleans (c. 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. 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! Note: This rondeau was set to music by Debussy in his “Trois chansons de France.” The original French rondeau: Le temps a laissé son manteau De vent, de froidure et de pluie, Et s’est vêtu de broderie, De soleil luisant, clair et beau. Il n’y a bête, ni oiseau Qu’en son jargon ne chante ou crie : "Le temps a laissé son manteau." Rivière, fontaine et ruisseau Portent en livrée jolie, Gouttes d’argent d’orfèvrerie, Chacun s’habille de nouveau : Le temps a laissé son manteau. 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. The original French poem: 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. 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! The original Middle English text: Rondel: The Smiling Mouth The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray The breastes round and long small armes twain, The handes smooth, the sides straight and plain, Your feetes lit —what should I further say? It is my craft when ye are far away To muse thereon in stinting of my pain— (stinting=soothing) The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray, The breastes round and long small armes twain. So would I pray you, if I durst or may, The sight to see as I have seen, For why that craft me is most fain, (For why=because/fain=pleasing) And will be to the hour in which I day—(day=die) The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray, The breastes round and long small armes twain. 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! Original Middle English text: My ghostly fader, I me confess, First to God and then to you, That at a window, wot ye how, I stale a kosse of gret swetness, Which don was out avisiness But it is doon, not undoon, now. My ghostly fader, I me confess, First to God and then to you. But I restore it shall, doutless, Agein, if so be that I mow; And that to God I make a vow, And elles I axe foryefness. My ghostly fader, I me confesse, First to God and then to you. Charles d’Orleans has been credited with writing the first Valentine card, in the form of a poem for his wife. He 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. The Battle of Agincourt was the centerpiece of William Shakespeare’s historical play Henry V, in which Charles appears as a character. At age 16, Charles had married the 11-year-old Bonne of Armagnac in a political alliance, which explains the age difference he mentions in his poem. (Coincidentally, I share his wife’s birthday, the 19th of February.) Unfortunately, Charles would be held prisoner for a quarter century and would never see his wife again, as she died before he was released. Why did Charles call his wife “Valentine”? Well, his mother’s name was Valentina Visconti ... 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. 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 original French poem: Dedens mon Livre de Pensee, J'ay trouvé escripvant mon cueur La vraye histoire de douleur De larmes toute enluminee, En deffassant la tresamée Ymage de plaisant doulceur, Dedens mon Livre de Pensee. Hélas! ou l'a mon cueur trouvee? Les grosses gouttes de sueur Lui saillent, de peinne et labeur Qu'il y prent, et nuit et journee, Dedens mon Livre de Pensee. 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, season, seasons, winter, cold, snow, rain, summer, light, clothes, embroidered, embroidery, birds, beasts, sing, singing, song, refrain, rivers, springs, brooks, fountains, silver, beads
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229
flipping baseball cards in the flippin' school yard pictures up, stats down Drysdale, Koufax, Mantle, Spahn or vice versa all around retirement income source lost on the playground...
0
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 3:07 PM UTC
poetry2go
Who Knew?
flipping baseball cards in the flippin' school yard pictures up, stats down Drysdale, Koufax, Mantle, Spahn or vice versa all around retirement income source lost on the playground...
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6
Do not try to look at me — I am in a mantle — I cannot be seen. Do not try to call me I will not answer For I do not want to utter a word — I want to listen in silence — For I am in the company of the essence. Do not try to understand For I, myself, do not understand. —JIBRIL ABDULMALIK ©2019
0
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 7:21 PM UTC
JIHAR
THE ESSENCE
Do not try to look at me — I am in a mantle — I cannot be seen. Do not try to call me I will not answer For I do not want to utter a word — I want to listen in silence — For I am in the company of the essence. Do not try to understand For I, myself, do not understand. —JIBRIL ABDULMALIK ©2019
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11
Closing the book wherein I laid my memories, I rest the tireless pen atop the aged leather. The fire, still roaring, Looked more alluring. I nestled by the warmth of the charred hearth The flames crept slowly out to embrace my body taking me in. Fuel for the fire I give myself to the pyre.
0
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC
Williamallen
Warmth
Closing the book wherein I laid my memories, I rest the tireless pen atop the aged leather. The fire, still roaring, Looked more alluring. I nestled by the warmth of the charred hearth The flames crept slowly out to embrace my body taking me in. Fuel for the fire I give myself to the pyre.
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15
Black, Empty Space. White light; so short, so sudden. We all return to: Black, Empty Space. Picture after picture, Face after face, Rest upon the mantle, in Black, Empty Space. Their white light, Lives on Above the fire, Through the Black, Empty Space. The white light dims, After each generation, Until resting in Black, Blank Space.
0
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
sibastien
Legacy
Black, Empty Space. White light; so short, so sudden. We all return to: Black, Empty Space. Picture after picture, Face after face, Rest upon the mantle, in Black, Empty Space. Their white light, Lives on Above the fire, Through the Black, Empty Space. The white light dims, After each generation, Until resting in Black, Blank Space.
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16
Love's mantle ... be relax ... look at my eyes ... so deep dive into mine ... through your mind ... i'm there so close ... with you there where you are ... be relax ... put your head at my chest ... and get out all your thoughts ... from your mind ... i'm with you ... just to help you sweetheart ... be relax ... smell my chest's scent ... feel it's warm ... enjoy it ... don't think more ... just talk all what you hide inside ... i'm with you ... to replace a happiness ... and to take all your sadness.... from your heart ... be relax ... feel my arms ... don't afraid any more ... i'm your man ... covering you right now ... with all my strong love ... to get out all your worries ... and to give you a peace of mind ... for the happy future life ... and for the love which you seek for ... be relax babe ... it's me ... who loves you ... as you are ... you love me ... yes babe ... we both do ... let's enjoy this life ... within our love ... which we wait years ago ... yes let's do ... i'm the man ... whom you search ... always for ... yes sweetheart ... it's our love's mantle ... we both belongs for ... hazem al ...
0
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 2:32 AM UTC
hazem-al-jaber
Love's mantle ..
Love's mantle ... be relax ... look at my eyes ... so deep dive into mine ... through your mind ... i'm there so close ... with you there where you are ... be relax ... put your head at my chest ... and get out all your thoughts ... from your mind ... i'm with you ... just to help you sweetheart ... be relax ... smell my chest's scent ... feel it's warm ... enjoy it ... don't think more ... just talk all what you hide inside ... i'm with you ... to replace a happiness ... and to take all your sadness.... from your heart ... be relax ... feel my arms ... don't afraid any more ... i'm your man ... covering you right now ... with all my strong love ... to get out all your worries ... and to give you a peace of mind ... for the happy future life ... and for the love which you seek for ... be relax babe ... it's me ... who loves you ... as you are ... you love me ... yes babe ... we both do ... let's enjoy this life ... within our love ... which we wait years ago ... yes let's do ... i'm the man ... whom you search ... always for ... yes sweetheart ... it's our love's mantle ... we both belongs for ... hazem al ...
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51
I know who I am     what I remember     how I felt I know who I am There is this mantle     thrown over me     hiding my truth     for his benefit. I keep throwing it off. I am not that person. He, most of all knows this,     yet his mask continues     to be painted on my face.     Even as he is away. This is my biggest fear:     that I become the image     transposed on me     and not myself.
0
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
29across
Fighting for my Sanity
I know who I am     what I remember     how I felt I know who I am There is this mantle     thrown over me     hiding my truth     for his benefit. I keep throwing it off. I am not that person. He, most of all knows this,     yet his mask continues     to be painted on my face.     Even as he is away. This is my biggest fear:     that I become the image     transposed on me     and not myself.
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18
After all this compression, perhaps I am becoming something after all. Crawling away from my potential worth I feel myself writhing my way from between the rocks, taking quick, shallow breaths —learning to breathe again after all this time. Each inhale still feels heavy and constricted, and every exhale still brings a sense of dread for the rise and fall of my chest but I am moving forward. Even relieved, my ribcage is adjusting painfully to the freedom, coping with more lung space; a gift I received from you.
0
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
mmildbeast
Mantle.
After all this compression, perhaps I am becoming something after all. Crawling away from my potential worth I feel myself writhing my way from between the rocks, taking quick, shallow breaths —learning to breathe again after all this time. Each inhale still feels heavy and constricted, and every exhale still brings a sense of dread for the rise and fall of my chest but I am moving forward. Even relieved, my ribcage is adjusting painfully to the freedom, coping with more lung space; a gift I received from you.
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1
The shadows creep towards the mound. The late September air is crisp. No bunting will be hung this year, Our team is old and in eclipse. In the box the batter waits. His knees are sore, his bat grown slow. In his time he was a champion. In his heart he knows it’s time to go. How quickly do the seasons change from youthful promise to aged despair. You start out as a diamond star And end up in a rocking chair. Baseball is an old man’s love, each Spring bringing hope of glory. Yet it is not an old man’s game. That’s quite a different story. The stadium this day, half full, and ready for the wrecking ball. Mickey Charles Mantle has flied to right and joined the legions of the Fall.
0
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 6:53 AM UTC
john-f-mccullagh
Twilight
The shadows creep towards the mound. The late September air is crisp. No bunting will be hung this year, Our team is old and in eclipse. In the box the batter waits. His knees are sore, his bat grown slow. In his time he was a champion. In his heart he knows it’s time to go. How quickly do the seasons change from youthful promise to aged despair. You start out as a diamond star And end up in a rocking chair. Baseball is an old man’s love, each Spring bringing hope of glory. Yet it is not an old man’s game. That’s quite a different story. The stadium this day, half full, and ready for the wrecking ball. Mickey Charles Mantle has flied to right and joined the legions of the Fall.
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