In the inner garden where silence lays its mantle of blue dust,
The butterflies in my stomach have slept so long they seemed like stones,
Or perhaps they died in a winter of forgetting and cold shadows,
But now, suddenly, I feel them awaken as if they were memories,
They begin to move slowly, unhurriedly, like children in the morning of life,
Trying to remember how to live again under the sun of memories.
Wait, I tell myself, they've forgotten they have wings, wings cannot walk on the ground,
But when the thought of you floods my mind, everything becomes a sea of tranquility,
And with a single thought carrying you to me, the butterflies take flight,
Fluttering as if they had never left, as if they had been waiting,
Waiting for your name to bring them back to life like petals unfolding,
After the storm, after winter, in an endless spring of dreams that do not die.
Thus, under the sky of my heart, the butterflies dance in a symphony of colors,
In an eternity of the moment when everything is possible and nothing is lost,
When a simple thought of you becomes the key that opens the gates of light.
Under the night sky, stars weave a mantle with shimmering silver threads,
Thoughts carry me into the enchanted forest, where trees whisper stories,
Shadows dance to the rhythm of the wind, singing a melody forgotten by time,
A symphony of silence, each note a dream shattered by the light of dawn.
Rain falls like a silk veil over the city asleep in reverie,
The drops, tears of a sad goddess, wash away the dust of days gone by,
Leaving a scent of longing and melancholy, souls under colorful umbrellas,
Butterflies under fragile wings, seeking shelter from the relentless storm.
On the empty streets, the lantern lights reflect in shining puddles,
I wander through the labyrinth of silence, feeling how time becomes an ephemeral illusion,
A grain of sand in a forgotten hourglass, stories gather like lost echoes,
Lives lived intensely, forgotten too quickly by the world, remain as whispered memories.
In the world of dreams, reality and fantasy intertwine like a magical tapestry,
Words become a gateway to unknown realms, a traveler among verses,
I seek my path on long and equal steps leading to the sky of tranquility,
There I find the answers I've longed for my entire life.
Looking down from somewhere up in the sky.
Mickey Mantle and Duke Snider stand by.
Below, Bronx Bombers, all in their pinstripes,
come out swinging their bats, taking their swipes.
Dem Bums have Shohei Ohtani and Betts.
Get ready, this is as good as it gets.
"Play ball", says the ump, to a lightning flash.
Big bats heard o'er the land, a thunder crash.
It starts raining as, out of the park, it flies.
Is it Mantle or Snider who cries?
Acorned Beltway,
Commerce Moves;
Feats Of Victories,
Mantle, ..... Boom's!
Finally, he’ll accept the title
He can think of nothing else vital.
No titles physically break down,
His body dying for Royal Gown…
Some feared truths are inconsequential;
Gifts from Satan confidential.
As King, every week true human flesh,
Or, else as king won’t look truly fresh…
So, it’s no time to play the Gentle;
Rather time to take up the mantle:
As Lord, he’ll be eating his fill,
As Head, others shall his farmlands till,
As god: half of the lands on hills;
As king: drastically reduced bills…
“If in life vital is a title
Then, to me, this title is vital
the room is all aglow
feel the warmth from the fireplace
sitting upon the mantle
a vase, Cornwall blue in color
within it, seemingly translucent
a bouquet of neon daisies
My full name is Mickey Charles Mantle
Adored by baseball fans, left the records in shambles
Born in Tupelo, Miss
A real phenom I is
Always wanted to be a ballet dancer till I broke my ankle
Upon the fireplace mantle
A metal high container
Filled with white flowers
Two birthday cards lean
In the middle stands
The large family painting
A waterwheel house
On a farmer's field
Beside this painting
Two photo's found
Followed by a glass
Candle light
In front of that
Stands a small angel
Watching, keeping,guard
On top of the mantle
Tenderly the sun kissed the earth
For wished to erase winter's gloom
Earth responded with a broad smile
And soon wore her mantle of bloom
© Demetrios Trifiatis
19 March 2019
She wears spring's mantle of beauty
Woven by dawn's tender breeze
Her heart devoted to duty
Her mind grasps concepts with ease!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 November 2018
* Dedicated to my fifteen-year-old niece, Matina, for her birthday!
Keep running up those Credit Card Bill's
For Cheap Thrill's
Accumulating Interest
Until your Closet is Full
Of Discarded Clutter
You can hopefully Sell 1 late night on E-Bay
To the Countless Masses
Out there phishing just like you
For Space Fillers
To place on Mantle Pieces
Where Photographs used to Play
Before the Recession Funk had time to Set
Giggling snowflakes fall
Winter's mantle of white weave
Hibernation's glee!
(c) Demetrios Trifiatis
25 November 2016
When you’re in charge of something,
It’s prepared the way you like.
The past few years, I’ve hosted
A poetic open-mic.
It’s through a group of teachers
And we hold it once a year.
Attendees vary – just a few
Or thirty may appear.
I always planned a writing drill
To get folks in the mood.
It broke the ice and worked its charm
On even those subdued.
We then went ‘round the circle
Sharing what we had produced.
Supportive comments always helped
To give a welcome boost.
Today I’ll be attending
But I will not run the show.
I’m curious to witness
How the afternoon will go.
It may be an improvement
Or not worthy of acclaim
For the passing of the mantle means
It won’t be quite the same.
all of the
young ladies cried
nor
they
are surprise
of all the
handsome
young guys
wearing
their
baseball uniforms
at
Yankee Stadium
with
their
baby blue
Mickey Mantle eyes
I brought a Ho Big Red Eagle Trailways bus
I had to add it to my collection being a must
My Big Red bus seemed out of place
Yet I would never ever replace
My bus collection seemed to say, “Big Red what are you doing here?”
For me Big Red was a welcomed opportunity
Needless to say, “Big Red felt right at home”
I was determined Big Red doesn’t need to roam
Big Red being a name of the past
But it is in my memory to last
Even thought Greyhound merged and is large with charge
Big Red has a history and to fellow bus enthusiast it is our marv
There is no problem that needs to be resolved
Just Big Red in highways gone by
Tears in not seeing Big Red in its cruising try
Big Red that everybody knew
But it was that name “Trailways” being its slew
The familiar Eagle that would soar the highway land sky
Destination being American towns and cities perhaps a Trailways Terminal near you
Big Red you achieved what America forgot
In my heart I will not
Thanks Big Red for the history and the ride
You are now in the hands of the Greyhound stride.
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