……..The Three Silences Of Molinos
…………..(To John Greenleaf Whittier)

Three Silences there are: the first of speech,
The second of desire, the third of thought;
This is the lore a Spanish monk, distraught
With dreams and visions, was the first to teach.
These Silences, commingling each with each,
Made up the perfect Silence that he sought
And prayed for, and wherein at times he caught
Mysterious sounds from realms beyond our reach.
O thou, whose daily life anticipates
The life to come, and in whose thought and word
The spiritual world preponderates,
Hermit of Amesbury! thou too has heard
Voices and melodies from beyond the gates,
And speakest only when thy soul is stirred!




The lights blink out in this dark world;
A viral blackness spread
By a contagion devil-hurled,
With hearts its breeding bed.

The darkness never knows the light;
The two can’t co-exist.
Night’s never day, day never night;
Impossible a tryst.

Before light, darkness has no might;
A distant glimpse – it flees.
It cannot offer any fight,
Nor beg upon its knees.

The dark compares itself to night,
And rates itself quite high.
For blackness thinks that it is white
Since light is never nigh.

The Lord God’s like the brightest day,
No shadow or a cloud
Moves o’er His just and holy way.
No darkness is allowed.

So men who love the darkness flee;
They hide till He appears.
They will His brightness briefly see,
Then evermore shed tears.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.


…..On The Late Massacre In Piedmont

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold,
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old
When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones,
Forget not: in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese that rolled
Mother with infant down the rocks.  Their moans
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
To Heaven, Their martyred blood and ashes sow
O’er all th’ Italian fields where still doth sway
The triple tyrant: that from these may grow
A hundredfold, who having learnt thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.





Green plant school,
A kindergarten –
Tiny sprouts.




Didn’t change
As quick as the flash –
I see you!



A Part, Sometimes

As a whole
Life’s not a lemon,
Just a slice.


Recess – photo by Adrian van Leen at

Chameleon – photo by Agnes Scholiers at

Part – photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/o21vTqo/Lemon+Slice



* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: http://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.





Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory -
Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap’d for the beloved’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when ‘Thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.


…………Beauty First

Some people seek a poem so they
Can cut the tangled vine.
They want complexity inside
Each word and cryptic line.

They’d stand by a museum piece,
Love puzzling o’er the paint
(Picasso warping form and shape),
And think it queer and quaint.

Brer Rabbit loved the briar patch;
They seek the brambles, too.
The simple fails; what satisfies -
Veils, mystery, and clue.

It takes all kinds, and they’re a kind;
That’s all right, I suppose.
But when it comes to line and verse,
I d rather smell a rose.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

………………….To Sleep

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;
I’ve thought of all by turns, and yet do lie
Sleepless; and soon the small bird’s melodies
Must hear, first utter’d from my orchard trees,
And the first cuckoo’s melancholy cry.
Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay,
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:
So do not let me wear tonight away:
Without Thee what is all the morning’s wealth?
Come, blessed barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health.





Cattle, sheep
With green hill focus
Ignore storm.


Green hill slant
Presents to the eyes
Slanted storm.


photo by Kevin Tuck at


* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: http://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.



Hither, hither, love –
‘Tis a shady mead –
Hither, hither, love!
Let us feed and feed! 

Hither, hither, sweet –
‘Tis a cowslip bed –
Hither, hither, sweet!
‘Tis with dew bespread! 

Hither, hither, dear,
By the breath of life,
Hither, hither, dear! –
Be the summer’s wife! 

Though one moment’s pleasure
In one moment flies –
Though the passion’s treasure
In one moment dies; - 

Yet it has not passed –
Think how near, how near! –
And while it doth last,
Think how dear, how dear! 

Hither, hither, hither
Love its boon has sent –
If I die and wither
I shall die content!




Suprfluous sum lttrs r
Az n th day – anthr str.
Bside th sun, they twnkl nun.
Y r we needng evre 1?
Th tsk thn iz 2 sepr ate
Th wckd from th 1 tht’s grate.
I thnk tht I wuld soon b rch
If I culd tel whch 1 was wtch.




Superfluous some letters are
As in the day – another star.
Beside the sun, they twinkle none.
Why are we needing ev’ry one?
The task then is to separate
The wicked from the one that’s great.
I have a feeling I’d be rich,
If I could tell which one was witch.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.




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