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No, he’s not.
He certainly looks
Real to me.

——

Check him out?
He’s big as a cow!
You do it!

——————–

photo by Nathalie Dulex at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/msDcKjI/Tea+pots

——————–

* 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.

Passer Mortuus Est

Death devours all lovely things,
Lesbia with her sparrow
Shares the darkness, – presently
Every bed is narrow.

Unremembered as old rain
Dries the sheer libation,
And the little petulant hand
Is an annotation.

After all, my erstwhile dear,
My no longer cherished,
Need we say it was not love,
Now that love has perished?

————————————

The title is Latin, meaning, “The sparrow is dead.”

Sonnet 27 – The Empty Tomb Stories

On that first day, two tales sprang from the grave.
Like couriers, one headed north, one south.
We choose which is the knight, which is the knave,
Which tells the truth, which comes from lying mouth.

The first has always been its own worst foe:
We slept; disciples stole the corpse away.
But if they were asleep, how did they know?
And if awake, they would have won the fray.

The second’s known, for it is strong, survives.
The ones who scattered as their teacher died
Said He arose, and we can see changed lives.
E’en though it cost them all, they testified.

Two stories of the empty tomb were told:
One made men laugh; the other made men bold.

—————————————————————

Stanza 2 – An angel appeared and rolled away the stone.
The Roman guards shook in fear and became like dead
men.  When they recovered, they went to the Jewish
leaders for protection (to avoid being killed by Pilate).
They were given money and told to say that the
disciples came and stole the body of Jesus while they
were sleeping (Matt.28:2-4; 11-15).

—————————————————————-

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

 

Moral: Rise And Dine

Got the worm!
Then, he just must be
Early bird!

——————–

 

 

It’s The Pits

Descending,
A spiral staircase
To earth’s core.

——————–

 

 

Contradiction In Terms

Ever ride
A merry-go-round
While crying?

——————–

Moral – picture by Cris Vleck at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/o3jbmvq/Early+bird

Pits -picture by Caetano de Lacerda Camara at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nY5NTI8/Pit

Contradiction – picture by Michael Christa Richert at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ni0Zere/merry-go-round

——————–

* 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.

 

The Portent

Hanging from the beam,
Slowly swaying (such the law),
Gaunt the shadow on your green,
Shenandoah!
The cut is on the crown
(Lo, John Brown),
And the stabs shall heal no more.

Hidden in the cap
Is the anguish none can draw;
So your future veils its face,
Shenandoah!
But the streaming beard is shown
(Weird John Brown),
The meteor of war.

——————–

After a failed raid on Harpers Ferry, Virginia,
abolitionist John Brown was hanged on Dec.2, 1859.

A Friday Afternoon

A Friday afternoon – I need
My shot for allergies,
A weekly thing like Saturdays,
Or else, I wheeze and sneeze.

The doctor’s office, thirty chairs –
And empty, ev’ry one!
A healthy world of people means
Their Friday has been fun.

And so, when nurse pops out the door,
She need not call my name.
I am the only patient there -
I get attention, fame.

So on this Friday for the world,
And me, as shot comes quick,
It is the day the work week ends
And I, nor world is sick!

———————————————-

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


Choo Choo Chimney

The top view
While rounding a bend
On great train.

——————–

 

 

Real, Different

It all looks
Like funny money
When foreign.

——————–


 

Bleak

Death Valley
Not one bit of life.
Dead valley.

———————

Choo Choo – photo by Michal Zacharzewski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nFtG7QS/Long+roof

Real – photo by Jean Scheijen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWk4jSE/Money+Money

Bleak – photo by Rinske Blok-van Middendorp at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/miblSa6/Death+Valley

——————–

* 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.

 

The Wild Honey Suckle

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,
Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet:
No roving foot shall crush thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature’s self in white arrayed,
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by;
Thus quietly thy summer goes,
Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,
I grieve to see your future doom;
They died – nor were those flowers more gay,
The flowers that did in Eden bloom;
Unpitying frosts, and Autumn’s power
Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews
At first thy little being came:
If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
The space between, is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.

 

 

Rock Hounds

Now, Princess Lailah takes a walk
Upon her toddler legs
And bends to pick up all the rocks
As though they’re Easter eggs.

I find the fascination strange –
That, too, did Princess Tess.
We’d amble down the walk and street,
Return with an excess.

Of all my grands, the smallest is
The young Prince Elliott.
He’s crawling. Loves geology?
I cannot tell you yet.

—————————————

*The poem was written 10 months ago.
Elliott is no longer the youngest of my
grandchildren - Jackson has been born
since.  And Elliott is now walking quite
well.  I still can’t tell yet.  :)

—————————————-

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

 

 

No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere
I see Heaven’s glories shine
And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear

O God within my breast
Almighty ever-present Deity
Life, that in me hast rest
As I Undying Life, have power in Thee

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain,
Worthless as withered weeds
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thy infinity
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality

With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

Though Earth and moon were gone
And suns and universes ceased to be
And thou wert left alone
Every Existence would exist in thee

There is not room for Death
Nor atom that his might could render void
Since thou are Being and Breath
And what thou art may never be destroyed.

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