The Portent

Hanging from the beam,
Slowly swaying (such the law),
Gaunt the shadow on your green,
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,
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.




Death Valley
Not one bit of life.
Dead valley.


Choo Choo – photo by Michal Zacharzewski at

Real – photo by Jean Scheijen at

Bleak – photo by Rinske Blok-van Middendorp 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.


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.

The News Reporter Says (Whispering):

Here waiting
With the boyfriend, for



That Green One (Ho Ho Ho)

A giant
Down in the valley
Has big stride.




Such beauty!
I wonder. For them –


The second haiku refers to an advertising gimmick by a canned food
company – “in the valley of the jolly (ho, ho, ho) green giant.”


News – photo by Kevin Tuck at

Green – photo by Andreas Krappweis at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVIoV3I/Old+Maple+Tree

Familiarity – photo by Laura Shreck 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.

The Yellow Violet

When beechen buds begin to swell,
And woods the blue-bird’s warble know,
The yellow violet’s modest bell
Peeps from the last year’s leaves below.

Ere russet fields their green resume,
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.

Of all her train, the hands of Spring
First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen thee blossoming
Beside the snow-bank’s edges cold.

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip,
Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,
And earthward bent thy gentle eye,
Unapt the passing view to meet,
When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

Oft, in the sunless April day,
Thy early smile has stayed my walk;
But midst the gorgeous blooms of May,
I passed thee on thy humble stalk.

So they, who climb to wealth, forget
The friends in darker fortunes tried.
I copied them – but I regret
That I should ape the ways of pride.

And when again the genial hour
Awakes the painted tribes of light,
I’ll not o’er look the modest flower
That made the woods of April bright.

The Plain And Simple Man

I am a plain and simple man.
I’ll tell you simply, if I can,
And tell you plainly, so you’ll know
How the plain and simple go. 

With just a little, I am pleased;
My itch is scratched; my yearning’s eased.
So going shopping’s not a chore;
I am not always wanting more. 

I am a plain and simple man,
A nail, not screw, not charlatan.
I’m like a cloudless summer day
Above the fields of endless hay. 

A burger, not a steak, is fine;
My path is straight, not serpentine.
I’m plain vanilla, tennis shoes –
Not much to gain, not much to lose. 

I am a plain and simple man;
I’ve said as simply as I can.
I’ve naught to seek and naught to hide
Since I’m a man who’s satisfied.


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

Ancient Mariner

Fossil fish
On fossil ocean
No motion.



The Glowing Lantern

Beauty now.
How much more precious
In the dark.



Time Moved On

The sundial
By the modern clock
Was eclipsed.


Mariner – photo by Miguel Saavedra at

Lantern – photo by Miriam Wickett at

Time – photo by Alessandro Paiva 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.


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