Sonnet 29 – Loving Without First Being Loved by Dennis Lange

Sonnet 29 – Loving Without First Being Loved

Men speak of some as accidents or frill,
An undesired collision on the road,
As if the baby was a break or spill,
A cancer, or a tumor, or a node.

Though some, once told, are wrapped in arms of love,
Too many hear the words with their intent –
To pour an acid scorn down from above,
To make the lad or lass lower than lint.

What emptiness there is when one’s not planned;
What loneliness exists among cold stars,
When there’s no space allotted, heart or hand,
When sun and moon are pitted, hard with scars.

The challenge is when love has not one nursed:
To find an outer source and be the first.

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photo by A-K Rehse at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfms0gI/lonely+tree

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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Sonnet 18 – In Spades by Dennis Lange

Sonnet 18 – In Spades

The crop we reap is from the seed we sow;
It is unbreakable, great nature’s rule.
It is not needed that we even know;
The like comes back the same e’en for the fool.

One wheat seed planted brings forth blades of wheat
Waved golden in the sun, not cotton’s white.
The law of sow and reap one cannot cheat –
That acorns bring forth oaks is even trite.

If love is lavished, love returns, no lack,
But principle is true for tares as well;
We dish it out; we know it’s coming back
And malice meets with malice made in hell.

So, ere we plant, should we not also know
That from a single seed the many grow?

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(photo by Lajla Borg Jensen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mxa8rW8/Wheat
)

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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Sonnet 12 – Worth by Dennis Lange

Susan Boyle(Photo credit: Deborah Wilbanks via Wikipedia)

Sonnet 12   Worth

A Talent double tragedy occurred,
When Susan Boyle stood lone upon the stage;
Disdain and disbelief, without a word
On faces showed, an instant sour gauge.

She seemed as if a housewife freshly done
With washing dishes, apron put away,
No standing save that of a cloistered nun
Who, without looks or style, is gi’en no say.

But when sweet nightingale stood up to sing,
Jaws dropped as fast as jumper with no chute;
Her stock had risen, praise began to ring
As if, by talent, value made acute.

But price that’s paid for man is what he’s worth,
That bar set by the Cross before his birth.

__________________________________

Susan Boyle’s audition, about which the sonnet was
written, can be seen and heard here, along with the
priceless reaction of Simon Cowell.  I never tire of
watching this inspiring moment.

__________________________________

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

 

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Sonnet 23 – The Loads Of Life by Dennis Lange

Sonnet 23 – The Loads Of Life

The highway that I travel flows with life –
An artery that pulses passing cells,
Whose problems at this time are scant or rife,
And neither glance nor study full truth tells.

A truck, uncovered, may reveal its freight,
Or, boxed, hide contents passers cannot know.
And some, so over-burdened with the weight
Find hills impassable or at least slow.

The hearts of men all bear the living’s stress
One may be massive while the second’s light.
Next pass may bring reverse, a quick duress
Like darkness falls in an oppressive night.

Each carries, lead or feathered, his own load,
And lesser may help laden down life’s road.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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Sonnet 14 – Some Bear A Silent Burden by Dennis Lange

Sonnet 14 – Some Bear A Silent Burden

Some bear a silent burden all alone,
Like hiker on a path with heavy pack
With none around to roll away the stone
Another, heartless, loaded on his back.

The nearest one, who should be there to share,
Because a common trail the two have trod,
Has strayed and changed, damaged beyond repair
Since salt was strewn in their once-fertile sod.

Dry withered love and ancient’s sagging breasts,
Both bore, now barren, what was once the rage.
Now, neither honors nurturing requests –
One cold as ice; the other dead with age.

Such lack of love is called, succinctly, hate;
An emptiness which wears with greatest weight.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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Sonnet 19 – Fog Weeps by Dennis Lange

Windshield Wipers (Photo credit: shannylynne)

Sonnet 19 – Fog Weeps

Fog weeps against my windshield as I drive;
It knows it is a wisp, a passing mist
That comes on suddenly but can’t survive
For long, past when the sun this earth has kissed.

We weigh its time against the length of day,
And find it transitory, short in span.
It is the sun that lasts, that rules, holds sway,
As fog morosely packs its caravan.

I weigh my years against the centuries,
And find I barely tip the cosmic scale.
I feel the sun, the heated, speeding breeze,
And sense the brevity of life, and wail.

I weep upon the windshield of the world;
I am a moment’s mist against it hurled.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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