The Closest To The True by Dennis Lange

Counterfeit coin (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

       The Closest To The True

In trickery, pretenders take as thieves.
They look to Eden, follow serpent’s style.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

The cheat, by crafty counterfeit achieves,
And rakes the real away to his own pile.
By trickery, pretenders take as thieves.

By sleight of hand, they hide what’s up their sleeves –
A Caesar stabbed by friend with Brutus smile.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

Another’s nest, the cuckoo lays and leaves
Its egg to warm, then hatch, then raise the while.
By trickery, pretenders take as thieves.

Two seeds, almost the same, bring shock or sheaves.
A tare in place of wheat wins some by wile.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

A man or devil sits around, conceives
A change, an imitation, subtle guile.
By trickery, pretenders take as thieves.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

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* Parable of the wheat and tares – Matt.13

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

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Be The Treasure by Dennis Lange

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                   Be The Treasure

Few buy the cow when getting milk for free.
For glance, or words, your worth should not depart.
Lass, be the treasure you were meant to be.

The revolution was a loss, you see;
The marriage age has risen on the chart.
Few buy the cow when getting milk for free.

Don’t end with babes, alone, in poverty
To wed, your price, the horse before the cart.
Lass, be the treasure you were meant to be.

Many, in haste, give up their purity;
Tasted, grown stale, discarded like a tart.
Few buy the cow when getting milk for free.

Build forts, post guards, arm the artillery
With knowledge, NO!, for the seducer’s art.
Lass, be the treasure you were meant to be.

You’re captain of your ship, your destiny;
Don’t ruin your life, when young, and break your heart.
Few buy the cow when getting milk for free.
O, Lass!
Lass!  Be the treasure you were meant to be!

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The above was written to young women.  The companion piece, “To Make A Man”, was written to young men and can be found here:
http://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/10/25/to-make-a-man-by-dennis-lange/

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 © Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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To Make A Man by Dennis Lange

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                    To Make a Man

We better our beginnings or we fail.
Though lads are lads within womb’s earliest,        
Takes more to make a man than being male.

Like ships at sea we’ll face an icy gale.
It’s those who conquer self who pass the test.
We better our beginnings or we fail.

Sad, those who let the animal prevail.
A lad can sire but sir be still a jest.
Takes more to make a man than being male.

A fool can roam the streets and end in jail,
But fools lack skills and sense to shape a nest.
We better our beginnings or we fail.

A child will fight for toys, tooth, toenail.
Two dogs can play a game and swell a chest.
Takes more to make a man than being male.

Man’s masculinity is on birth’s scale.
But traits that build integrity are best.   
We better our beginnings or we fail.
Takes more to make a man than being male.

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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The Emperor Poem by Dennis Lange

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                    The Emperor Poem

The emperor rides streets without his clothes.
Though bard and critic value vapid verse, 
He, modern poem, is naught but naked prose.

Contempt for poems reveals the public knows;
Like Scotsmen, they cling tightly to the purse.
The emperor rides streets without his clothes.

It’s only paragraphs put into rows,
As though a patient, lined, becomes a nurse.
He, modern poem, is naught but naked prose.

Blank verse leaves reader blank, dulled, in a doze;
Or, worse, in deep disgust, to mutter, curse.
The emperor rides streets without his clothes.

Perhaps it is the snob with upturned nose
Who blindly drives the barren poet hearse.
He, modern poem, is naught but naked prose.

The tiny poet crowd has inbred woes.
I, little child, will cry and tell it, terse:
The emperor rides streets without his clothes.
He, modern poem, is naught but naked prose.

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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The Circle Widens by Dennis Lange

 

The Circle Widens

(a villanelle)

                                                 The circle widens as a man grows wise.

                                                 He comes to know what is beyond the veil.

                                                The world is wider than the ears and eyes.

 

                                                Within its mother’s womb the baby lies,

                                                 Until it greets the room with newborn wail.

                                                The circle widens as a man grows wise.

 

                                                The groups of friends and kin enlarge in size.

                                                Still more will come along to write the tale.

                                                The world is wider than the ears and eyes.

 

                                                From marbles in a ring to win a prize,

                                                We move to bigger games along the trail.

                                                The circle widens as a man grows wise.

 

                                                 Our yard, our land, and then we search the skies;

                                                 Are told, like children, there is more to sail.

                                                 The world is wider than the ears and eyes.

 

                                                 Life’s more than mortal reach can e’er surmise.

                                                 We must be told what lies beyond the pale.

                                                 The circle widens as a man grows wise.

                                                 The world is wider than the ears and eyes.

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