Here come the line-gang pioneering by.
They throw a forest down less cut than broken.
They plant dead trees for living and the dead
They string together with a living thread.
They string an instrument against the sky
Wherein words whether beaten out or spoken
Will run as hushed as when they were a thought.
But in no hush they string it: they go past
With shouts afar to pull the cable taut,
To hold it hard until they make it fast,
To ease away – they have it.  With a laugh,
An oath of towns that set the wild at naught,
They bring the telephone and telegraph.





Sunlight climbs
A tiny tower –
Pink glory.





Bouquet of bouquets,




Aren’t pansies.
For us, they always
Bleed colors.


Lupin – photo by Maciej Lewandowski at

Primula – photo by Michael and Christa Richert at

Pansies – photo by Jay Simmons 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: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.



The Soul that hath a Guest
Doth seldom go abroad –
Diviner Crowd at Home –
Obliterate the need.

And Courtesy forbid
A Host’s departure when
Upon Himself be visiting
The Emperor of Men –

The day has come; the march is played;
They take the walk in robes arrayed.
They slowly step while tassels swing,
And proudly wear their senior rings.

It is an army marching out,
To find what life is all about,
Against a seasoned foe, the world,
Their novice ranks against it hurled.

Unlike the nest they leave forthwith,
The world’s been hammered hard by smith.
And oft, one finds its face a stone
That one confronts when he’s alone.

Love softened that fled feathered nest,
But true love hardens for the test.
The fledgling flight cannot be weak
Because life’s weather can be bleak.


 © Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015

It seems Elmer Fudd had a habit –
He never could catch that dang rabbit,
Bugs Bunny, that is,
The joker and whiz.
So Fudd always muttered, “Dagnabbit!”


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.


Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me. 

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me. 

I need Thy presence every passing hour;
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. 

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. 

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.


sung here (2:16) –





Clucks Like A Duck

Mama duck,
And three little ducks –
And a chick?




Keeping An Edge

The beauties,
Each preoccupied
With themselves.




Morning Meal

Day starter
Breakfast energy –
Streams of light.


Clucks – photo by Adrian van Leen at

Edge – photo by John Nyberg at

Morning – photo by Alex Bruda 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: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

……………A Late Walk

When I go through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path. 

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words. 

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down. 

I end not far from my going forth,
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.



…………..The Two Georges

The royal George was England’s tyrant king,
A sea dividing him from his command.
But rebel George reigned there and closed the ring.

Into the Boston Harbor, men did fling
The tainted tea taxed by the threat’ning hand
Of royal George, then England’s tyrant king.

A rag-tag army rose from edict’s sting.
And who would lead that ragged little band
But rebel George who later closed the ring.

Against that mob, the empire would then fling
A regimented force and navy grand
From royal George, then England’s tyrant king.

Upon Cornwallis, fatal trap did spring.
The sea was lost, and to his strip of land
Came rebel George who round him closed the ring.

One squeezed a colony, but could not cling.
One was the father of his fatherland.
The royal George was England’s tyrant king.
But rebel George reigned when he closed the ring.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

The despot’s heel is on thy shore,
His torch is at thy temple door,
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle-queen of yore,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Hark to an exiled son’s appeal,
My Mother State, to thee I kneel,
For life and death, for woe and weal,
The peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
The beaming sword shall never rust,
Remember Carroll’s sacred trust,
Remember Howard’s warlike thrust,
And all thy slumberers with the just,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Come! ‘tis the red dawn of the day,
Come with thy panoplied array,
With Ringgold’s spirit for the fray,
With Watson’s blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Dear Mother, burst the tyrant’s chain,
Virginia should not call in vain,
She meets her sisters on the plain, –
Sic semper!” ‘tis the proud refrain
That baffles minions back amain,
Arise in majesty again,
,,,Maryland, my Maryland!

Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,
Come! for thy dalliance does thee wrong,
Come to thine own heroic throng
Stalking with Liberty along,
And chant thy dauntless slogan-song,
Maryland, my Maryland!

I see the blush upon thy cheek,
For thou wast ever bravely meek,
But lo! there surges forth a shriek,
From hill to hill, from creek to creek,
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland, my Maryland!

Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,
Thou wilt not crook to his control,
Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,
Maryland, my Maryland!

I hear the distant thunder hum,
The Old Line’s bugle, fife, and drum,
She is not dead, not deaf, nor dumb;
Huzza! She spurns the Northern scum!
She breathes! She burns! She’ll come!
She’ll come!
Maryland, my Maryland!


video of the song being sung (3:48) –


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