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The stone face
Rises from the sea,
pacific.

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The photo is mine of the Pacific Ocean along the northern California coast.

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* 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/
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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

“Look now abroad–another race has fill’d
Those populous borders–wide the wood recedes,
And town shoots up, and fertile realms are till’d;
The land is full of harvests and green meads.”
The breaking waves dash’d high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches toss’d;

And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o’er,
When a band of exiles moor’d their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;–
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea:
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free!

The ocean eagle soar’d
From his nest by the white wave’s foam
And the rocking pines of the forest roar’d–
This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:–
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood’s land?

There was woman’s fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love’s truth;
There was manhood’s brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?–
They sought a faith’s pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod.
They have left unstained, what there they found–
Freedom to worship God.

ply57HE

In midst of isolation, quarantine,
My grass still goes to work and it does thrive.
This morning while I mowed it ere the rain,
To turn around the mail”man” used my drive.
And smiling, I waved, and she waved at me;
Both glad to see another one alive.

In this new world of caution lest we die,
Smoke signals or a distant wave must do
(Replacing handshakes or heartwarming hugs)
For each brave kayak with a lonely crew.
When one’s a Crusoe on his private isle,
His inner strength and God must see him through.

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photo by Kevin Tuck at https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ply57HE/Lofoten+Islands

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

……….To a young child:

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Bleak House

The Bleak House?
The Dickens, you say!
Yes, Charles.

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* 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 Allen Lange, 2020.

This is the Gospel of Labor –
Ring it, ye bells of the kirk –
The Lord of love came down from above
To live with the men who work.

This is the rose that he planted
Here in the thorn-cursed soil –
Heaven is blessed with perfect rest;
But the blessing of earth is toil.

aaa submarine

Like sharks and whales and porpoises,
The gray ships swam beneath
The ocean for the purposes
Pearl Harbor did bequeath.

One submarine, the Seawolf, slipped
Behind the silent pack.
Though separated by delay,
They thought was safe the track.

A plane, however, spotted it,
And thought it was the foe,
For sharks swam for the other side
As killers from below.

On Seawolf, then, it dropped its bombs,
And lighter made its load.
But Seawolf’s now was heavier
As on them did explode

Munitions for the Japanese,
Pearl Harbor’s just revenge,
The might the mighty had the right
To make the tyrant cringe.

The Seawolf, suffering, then cried,
“But I am just a lamb.”
The pilot heard, but bombed again –
He thought the cry a sham.

American – American!
And though not Civil War,
The friendly fire sank friendly ship,
And from the Earth lives tore.

The Seawolf rests beneath the waves
Where it like sharks did roam.
But that cold sea should ne’er have been
Its dark eternal home.

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The picture is of a WW2 submarine, not the Seawolf.

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Seawolf_(SS-197)

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

The sea was breaking at my feet,
And looking out across the tide,
Where placid waves and heaven meet,
I thought me of the Other Side.

For on the beach on which I stood
Were wastes of sands, and wash, and roar,
Low clouds, and gloom, and solitude,
And wrecks, and ruins – nothing more.

“O, tell me if beyond the sea
A heavenly port there is!” I cried,
And back the echoes laughingly
“There is! there is!” replied.

26252168026_06a42db8b3_o

The graves of
A president and
Lady Bird.

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The photo is mine, of the graves of LBJ and Lady Bird in the Johnson Cemetery
between Fredericksburg and Johnson City in Texas.

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* 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 Allen Lange, 2020.

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do;
Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, ’twere all alike
As if we had them not.