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Archive for September, 2011

Water pollution

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Bitterness

Foul river
Flowing from its source –
Who drinks deep.

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Hostilities

Major tiff –
Or even minor
Then treats stiff.

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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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature’s daily food,
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eyes serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill,
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

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Ilustration of "The Emperor's New Clothes...

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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.

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

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I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

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Lit cigarette

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Slavery

Cigarettes:
First, you take one.  Then –
They take you.

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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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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Mark Twain photo portrait.

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The following is the epitaph placed on his daughter’s tomb by Mark Twain:

Warm summer sun,
Shine kindly here.
Warm southern wind,
Blow softly here.

Green sod above,
Lie light, lie light.
Good night, dear heart,
Good night, Good night.

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There’s nothing as sweet as the smell of the rain
To farmers that live on the dry dusty plain.
There’s popcorn and peanuts in dark movie halls;
The scent of perfume on the softest white walls.
But nothing’s as sweet as the smell of the rain.

There’s nothing as sweet as the smell of the rain –
The clean smell, the fresh smell, new life for the grain.
Not ham or bread baking, not ginger or rose;
Like the sun over stars, rain ranks over those.
There’s nothing as sweet as the smell of the rain.

There’s nothing as sweet as the soon-falling rain;
The curtain comes closer, a bold courting swain;
Sky darkens, air cooling, wind bringing the scent;
A rumble, clouds rolling, then moisture, a hint.
There’s nothing as sweet as the soon-falling rain.

There’s nothing as sweet as the soft falling rain;
Like lovers embracing, the clouds give their kiss
And land, quite contented, soaks up the wet bliss.
To farmers that live on the dry dusty plain,
There’s nothing as sweet as the soft falling rain.

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

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Academy football game.

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The Fifth Season

Four quarters
Green stadium grass
Football fields.

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Do You Know Where Your Children Are?

Football field
Where ambulance parks
Friday nights.

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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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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Microbes can be used in soil cleanup

Image via Wikipedia

 

 

 
The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup
Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;
They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised; –
It wasn’t Disinfected and it wasn’t Sterilized.

They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;
They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;
They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope
And washed it in permanganate with carbonated soap.

In sulphureted hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;
They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;
They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand
And ‘lected it a member of the Fumigated Band.

There’s not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play;
They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day;
And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup –
The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup.

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Candle wick burning.

Image via Wikipedia

Light’s Spell

Dark silence,
Watch a candle burn –
World in flame.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* 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/

image by Matthew Bowden www.digitallyrefreshing.com

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

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