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Archive for October, 2011

A liver Dalmatian

Image via Wikipedia

Dalmatians

Dogs with spots
Perpetual case –
Of  measles.

 

 

 

 

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Crowded Skies

White bird flocks
Navigate – no air
Controllers.

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First Come; First Served

Funnel cake,
Left unattended –
Seagull feast.

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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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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Bald eagle

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                      The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

 

 

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     I went to a memorial service yesterday for a woman who died in September after a ten-yr. battle with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease).  These lines were on the inside of the “card” that was passed out at the service:

God saw her getting tired,
a cure not meant to be;
So He put His arms around her,
And whispered, “Come to Me.”

     Her struggle inspired this sonnet that I published earlier on my blog:

https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/05/09/when-trouble-tills-our-garden-by-the-bard-oth/

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Female symbol

Image via Wikipedia

 

                   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:
https://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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NSRW Rudyard Kipling

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If you can keep your head when all about you
   Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
   But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
   Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
   And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
   If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
   And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
   Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
   And stop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;
 
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
   And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
   And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
   To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
   Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
   Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
   If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
   With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
    And – which is more- you’ll be a Man, my son!

 

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Haiku Chronicle of Oct.26, 2011

Hospital Waiting

Nine-thirty;
Eleven, twelve plus –
Music plays!

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Five Pounds, Ten Ounces

Spindly limbs;
A bit underweight –
PawPaw’s pride.

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And Then

Two early
Weeks make for weak lungs
Breath in pants.

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It’s A Bird; It’s A…

In the sky! –
A helicopter:
Grandaughter.

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Irony

Copter ride:
Only one kinsman –
A newborn.

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Gospel (Good News)

Diagnosis:
Fluid on her lungs –
Drying up

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Ups And Downs

Like her chest
Day of emotions
Ends on up.

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The Night

Exhausted;
Slept well, like…like…like
A baby.

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My daughter gave birth yesterday about 12:30 pm to a little girl (our second grandaughter).  Two weeks early, she had breathing problems that were thought to be caused by a lack of elasticity in her lungs.  The doctor said she wasn’t producing the protein at a fast enough rate.  About 7:30, she was airlifted to a medical center about 60 miles away that could get a synthetic version of the protein into her lungs and solve her problem.  Upon arrival, the doctors there decided she had some fluid in her lungs that was drying up and that she was already doing better.  It was a day I decided to chronicle in the haiku above, most of which I wrote last night before going to bed and finished up this morning.  We’ve been blessed… again.

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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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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Engraving of the poet/professor Dr. Oliver Wen...

Image via Wikipedia


The Height of the Ridiculous

I wrote some lines once on a time
   In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say
   They were exceeding good.

They were so queer, so very queer,
   I laughed as I would die;
Albeit, in a general way,
   A sober man am I.

I called my servant, and he came;
   How kind it was of him
To mind a slender man like me,
   He of the mighty limb.

“These to the printer,” I exclaimed,
  And in my humorous way,
I added, (as a trifling jest,)
   “There’ll be the devil to pay.”

He took the paper, and I watched,
   And saw him peep within;
At the first line he read, his face
   Was all upon the grin.

He read the next; the grin grew broad,
   And shot from ear to ear;
He read the third; a chuckling noise
   I now began to hear.

The fourth; he broke into a roar;
   The fifth; his waistband split;
The sixth, he burst five buttons off,
   And tumbled in a fit.

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
   I watched that wretched man,
And since, I never dare to write
   As funny as I can.

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Male symbol. Created by Gustavb.

Image via Wikipedia

 

                    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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Best Friend, Indeed

Image by Neil Kronberg via Flickr

 
       Bishop Doane On His Dog

I am quite sure he thinks that I am God –
Since he is God on whom each one depends
For life, and all things that His bounty sends –
My dear old dog, most constant of all friends;
Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I
To Him whom God I know and own; his eye,
Deep brown and liquid, watches for my nod;
He is more patient underneath the rod
Than I, when God His wise corrections sends.

He looks love at me, deep as words e’er spake;
And from me never crumb nor sup will take
But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail;
And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear,
He is content and quiet, if I am near,
Secure that my protection will prevail,
So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he
Tells me what I unto my God should be.

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Day Turns To Night

Pitch black world
Lights out by dust storm –
“Pitch brown” wall.

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Photo by David Lange of dust storm approaching Lubbock on 10/17/11.

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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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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