Black As Midnight, Little Calf by Dennis Lange

Bull calf and mama cow in Spring Creek (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Black As Midnight, Little Calf

As black as midnight, little calf,
Your morning gambol makes me laugh.
You run amid the stoic cows;
All they do is drink and browse.

But you, you frisky innocent –
You run and play till you are spent.
In and out, you weave your way
Like a bee midst buds in May.

Cows tolerate your frolicking,
Your youthful scampers in the spring;
They too, like you, kicked up their heels
When they were calves in training wheels.

Your mother’s working while you play;
Her only glance – if you’re astray;
She’s single-minded to produce,
While you’re the one that’s running loose.

This grave world labors way too long
Without a smile or cheerful song.
But, black as midnight, little calf,
Your morning gambol makes me laugh.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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Early Morning Drive, haiku by Dennis Lange

Early Morning Drive

Morning fog;
Black cows are grazing
Against gray.

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Spring flowers
By the road.  Plastic
In graveyard.

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Huge green field
Two dappled ponies
All to self.

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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, 2012.

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Indirection by Richard Realf

                                                Indirection

Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle suggestion is fairer;
Rare is the roseburst of dawn, but the secret that clasps it is rarer;
Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that precedes it is sweeter;
And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning outmastered the meter.

Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the growing;
Never a river that flows, but a majesty scepters the flowing;
Never a Shakespeare that soared, but a stronger than he did enfold him,
Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath foretold him.

Back of the canvas that throbs, the painter is hinted and hidden;
Into the stature that breathes, the soul of the sculptor is bidden;
Under the joy that is felt, lie the infinite issues of feeling;
Crowning the glory revealed is the glory that crowns the revealing.

Great are the symbols of being, but that which is symboled is greater;
Vast the create and beheld, but vaster the inward creator;
Back of the sound broods the silence, back of the gift stands the giving;
Back of the hand that received thrill the sensitive nerves of receiving.

Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone by the doing;
The heart of the wooer is warm, but warmer the heart of the wooing;
And up from the pits where these shiver and up from the heights where those shine
Twin voices and shadows swim starward, and the essence of life is divine.

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photo by Cea via Flickr

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Time Out!

The layout on my blog has changed for some reason (I’ve done absolutely no tinkering at all).  Because of events in my life today, I barely had a chance to inform WordPress support of the problem and ask for help (and they’re great at it).  After 12 hours of non-stop events, I got a chance to peek at their responses and see a variety, none of which I’ve had a chance to explore further since I was then plunged into another 4 hours of  phone calls.  I’m not sure how long it will be before I can take a breath, look at the suggestions, and try to implement them.  But I won’t post any poems until I get it straightened out.  Might be tomorrow; might be several days.  Just thought I’d let my faithful readers know that I hadn’t blown myself up and blown up my blog to its present state at the same time.  🙂

Dennis (the bard on the hill)

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A Quiet Place by Dennis Lange

A quiet place in a small town
For supper on the road;
A glass of tea that chilly night,
Soft songs through café flowed.

Muted lights and a cozy pair,
Laughs lilting from the cooks.
Two guys chow down in youthful caps
Only a waitress looks.

A senior menu, portions right,
A light late supper’s best,
Unless one dreams of waking with
A sumo wrestler’s chest.

The cook was neither slow nor fast
Because on pad I wrote
My poet thoughts that came to mind
And time I did not note.

I ate with speed, but not with haste;
Was tempted by dessert.
And soon, defeated foe – my will,
Surrendered to the flirt.

I paid my bill, bade place goodnight;
In car, and pulled away,
Faced once again a weary road
Alone in my dismay.

The dark, the rain enveloped me,
So, for a solace pined;
In mirror looked to see the place –
A twinkle left behind.

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photo by John S. Turner via Wikipedia

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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Under The Greenwood Tree by William Shakespeare

Watercolour painting inspired by the Thomas Hardy novel "Under the Greenwood Tree" (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird’s throat –
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun
And loves to live i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats
And pleased with what he gets –
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

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A Limerick Hat Trick by Lange & O’Brien

I posted this limerick yesterday:

I’m thinking it must be dimmer trick
To post here a little limerick
Than nothing at all;
For, readers might bawl.
Here’s hoping it’s not made you grim or sick.

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Dennis N. O’Brien (of http://dnobrienpoetry.wordpress.com/ ) commented:

While my knowledge of limericks is slim
I’m prepared to go out on a limb
Though a whimsical post
It is better than most
And is neither distressing nor grim.

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And my glad response is:

I heard from O’Brien of Australia
‘Bout limerick I wrote to regale ya.
I couldn’t tell,
But he said it was swell.
It’s readers like him who ne’er fail ya.

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for my 2 and this post:
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

for O’Brien’s – see copyright information on his blog

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The End Of A Spring Day – Haiku by Dennis Lange

Sunset Poetry (Photo credit: Basil Gloo)

The End Of A Spring Day

Evening,
Cool and calm and green –
Early spring.

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Birds chirping;
Wind flutters new leaves –
Same dogs bark.

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“Gainst blue sky,
Finely feathered clouds
Sunset tinged.

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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, 2012.

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To Post Or Not To Post by Dennis Lange

   To Post or Not to Post

I’m thinking it must be dimmer trick 
To post here a little limerick
   Than nothing at all,
   For, readers might bawl. 
Here’s hoping it’s not made you grim or sick.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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Nurse’s Song by William Blake

                           Nurse’s Song

When the voices of children are heard on the green
    And laughing is heard on the hill, 
My heart is at rest within my breast,    
   And everything else is still.

“Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
    And the dews of the night arise; 
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away
    Till the morning appears in the skies.”

“No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
    And we cannot go to sleep; 
Besides in the sky the little birds fly,
    And the hills are all covered with sheep.”

“Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
    And then go home to bed.” 
The little ones leaped and shouted and laughed;
    And all the hills echoèd.

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