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Archive for June, 2012

Sonnet 14 – Some Bear A Silent Burden

Some bear a silent burden all alone,
Like hiker on a path with heavy pack
With none around to roll away the stone
Another, heartless, loaded on his back.

The nearest one, who should be there to share,
Because a common trail the two have trod,
Has strayed and changed, damaged beyond repair
Since salt was strewn in their once-fertile sod.

Dry withered love and ancient’s sagging breasts,
Both bore, now barren, what was once the rage.
Now, neither honors nurturing requests –
One cold as ice; the other dead with age.

Such lack of love is called, succinctly, hate;
An emptiness which wears with greatest weight.

——————–

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

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Nature

As a fond mother, when the day is o’er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

 

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I occasionally publish a post with a link to some of my earlier poems. These three were posted when many of you weren’t subscribing to my blog. I thought you might want to read these as well. However, since some may have read them already, I’ll try to give a description and/or enough of the beginning lines that perhaps you can recognize the poem. That way, you won’t have to read it again – unless you want to.

 

Graveside

When one plays taps….

https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/05/graveside-by-dennis-lange/

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To Have And Halve Not

Of all the loads a child must bear,
The one of sibling’s great.
It means that one must learn to share,
And even worse, to wait….

https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/11/to-have-and-halve-not-by-dennis-lange/

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Mood/Made/Flow/Forged

Line writing, must I feel like verse,
For words and poems to form?
Or is it when I’m feeling worse,
They come but have no chorm?

When brow sweat browbeats words in shape….

https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/22/moodmadeflowforged-by-dennis-lange/

——————–

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

 

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English: PETA AsiaPacific Lettuce Ladies

English: PETA AsiaPacific Lettuce Ladies (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I Admit It

Addicted:
Chocolate chip cookies,
Milk chaser.

——————–

After Being Behind “Bars”

First meal out
PETA escapee:
Where’s the beef?

——————–

Senior Moments

Fifty-five,
All those food discounts!
But – diets.

——————-

* 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, 2012.

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A Cleaving In My Mind

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind –
As if my Brain had split –
I tried to match it – Seam by Seam –
But could not make them fit.

The thought behind, I strove to join
Unto the thought before –
But Sequence raveled out of Sound
Like Balls – upon a Floor.

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                  True or Turned?

Pure love grieves at a loved one’s pain,
And does not twist that knife again.
But when the love to self is turned,
Then self thinks that the blade is earned.

It pleads no pardon, makes excuse
Since love of self makes one obtuse
To others’ hurts and others’ needs;
It is for self the selfish bleeds.

Compassion dammed and pooled inside,
Like lakes of lava mountains hide,
Erupts in anger, flows with fire,
To get demands, its own desire.

And thus, from distance, any peak
May show most times a tranquil cheek,
There, men may climb, frolic, e’en stay
Until the top is blown away.

Mountain or man?  How can one tell
Which one at heart holds hands with hell?
In each there is a history,.
Wherein hides the hypocrisy.

————————————————–

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

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                          Darkness
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went—and came, and brought no day,

And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gathered round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other’s face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain’d;
Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish’d with a crash—and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’d,
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food:
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again; — a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought—and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails—men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devoured,
Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress—he died.
The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies; they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other’s aspects—saw, and shriek’d, and died—
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful—was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—
A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp’d
They slept on the abyss without a surge—
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon their mistress had expired before;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them—She was the universe.

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Dollar General

Dollar General (Photo credit: mikeygibran)


The Love Of Money *

To many:
Not Dollar Gen’ral –
Dollar God.

——————–

Dog Days Of My Summers **

City pool;
Elvis Presley sings –
Hound dogs swim.

——————-

Momentary

Feeding sheep;
Hand freezes to gate;
Slant sleet falls.

——————–

*  Dollar General is the name of one chain of dollar stores in the U.S.
** As I was growing up, I went to the pool at the city park to swim and music
blared across the water.  One of the songs that was repeatedly played one
summer was Elvis Presley’s “Ain’t Nothin’ But A Hound Dog”.

——————–

* 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, 2012.

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William Butler Yeats (1865 – 1939), Irish poet...

William Butler Yeats, 1865 – 1939, (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

           Down By The Salley Gardens

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.

In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

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Disney - Spirit of America - 1

(Photo credit: Express Monorail, Joe Penniston)


The Fife And Drum And Flag

Hear the fife?
It plays a dirge, a certain note,
That causes catches in the throat
Of those who hear the march for them
Of those who hear the funeral hymn.

Hear the drum?
The cadence slow, but drawing near,
A steady beat that raises fear
In those who know it beats for them
In those who hear the funeral hymn.

See the flag?
It waves above a distant hill,
But closer moves and brings a chill
In those who know it’s sent for them,
In those who hear the funeral hymn.

See the flag?
It whips and ripples in the wind.
It may be foe or may be friend.
The white of peace and victory,
Or else the skull of misery.

See the flag?
This one is white with stains of red.
I chose the One who died and bled.
And now His flag comes back for me;
I win!  I win the victory!

Hear the drum?
It beats to put me with the graves;
But He who comes is He who saves.
And now the song’s no longer grim
E’en though it be a funeral hymn.

Hear the fife?
It plays a dirge, the sweetest note
That causes catches in the throat,
Of those who hear the march for them,
Of those who hear God’s heaven hymn.

———————————————-

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

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