Posted in My Haiku, tagged < META name = "keywords" content = "Dennis Lange, bard on the hill, Haikus, lighthouse" >, Ma Bell, poems, poetry, white cliffs on October 31, 2012| 4 Comments »
(Photo by gowwow via rgbstock.com)
Appeal
Called it what –
That old phone system?
Ah, Ma Bell!
——————–
Lighthouse Dwarfed
Giant white cliffs.
Suddenly, the sea
Seemed so small.
——————–
* 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.
Posted in Poems of Other Poets, S, tagged < META name = "keywords" content = "On the Setting Sun, bard on the hill, poems, poetry, religion, religious, short-lived thing called man" >, Sir Walter Scott" > on October 30, 2012| Leave a Comment »
(Photo credit: Danny S. via Wikipedia)
On The Setting Sun
Those evening clouds, that setting ray,
And beauteous tints, serve to display
Their great Creator’s praise;
Then let the short-lived thing call’d man,
Whose life’s comprised within a span,
To him his homage raise.
We often praise the evening clouds,
And tints so gay and bold,
But seldom think upon our God,
Who tinged these clouds with gold.
Posted in My Poems, Religious, Sonnets, tagged < META name = "keywords" content = "Sonnet 12, bard on the hill, Britain's Got Talent, Dennis Lange, poems, poetry, Simon Cowell" >, sonnet, Susan Boyle, Worth on October 29, 2012| 5 Comments »
Susan Boyle(Photo credit: Deborah Wilbanks via Wikipedia)
Sonnet 12 Worth
A Talent double tragedy occurred,
When Susan Boyle stood lone upon the stage;
Disdain and disbelief, without a word
On faces showed, an instant sour gauge.
She seemed as if a housewife freshly done
With washing dishes, apron put away,
No standing save that of a cloistered nun
Who, without looks or style, is gi’en no say.
But when sweet nightingale stood up to sing,
Jaws dropped as fast as jumper with no chute;
Her stock had risen, praise began to ring
As if, by talent, value made acute.
But price that’s paid for man is what he’s worth,
That bar set by the Cross before his birth.
__________________________________
Susan Boyle’s audition, about which the sonnet was
written, can be seen and heard here, along with the
priceless reaction of Simon Cowell. I never tire of
watching this inspiring moment.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jca_p_3FcWA&feature=related
__________________________________
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.
Posted in I-L, Poems of Other Poets, tagged < META name = "keywords" content = "Ode to Autumn, bard on the hill, John Keats, mellow fruitfulness, poems, poetry, season of mists" >, where are the songs of Spring" > on October 28, 2012| Leave a Comment »
(photo by ColinBrough via rgbstock.com)
Ode To Autumn
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease;
For Summer has o’erbrimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, –
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Posted in My Haiku, tagged < META name = "keywords" content =, bard on the hill, death of parent and child" >, Dennis Lange, eternal sleep, Haikus, poems, poetry on October 26, 2012| 6 Comments »
(photo by BlueGum via rgbstock.com)
Eternal Sleep
Side by side
A parent and child
Two spiked cribs.
——————–
(photo by darktaco via rgbstock.com)
Beauty Calls To Beauty
Vast beauty
Is offered a gift –
Small bouquet.
——————–
* 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.
Posted in My Poems, tagged < META name = "keywords" content = "Autopsy's Cold Cut Trio, bard on the hill, cancer stick, Dennis Lange, diabetes cup, heart attack couch" >, poems, poetry on October 24, 2012| 1 Comment »
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Autopsy’s Cold Cut Trio
Men smoke the senseless Cancer Stick,
And though it’s years before they’re sick,
Which one these days is danger blind
Before the first, and slavery binds?
And then, there’s Diabetes Cup,
The biggest soda – fill it up.
And in return it makes you big
And fills your veins with sweetest swig.
And don’t forget the Heart Attack Couch
Where we as slobs lay down and slouch,
And fill our empty minds with things
From television’s vacuumings.
Diabetes Cup and Cancer Stick
With the Lazy Couch will do the trick.
Riding the sled, it’s all downhill.
If one won’t kill, the other one will.
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.
Posted in A-B (by poet name), Poems of Other Poets, tagged < META name = "keywords" content = "A Farewell, Berwick-law" >, bonnie Mary, poems, poetry, Robert Burns on October 23, 2012| 1 Comment »
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A Farewell
Go fetch to me a pint o’ wine,
An’ fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink before I go
A service to my bonnie lassie:
The boat rocks at the pier of Leith,
Fu’ loud the wind blaws frae the ferry,
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o’ war are heard afar,
The battle closes thick and bloody;
But it’s not the roar o’ sea or shore
Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shout o’ war that’s heard afar –
It’s leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
Posted in My Haiku, tagged bard on the hill, chain, Dennis Lange, haiku < META name = "keywords" content = "Life Fall Winter Death, poems, poetry on October 22, 2012| 10 Comments »
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Fall weather.
Coolness in the air.
Days are crisp.
Days grow short.
Winter is coming.
Leaves are crisp.
Leaves are crisp.
Like fragile eggshells.
Break from branch.
Breaks from branch –
Mortals from the cord.
Life is crisp.
——————-
* 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.
Posted in My Poems, tagged < META name = "keywords" content = "What Was It?, bard on the hill, Dennis Lange, forgetfulness, lost loosing my mind, old age" >, poems, poetry on October 19, 2012| 3 Comments »
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
What Was It?
I had a thought within a room;
Then to another strode.
I could not find it in the next;
‘Twas left along the road.
I hastened to retrace my steps,
To find the place it lay –
Mischievous child that played a game –
Of hide, and run away.
Into the first, where forth it came
Just moments ere it fled
And there I looked around to see,
To search the room, my head.
Both high and low and all around,
Sought, sought! but could not find.
Not only had I lost the thought,
I’d also lost my mind.
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.
The Bard on the Hill 