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Archive for February, 2013

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Counterfeit coin (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

       The Closest To The True

In trickery, pretenders take as thieves.
They look to Eden, follow serpent’s style.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

The cheat, by crafty counterfeit achieves,
And rakes the real away to his own pile.
By trickery, pretenders take as thieves.

By sleight of hand, they hide what’s up their sleeves –
A Caesar stabbed by friend with Brutus smile.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

Another’s nest, the cuckoo lays and leaves
Its egg to warm, then hatch, then raise the while.
By trickery, pretenders take as thieves.

Two seeds, almost the same, bring shock or sheaves.
A tare in place of wheat wins some by wile.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

A man or devil sits around, conceives
A change, an imitation, subtle guile.
By trickery, pretenders take as thieves.
The closest to the true is what deceives.

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* Parable of the wheat and tares – Matt.13

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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When The Heart Is Full Of Love

There is a beauty in the forest
When the trees are green and fair,
There is beauty in the meadow
When wild flowers scent the air.
There is beauty in the sunlight
And the soft blue beams above.
Oh, the world is full of beauty
When the heart is full of love.

——————————————-

photo by Andreas Krappweis at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVIo3zK/Natural+Forest+-+Sunburst

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Valentine Scrooge

The one who says he hates the day,
And is not loving anyway,
Must love another not as well
As his own thoughts that inward swell.

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photo by Michael and Christa Richert at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfjM1EO/wooden+heart

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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Stoney End Brittany Double-Strung Lap Harp in ...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

             The Master-Player

 An old, worn harp that had been played
Till all its strings were loose and frayed,
Joy, Hate, and Fear, each one essayed,
To play.  But each in turn had found
No sweet responsiveness of sound.

Then Love the Master-Player came
With heaving breast and eyes aflame;
The Harp he took all undismayed,
Smote on its strings, still strange to song,
And brought forth music sweet and strong.

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Pirate Spin

Jolly?  No,
The Jolly Roger
Just looks grim.

——————–

But An Unreliable One

Time’s a friend.
See it on the wall –
Sundial smile.

——————–

 

No Place To Land

Dove of peace
Looking for a place
To abide.

——————–
Pirate – photo by Roger (rkirbycom) at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVrjerk/Pirate+Flag

Unreliable – photo by Michael & Christa Richert at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfjHcNs/sundial

No Place – photo by Mojtaba Taqvaei at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/n3vYb52/Dove_2
——————–

* 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, 2013.

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I never knew a night so black
Light failed to follow on its track.
I never knew a storm so gray
It failed to have its clearing day.
I never knew such bleak despair
That there was not a rift, somewhere.
I never knew an hour so drear
Love could not fill it full of cheer!

——————————————-

photo by Adrian van Leen at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mD5VT1q/storm+shadows

 

 

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Cock-a-doodle Doofus

The greatest deeds no trumpet need;
   No preening for applause;
Sincere appreciation comes
   When begging’s not the cause.

The stars don’t shout, yet we adore;
   We laud the rising Sun;
And after his grand morning show,
   He merely beams when done.

The rooster crows (though he’s done naught)
   As if he birthed the morn;
So, too, his mate in feathers, kind,
   Post-egg will toot her horn.

But those are fowl and foul in boasts;
   Great acts can stand alone,
And all the crowing in the world
   Can’t for the less atone.

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This poem is for all the athletes in the world
(and all others like them) who taunt, boast,
and strut like vain roosters.

——————————————–

photo by Nahidh Salman at http://www.rgbstock.com/user/nahidh

——————————————–

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

 

 

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To-Day

Why fear to-morrow, timid heart?
   Why tread the future’s way?
We only need to do our pat
   To-day, dear child, to-day.

The past is written!  Close the book
   On pages sad and gay;
Within the future do not look,
   But live to-day — to-day.

‘Tis this one hour that God has given;
   His Now we must obey;
And it will make our earth his heaven
   To live to-day — to-day.

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photo by Photonut at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dQMYHn/Golden+Sunrise

 

 

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Next Time, I’m Walking

The traffic
Going home from work
Is awful.

———————

Little Stars

Here we are
Set against the sand.
Let’s twinkle.

——————–

The Seed; The Crop

Seeds of love
Must be sown in fields –
Then, peace patch.

——————–

Next Time – photo by Michal Zacharzewski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nJlw0XC/Bicycle+racing

Little Stars – photo by Hagit Berkovich at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mC04WGC/starfish+2

The Seed – photo by K. Sanderson at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/n4FdSNK/Old+Peace+Patch+2

——————–

* 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, 2013.

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Say not the struggle naught availeth,
   The labor and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
   And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
   It may be, in yon smoke conceal’d,
Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,
   And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
   Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
   Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only,
   When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
   But westward, look, the land is bright!

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