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Archive for May, 2013


Sonnet 29 – Loving Without First Being Loved

Men speak of some as accidents or frill,
An undesired collision on the road,
As if the baby was a break or spill,
A cancer, or a tumor, or a node.

Though some, once told, are wrapped in arms of love,
Too many hear the words with their intent –
To pour an acid scorn down from above,
To make the lad or lass lower than lint.

What emptiness there is when one’s not planned;
What loneliness exists among cold stars,
When there’s no space allotted, heart or hand,
When sun and moon are pitted, hard with scars.

The challenge is when love has not one nursed:
To find an outer source and be the first.

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photo by A-K Rehse at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfms0gI/lonely+tree

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

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English: Stephen Vincent Benét, Yale College C...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

              Portrait Of Young Love

If you were with me – as you’re not, of course,
I’d taste the elegant tortures of Despair
With a slow, languid, long-refining tongue;
Puzzle for days on one particular stare,
Or if you knew a word’s peculiar force,
Or what you looked like when you were quite young. 

You’d lift me heaven-high – till a word, grated.
Dash me hell-deep – oh that luxurious Pit,
Fatly and well encushioned with self-pity,
Where Love’s an epicure not quickly sated!
What mournful musics wander over it,
Faint-blown from some long-lost celestial city!

Such bitter joyousness I’d have, and action,
Were you here – be no more the fool who broods
On true Adventure till he wakes her scorning –
But we’re too petty for such noble warning.
And I find just as perfect satisfaction
In analyzing these, and other moods!

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Double Date

Scoot over.
When does movie start?
Popcorn? Coke?

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No Bronze

The medals
In rooftop perching
Gold, silver.

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Incoming

Put flaps down;
Cut all the engines –
Smooth landing.

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Double Date – photo by Gabriel at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meScq2q/birds

No Bronze – photo by Kevin Tuck at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mw2XZkO/Winner+and+runner-up

Incoming – photo by Vivekchugh at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meXVzPm/Incoming+1

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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, 2013.

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English: Alfred Tennyson Français : Alfred Ten...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 


The Throstle

“Summer is coming, summer is coming.
   I know it, I know it, I know it.
Light again, leaf again, life again, love again,”
   Yes, my wild little Poet. 

Sing the new year in under the blue.
   Last year you sang it as gladly.
“New, new, new, new!”  Is it then so new
   That you should carol so madly? 

“Love again, song again, nest again, young again.
   Never a prophet so crazy!
And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend,
   See, there is hardly a daisy. 

“Here again, here, here, here, happy year!”
   O warble unchidden, unbidden!
Summer is coming, is coming my dear,
   And all the winters are hidden.

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"Landscape with the Dream of Jacob"

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

            Jacob’s Ladder

On that sad day one happed to die,
A puppy chased a butterfly,
As if a grounded creature can
Run and leap to bridge the span
Between the land and God’s blue sky
Where floating flowers flutter by. 

Though I in mourning all the while,
The youthful dog brought forth a smile.
The naïve pup produced this case:
A contrast twixt skilled flitting grace
And gangly, gawky awkward leaps
Of one who on earth’s pallet sleeps. 

Of pups, who knows?  Of man, it’s true
To bridge the span to heaven’s blue,
On Babel’s tower man must climb –
Yet, God destroys ev’ry time.
And thus on Him we must rely
And climb His Ladder to the sky.

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Jacob’s dream – Gen.28:10-17
The ladder, the way to heaven is Jesus: John 1:51

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

 

 

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The Less Important Thing

She’s the buyer; he’s the cellar,
Mate of hoarder – bottom-dweller.
She’s the keeper; he’s the loser;
He, enabler; she’s the user.

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

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                     Sonnet XXIII

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharg’d with burthen of mine own love’s might.
O, let my looks be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hat more express’d.
   O, learn to read what silent love hath writ!
   To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

 

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A Bow of Boats

Just waiting
To take to the sea –
A rainbow.

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Why Immigrants Come To America

I get it.
Torch statue holds is
Free ice cream.

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Demure At Dawn

Grand ladies
Dressing modestly,
Wearing veils.

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Bow – photo by Vasant Davé at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mDwmrqq/Rainbow+Boats

Immigrants – photo by Gesine Kuhlmann at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/n4rvBGC/Ice+cream

Demure – Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mXb3j7y/early+morning+mist

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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, 2013.

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The Song Of The Brook

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
   I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
   To bicker down a valley. 

By thirty hills I hurry down,
   Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
   And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip’s farm I flow
   To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go
   But I go on for ever. 

I chatter over stony ways,
   In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
   I babble on the pebbles. 

With many a curve my banks I fret
   By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
   With willow-weed and mallow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
   To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go
   But I go on for ever. 

I wind about, and in and out,
   With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
   And here and there a grayling. 

And here and there a foamy flake
   Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
   Above the golden gravel. 

And drawn them all along, and flow
   To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go
   But I go on for ever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
   I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
   That grow for happy lovers. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
   Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
   Against my sandy shallows. 

I murmur under moon and stars
   In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
   I loiter round my cresses; 

And out again I curve and flow
   To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go
   But I go on for ever.

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photo by Mirna Sentic at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mA3vi4y/forest+stream

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Upon Completion

A bit of poesy –
The day’s turned rosy.
Don’t be nosy –
I’m not through. 

Until my verses
Are done, they’re curses
Just fit for hearses
Not for you. 

They’re like one’s makeup
When she’s all caked up
Still not faked up –
No preview! 

But when I’m ended,
Offer’s extended –
A read commended.
Please!?  Won’t you?

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photo by drow at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWyrKxq/under+construction

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

 

 

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