June | 2013 | The Bard on the Hill

Archive for June, 2013

Three War Haiku by Dennis Lange

Posted in My Haiku, tagged army tank, bard on the hill, bullets, defense, Dennis Lange, Haikus, military, poems, poetry, war, Warsaw ruins on June 30, 2013| 1 Comment »

Looking For Coloring Books

Crayolas –
They’ll color you dead
One hue – red.

———————

Stalking Stalks

In the grass
And among the flowers –
Deadly stem.

———————

Saw To See No More War

Here, we saw
Ruins left in Warsaw
That war saw.

———————-

Coloring – photo by Dave Dyet at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mlJJ7rW/Military+1

Stalks – photo by Hans Thoursie at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dRYZSc/Defense

Saw War – photo by Michal Zacharzewski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhiGTtg/A+ruin+in+the+center+of+Warsaw

———————

* 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/

———————

Read Full Post »

Devouring Nature by Dennis Lange

Posted in My Poems, tagged bard on the hill, Dennis Lange, Devouring Nature, Hitler swept through Poland, poems, poetry, Poles, squirrels dug up my marigolds on June 29, 2013| 4 Comments »

Devouring Nature

The squirrels dug up my marigolds;
The cats chased birds away –
The ones I fed outside my panes,
Who winged in for buffet.

The deer ate through my flower bed
Like Hitler swept the Poles.
My dogs, when out, will chase the deer –
My nature love has tolls.

The problem is both mine and theirs –
All nature, I embrace;
I like it near to taste it all,
While that’s why they need space.

———————————————
photo by Andreas Krappweis at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVIumvu/Forest+Sunburst

———————————————

Read Full Post »

The Subalterns by Thomas Hardy

Posted in E-H, Poems of Other Poets, tagged bard on the hill, I too am a slave, owned their passiveness, poems, poetry, The Subalterns, Thomas Hardy on June 28, 2013| 3 Comments »

The Subalterns

‘Poor wanderer’, said the leaden sky,
‘I fain would lighten thee,
But there are laws in force on high
Which say it must not be.’

– ‘I would not freeze thee, shorn one,’ cried
The North, ‘knew I but how
To warm my breath, to slack my stride;
But I am ruled as thou.’

– ‘To-morrow I attack thee, wight,’
Said Sickness. ‘Yet I swear
I bear thy little ark no spite,
But am bid enter there.’

– ‘Come hither, Son,’ I heard Death say;
‘I did not will a grave
Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,
But I, too, am a slave!’

We smiled upon each other then,
And life to me had less
Of that fell look it wore ere when
They owned their passiveness.

Read Full Post »

Three Sign Haiku by Dennis Lange

Posted in My Haiku, tagged bard on the hill, camel, Dennis Lange, dirty water, Haikus, poems, poetry, signs, speed bumps on June 27, 2013| 6 Comments »

No, I Didn’t

Officer,
Forgot my glasses.
What’s it say?

——————–

Just To Illustrate

Here’s how bad:
Poured dirty water
On the sign.

——————–

Camel Jockeys

Yes, careful!
No camel racing!
Watch speed humps.

——————–

No – photo by Nicolas Raymond at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nEIqv60/Grunge+Warning+Sign

Illustrate – photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/n6qw9BI/dirty+water

Camel Jockeys – photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mZP8YH4/camel+care

——————–

* 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/

——————–

Read Full Post »

Vitay Lampada by Sir Henry Newbolt

Posted in M-N, Poems of Other Poets, tagged analysis, bard on the hill, cricket, explanation, Gatling gun, poems, poetry, Sir Henry Newbolt, torch of life, vitai, Vitay Lampada on June 26, 2013| 4 Comments »

A Game of Cricket (Photo credit: eviltomthai)

Vitay Lampada

There’s a breathless hush in the Close tonight –
   Ten to make and the match to win –
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
   An hour to play and the last man in.
And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
   Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame,
But his Captain’s hand on his shoulder smote
   “Play up! play up! and play the game!”

The sand of the desert is sodden red, –
   Red with the wreck of a square that broke; –
The Gatling’s jammed and the colonel dead,
   And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
   And England’s far, and Honor a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks,
   “Play up! play up! and play the game!”

This is the word that year by year
   While in her place the School is set
Every one of her sons must hear,
   And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
   Bear through life like a torch in a flame,
And falling fling to the host behind –
   “Play up! play up! and play the game!”

————————————————–

explanation: http://www.johnderbyshire.com/Readings/vitai.html

Read Full Post »

Upon The Far Horizon, Day by Dennis Lange

Posted in My Poems, Religious, tagged bard on the hill, carpe diem, Dennis Lange, poems, poetry, Upon The Far Horizon Day on June 25, 2013| 6 Comments »

Upon the far horizon, Day
Sat down, his feet to rest.
He’ll stand the morrow without pay,
A servant, not a guest.

For Day arises, comes to wait:
A butler, runner, drudge.
He’s still, for charge to set his gait;
Without one, will not budge.

He’ll be a therapist, and stretch
Your whims and limbs and mind.
Or, he will nurse you as you retch
If you’re the drinking kind.

For dissipation or advance,
He’s at your beck and call.
So use your servant ev’ry chance:
He steals – and takes your all.

—————————————

photo by Adrian van Leen at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWS22wo/seashore+reflections

—————————————

Read Full Post »

The Whale by Herman Melville

Posted in M-N, Poems of Other Poets, tagged bard on the hill, Herman Melville, poems, poetry, The Whale on June 14, 2013| 4 Comments »

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Whale

The ribs and terrors in the whale
Arched over me a dismal gloom,
While all God’s sun-lit waves rolled by,
And left me deepening down to doom.

I saw the opening maw of hell,
With endless pains and sorrows there;
Which none but they that feel can tell –
Oh, I was plunging to despair.

In black distress, I called my God,
When I could scarce believe Him mine,
He bowed His ear to my complaints –
No more the whale did me confine.

With speed He flew to my relief
As on a radiant dolphin borne;
Awful, yet bright, as lightning shone
The face of my Deliverer God.

My song for ever shall record
That terrible, that joyful hour;
I give the glory to my God,
His all the mercy and the power.

Read Full Post »

It Is A Villain, Nell by Dennis Lange

Posted in Humor, My Poems, Poems for Children, tagged bard on the hill, cute, Dennis Lange, humor, humour, It is a villain nell, poems, poetry, skunk, smell, tomato juice, villanelle on June 13, 2013| 2 Comments »

It Is A Villain, Nell

You may think, little girl, that it is swell,
But close exam the animal will flunk.
I’m telling you: it is a villain, Nell!

Admiring its soft hair, one cannot tell.
Focus on the tail and you are sunk.
You may think, little girl, that it is swell.

For it, you’ll get a special place in hell
In tomato juice: a bath, a dunk.
I’m telling you: it is a villain, Nell!

Its black and white give off no warning bell;
Dear nose and eyes will make you tell me, “bunk!”
You may think, little girl, that it is swell.

But when it hits you with that awful smell,
You’ll end in isolation like a monk.
I’m telling you: it is a villain, Nell!

It has appealing points to sway, to sell;
So when you first encounter that cute skunk
You may think, little girl, that it is swell.
I’m telling you: it is a villain, Nell!

—————————————————-

Read Full Post »

At Set Of Sun by George Eliot

Posted in E-H, Poems of Other Poets, tagged At Set Of Sun, bard on the hill, count that day well spent, George Eliot, Mary Ann Evans, poems, poetry, worse than lost on June 12, 2013| 1 Comment »

George Eliot/Mary Ann Evans(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

At Set Of Sun

If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard –
One glance most kind,
That fell like sunshine where it went –
Then you may count that day well spent.

But, if, through all the livelong day,
You’ve cheered no heart, by yea or nay –
If, through it all
You’ve nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost –
Then count that day as worse than lost.