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Archive for June, 2013


Glycine’s Song

A sunny shaft did I behold,
From sky to earth it slanted:
And poised therein a bird so bold –
Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!
He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he troll’d
Within that shaft of sunny mist;
His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,
All else of amethyst! 

And thus he sang: ‘Adieu! adieu!
Love’s dreams prove seldom true.
The blossoms, they make no delay:
The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.
   Sweet month of May,
      We must away;
      Far, far away!
          To-day! to-day!

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photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/moF90iu/Bird+Silhouette+on+Branch+1

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English: Rush hour traffic in Washington, D.C.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

               Rush Hour 

I’m grateful for the days I drive
   Long, lonely country roads
That little seems to be alive,
   That lanes have lighter loads 

Than city streets with bustle’s blight,
   The traffic in a bind,
That I might have the time to write
   The traffic on my mind.

—————————————-

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

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                        Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
          Praise him.

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Hear Her Here

She complained:
Words fall on deaf ears.
He: Heard that!

——————–

Passing The Torch

I’m setting.
I’ve kept the day safe.
It’s your turn.

——————–

The Watcher

The sadness,
Man’s woe on the earth –
I can’t watch.

——————–

Hear – photo by Helmut Gevert at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mC2HKF4/ear

Torch – photo by Bill Davenport at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mg1XCuu/Peggy%27s+Cove

Watcher – photo by Marja Flick-Buijs at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/dMBY9C/Angel+on+woodpanel

——————–

* 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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Vice 

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

————————————————

photo by Crystal Woronuik at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nxwVPLA/Halloween+Pumpkin
Copyright ©2013 Crystal Woroniuk

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      The Old Apartments 

Old boxes lined up in a row,
   The homes some could not buy,
Are full of tears as they come down,
   Like rents that rip the sky. 

What were their lives, what were their dreams?
   The walls were witness then
Of loves and hates, of gains and loss –
   O’ give the wood a pen! 

But silent they, a skeleton,
   The walls quite bare, forlorn,
Assaulted by the wrecking crew,
   Their outer garments shorn. 

Their eyes are out; they cannot see,
   Though once they lit with life
That flickered when the sun went down
   Through panes, some pain and strife. 

The workers will be finished soon;
    Like time, they also raze.
And then the building, like all men,
   Will come to end of days.

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

 

 

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My grandfather (Marvin Hambright) sometimes answered the phone with this little
ditty he made up:

Campbell Town,
Davis Street,
Hambright Hotel,
Nothing to eat.

Campbell was the name of a neighbor across the highway and down a lane.
Davis was another neighbor across the lane to the right of the house (when
facing it).  They didn’t have a lot of money so he tossed in “nothing to eat.”
My grandfather was a farmer and one of his crops was cotton.  One day
in the early 50’s, he was stripping cotton when he stopped the tractor to
fix something on the stripper, which was still running.  Clothing got caught
in the moving parts and pulled an arm or a leg (I forget which was first)
into the stripper.  In trying to free himself, the other limb of the two also
went in.  Mangled, he lay caught in the stripper for some time before someone
came along and found him.  I can still remember the wild 16-mile drive to
the hospital that day (one of my first memories) and sitting in the car in
front of the hospital during the many visits that followed.

He survived – with one arm and a wooden leg (very crude by today’s standards).
He not only survived, but he continued to farm.  I’ve always been amazed that
he still drove a tractor.  Having driven one myself, I know how busy hands and
feet and mind are when one comes to the end of a row and makes a turn.  One
must slow the tractor, lift the plow, stomp the foot brake on one wheel so the
tractor almost turns on a dime, and use both hands to turn the steering wheel
(no power steering!).  Once the turn is made, the plow is dropped and the
tractor is given more speed.  My grandfather solved part of that by stopping
when he came to the end of a row and going through all that more slowly, but
I’m still amazed that he could do it.

He had a lot of phantom pain from his two stumps and one could often see
the pain in his face.  The rest of the time, his great sense of humor would shine
through.  As new grandkids came along, he’d eventually have them come over
to his chair.  He’d pound on his wooden leg and watch their faces as they
heard the noise.  He’d pull up his pant leg and show them the wooden leg and
laugh.  Simply put: with one arm and one leg, he kept on living as full a life
as any other.

He was one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever known.

——————————————————————————————

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

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Call of the Mild

Serene, rest –
Nature and hammock,
Inviting.

——————–

Identity Theft

Tell a clown:
Stop clowning around!
Becomes what?

——————–

Find It

There’s a way.
Oft when the world’s dark,
Bright for you.

——————–

Mild – photo by Indra Vitmane at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nyjCR9m/No.+2308+%282010%29

Theft – photo by Richard Dudley at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mflfeVK/Amusement+Fair+Ride+2

Find – photo by Stella Bogdanic at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/moj1fjS/loner

——————–

* 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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                      The Nightingale

That nightingale, whose strain so sweetly flows
   Mourning her ravish’d young or much-lov’d mate,
   A soothing charm o’er all the valley throws
   And skies, with notes well-tn’d to her and state:
And all the night she seems my kindred woes
   With me to weep and on my sorrow wait;
   Sorrows that from my own fond fancy rose,
   Who deem’d a goddess could not yield to fate.
How easy to deceive who sleeps secure!
   Who could have though that to dull earth would turn
   Those eys that as the sun shone bright and pure?
Ah! now what fortune wills I see full sure:
   That loathing life yet living I should see
   How few its joys, how little they endure!

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