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Archive for August, 2013

English: The Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Bridge...

The Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Bridge in Boston, Massachusetts. It spans the Charles River. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


To The River Charles

River! That in silence windest
   Through the meadows, bright and free,
Till at length thy rest thou findest
   In the bosom of the sea!

Four long years of mingled feeling,
   Half in rest, and half in strife,
I have seen thy waters stealing
   Onward, like the stream of life. 

Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
   Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver;
   I can give thee but a song. 

Oft in sadness and in illness,
   I have watched thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
   Overflowed me, like a tide. 

And in better hours and brighter,
   When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter,
   And leap onward with thy stream. 

Not for this alone I love thee,
   Nor because thy waves of blue
From celestial seas above thee
   Take their own celestial hue. 

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,
   And thy waters disappear,
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee,
   And have made thy margin dear. 

More than this; – thy name reminds me
   Of three friends, all true and tried;
And that name, like magic, binds me
   Closer, closer to thy side. 

Friends my soul with joy remembers!
   How like quivering flames they start,
When I fan the living embers
   On the hearth-stone of my heart! 

‘T is for this, thou Silent River!
   That my spirit leans to thee;
Thou hast been a generous giver,
   Take this idle song from me.

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The Devourer Of The Green

Leaves’ colors
Changed by approach of
Winter’s teeth.

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Death And The Grave

No escape:
The gates of Hades
Bar death’s door.

——————–

 

Decisions

Oft we gaze
Toward other worlds –
Shall we go?

——————–

Devourer – photo by Michael and Christa Richert at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfjHlUM/castle%27s+gate+in+autumn

Death – photo by Colin Brough at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mDmWCyW/Imprisoned

Decisions – photo by Sander Klaver at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mriaLPY/Padang+beach

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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/

——————–

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

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                        Sonnet CXXIV

If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune’s bastard be unfather’d,
As subject to Time’s love or to Time’s hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather’d.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thrilled discontent,
Whereto th’ inviting time our fashion calls.
It fears not Policy, that heretic
Which works on leases of short-numb’red hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with show’rs.
   To this I witness call the fools of time,
   Which die for goodness, who have liv’d for crime.

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The Idol

A man picked up a piece of wood,
   And with a sculptor’s eye,
Saw something special in the log
   That no one else could spy. 

It was a vision in his mind
    But in the wood did hide,
As if there was a curtain there
   That he must fling aside.     

He started carving with his knife
   To shave the wood away –
The dross from end he focused on
   At his heart’s first survey. 

The task seemed long to watching eyes,
   Strokes tedious and slow,
But time means naught for worshiper,
   E’en for this embryo. 

Devoted labor fin’lly done;
   He put the treasured thing
Above his eyes, on pedestal –
   He’s servant, now, to king. 

And thus creator man became
   The less – a worshiper;
And he – in time and sight and thought,
   Though first – a follower. 

Before he fell upon his knees
   Below the god he made,
He burned the log’s still pristine end,
   Not knowing of a trade. 

His wife, who’ll fall and worship, too,
   Knocked piece of wood awry
Before he touched it with his knife
   And only with his eye. 

And when she put the timber back,
   Mistaken was her aim,
The end reversed he looked upon –
   He fed his god to flame.

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Isa.44:13-20 ““Another shapes wood, he extends a measuring line; he outlines it with red chalk. He works it with planes and outlines it with a compass, and makes it like the form of a man, like the beauty of man, so that it may sit in a house. 14 Surely he cuts cedars for himself, and takes a cypress or an oak and raises it for himself among the trees of the forest. He plants a fir, and the rain makes it grow. 15 Then it becomes something
for a man to burn, so he takes one of them and warms himself; he also makes a fire to bake bread. He also makes a god and worships it; he makes it a graven image and falls down before it. 16 Half of it he burns in the fire; over this half he eats meat as he roasts a roast and is satisfied. He also warms himself and says, “Aha! I am warm, I have seen the fire.” 17 But the rest of it he makes into a god, his graven image. He falls down before it and worships; he also prays to it and says, “Deliver me, for you are my god.” 18 They do not know, nor do they understand, for He has smeared over their eyes so that they cannot see and their hearts so that they cannot comprehend. 19 No one recalls, nor is there knowledge or understanding to say, “I have burned half of it in the fire and also have baked bread over its coals. I roast meat and eat it.  Then I make the rest of it into an abomination, I fall down before a block of wood!” 20 He feeds on ashes; a
deceived heart has turned him aside. And he cannot deliver himself, nor say, “Is there not a lie in my right hand?”

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photo by Sanja Gjenero at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mB8AwMi/logs

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

 

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My First Day Ritual

Today the kids are back in school;
   The first day of their year.
And teachers now must teach and rule
   While parents sigh and cheer. 

I once was teacher; I’m retired,
   And I will celebrate
The freedom I have now acquired
   As others meet their fate. 

So while the children fill the class,
   And teachers start to work,
I’ll eat somewhere and raise my glass
   To toast my greatest perk.

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photo by Miriam Wickett at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/o3T2ws8/back+to+school

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

 

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Winter Jam

Lights turn snow
To another world –
Marmalade.

——————–

Perry Como

Put it in
(The caught fallen star)
Your gullet.

 

Perry Como sings “Catch A Falling Star”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdK1wvKAFfg

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Pressure Against Evolution

In bending,
Hydraulics alone
Pound Darwin.

Giraffes – see first subheading:
http://www.apologeticspress.org/apcontent.aspx?category=9&article=2629

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Winter Jam – photo by Colin Brough at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mSFOBUs/Winter+street+at+night

Perry Como – photo by Colin Brough at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mkylj12/Unfortunate+starfish%21

Pressure – photo by Ron Jeffries at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mgPFo0k/giraffe

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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/

——————–

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

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                  To Night

Swiftly walk o’er the western wave,
          Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear, –
           Swift by thy flight! 

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
           Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o’er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand –
           Come, long-sought! 

When I arose and saw the dawn,
           I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
           I sighed for thee. 

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
           Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noon-tide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me? – And I replied,
           No, not thee! 

Death will come when thou are dead,
           Soon, too soon –
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night –
Swift be thine approaching flight,
           Come soon, soon!

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English: Cobbe portrait, claimed to be a portr...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)


No Peer

God spoke to Moses on the mount,
   Before, to Abraham.
He is creator of us all,
   Eternal, great I Am. 

He is the giver of good gifts
   From bread to smitten Lamb.
He gifted Shakespeare with his craft –
   Made Will the great iamb.

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

 

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It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
I could not feel the Anguish go –
But only knew by looking back –
That something – had benumbed the Track –

Nor when it altered, I could say,
For I had worn it, every day,
As constant as the Childish frock –
I hung upon the Peg, at night.

But not the Grief – that nestled close
As needles – ladies softly press
To Cushion Cheeks –
To keep their place –

Nor what consoled it, I could trace –
Except, whereas ‘twas Wilderness –
It’s better – almost Peace –

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Paying For The Ladyfingers

Foot the bill?
No, I’ll pay for it.
Toe’d you so.

——————–

 

 

Good Looking

Is twelve hands
Or just eleven
The hand sum?

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You’ll Have To Leave

Sorry, but
We’re segregated –
No blue nails.

——————–

photos by Stephen Eastop at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dQsPc9/An+amazing+feat
and
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nUgc3hM/Many+hands+make+life+better+1

——————–

* 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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