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Archive for September, 2013

 

Lifeboat

Scarcity
Caused calamity –
Titanic.

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Why That Name, Adam?

Is a duck
Called a duck since it
Ducks under?

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No Shame

You caught me.
But, not black, white, red
All over.

 

What’s black and white and red all over?  An embarrassed zebra.

What’s black and white and read all over?  A newspaper

What’s black and white and red all over?  A vampire having a midnight snack.

What’s black and white and red all over?  A sunburned zebra

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Lifeboat – photo by Macie Lewandowski at  http://www.rgbstock.com/user/macieklew

Adam – photo by Adrian van Leen at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mn1YRho/over+your+head

Shame – photo by Johnny Berg at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mjzUMnM/Zebra

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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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English: American naturalist and essayist John...

American naturalist and essayist John Burroughs (1837-1921) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

                      The Return

He sought the old scenes with eager feet, –
The scenes he had known as a boy;
“Oh! for a draught of those fountains sweet,
And a taste of that vanished joy.”
He roamed the fields, he mused by the streams,
He threaded the paths and lanes;
On the hills he sought his youthful dreams,
In the woods to forget his pains.
Oh, sad, sad, hills; oh, cold, cold hearth!
In sorrow he learned the truth, –
One may go back to the place of his birth, –
He cannot go back to his youth.

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                      Boooooring!

The young today oft have a common plaint,
Their world reduced to white and black, no paint.
At time when others send their kites a’ soaring,
Theirs fall to earth, and they proclaim, “How boring!” 

It strikes them in the midst of work or play,
In summer, or in winter – any day!
It comes upon them like a green fly’s droning,
Drops down on them, a dullness and a groaning. 

From one who came through childhood’s muddled maze
And manages through massed retirement days
With n’er a minute in pathetic pining:
The question is how youth can be so whining. 

Is life to them an endless sugar high
Of tech and toys and tunes’ lullaby,
So that in pause, withdrawal causes crashing,
A sourness at all the world, teeth gnashing?                

When diabetic, one must cut the sweets;
Be disciplined in what he drinks and eats.
And so the young must bite their tongue on blaming
And look at self ‘bout texting and their gaming. 

For, each man’s blessed with life on earth so wide,
That though he tries, he’ll always miss some tide.
With world’s expanse, and ache-wish for exploring,
One with a mind will never say, “How boring!”

————————————————————–

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

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            The Ideal

Taking up the fair Ideal,
Just to cast her down
When a fracture – we discover –
Or a splintered Crown –
Makes the Heavens portable –
And the Gods – a lie –
Doubtless – “Adam” – scowled at Eden –
For his perjury! 

Cherishing – our poor Ideal –
Till in purer dress –
We behold her – glorified –
Comforts – search – like this –
Till the broken creatures –
We adored – for whole –
Stains – all washed –
Transfigured – mended –
Meet us – with a smile –

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Under The Wing

Cones nestled
Against a pine branch –
Its children.

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Drooping down,
The scales overlap –
Wooden fish.

——————–

God’s design:
Some don’t open up
Until fire.

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photo by Agnes Schollers at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nPOQDQk/Pinecone

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**** For an explanation of the third haiku, read the first paragraph under the first picture here:  http://www.apologeticspress.org/APContent.aspx?category=12&article=1557

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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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            The Builder

A builder builded a temple,
He wrought it with grace and skill;
Pillars and groins and arches
All fashioned to work his will.
Men said, as they saw its beauty,
“It shall never know decay;
Great is thy skill, O Builder!
Thy fame shall endure for aye.” 

A Teacher builded a temple
With loving and infinite care,
Planning each arch with patience,
Laying each stone with prayer.
None praised her unceasing efforts,
None knew of her wondrous plan,
For the temple the Teacher builded
Was unseen by the eyes of man. 

Gone is the Builder’s temple,
Crumpled into the dust;
Low lies each stately pillar,
Food for consuming rust.
But the temple the Teacher builded
Will last while the ages roll,
For that beautiful unseen temple
Was a child’s immortal soul.

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English: Photograph of a Monarch Butterfly.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

The Touring Tour De Force

I could not paint a butterfly
   If pinned and still as stone.
But I see in that palette’s tints
   A talent near unknown. 

As artists go, God is the best,
    A talent great and rare.
He painted splash of color in
    The medium of air.

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

 

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Sunset Police Car

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

                  Light Fright

I saw the state trooper’s lights flashing,
And quickly my molars were gnashing,
   As vision of ticket
   Went wild through my wicket.
But, whew! he passed by and kept dashing.

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

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           The Loom Of Time

Man’s life is laid in the loom of time
   To a pattern he does not see,
While the weavers work and the shuttles fly
   Till the dawn of eternity. 

Some shuttles are filled with silver thread
   And some with threads of gold,
While often but the darker hues
   Are all that they may hold. 

But the weaver watches with skillful eye
   Each shuttle fly to and fro,
And sees the pattern so deftly wrought
   As the loom moves sure and slow. 

God surely planned the pattern:
   Each thread, the dark and fair,
Is chosen by His master skill
   And placed in the web with care. 

He only knows its beauty,
   And guides the shuttles which hold
The threads so unattractive,
   As well as the threads of gold. 

Not till each loom is silent
   And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God reveal the pattern
   And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful
   In the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
   For the pattern which He planned.

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Bee Dazzled

The vortex
Of a sunflower,
Spiraling.

——————–

Gold, Gold, Gold!

I am on
The edge of glory –
Oh, honey!

——————–

Simultaneous Existence

Bee, flower –
Both need each other
At same time.

——————–

photo by Alex Fryatt at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/n9bG9e4/bee+and+sunflower

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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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