Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for August, 2014


Lit By A Matchless Match

Sky, water
Are both on fire with
Smoke between.

— 

Sun retreats
But torches the world –
Parting gift.

——————–

photo by Dez Pain at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dyWpPh/Spectacular+Sunset

——————–

* 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, 2014.

 

 

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

……………..London

Athwart the sky a lowly sigh
From west to east the sweet wind carried.
The sun stood still on Primrose Hill;
His light in all the city tarried;
The clouds on viewless columns bloomed
Like smouldering lilies unconsumed.

‘Oh sweetheart, see! How shadowy,
Of some occult magician’s rearing,
Or swung in space of heaven’s grace
Dissolving, dimly reappearing,
Afloat upon ethereal tides
St. Paul’s above the city rides?

A rumour broke through the thin smoke
Enwreathing abbey tower, and palace,
The parks, the squares, the thoroughfares,
The million-peopled lanes and alleys,
An ever-muttering  prisoned storm,
The heart of London beating warm.

Read Full Post »

.

…….A Time Naught Else Is Needed

There is a time and place that God’s commanded
For all His people then together banded
To lift up hearts and songs to Him in praising
From us so small to Him who’s great, amazing.
Then, like a candle lends to sun its burning
Our littleness to Him is thus returning.

At other times, no buildings are we needing
To worship God, His glory so exceeding –
Naught else but halls of towering tall mountains,
Naught else but stormy skies of falling fountains,
Naught else but winter skies with beauty snowing,
Naught else but thankful hearts with love o’er flowing.

—————————————————————

photo by Alfred Borchard at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/o9w3Ica/st.coloman+church

—————————————————————

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

Read Full Post »

Sketch of Lord Byron’s Life

“Lord Byron” was an Englishman
A poet I believe,
His first works in old England
Was poorly received.

Perhaps it was “Lord Byron’s” fault
And perhaps it was not.
His life was full of misfortunes,
Ah, strange was his lot.

The character of “Lord Byron”
Was of a low degree,
Caused by his reckless conduct,
And bad company.

He sprung from an ancient house,
Noble, but poor, indeed.
His career on earth, was marred
By his own misdeeds.

Generous and tender hearted,
Affectionate by extreme,
In temper he was wayward,
A poor “Lord” without means;

Ah, he was a handsome fellow
With great poetic skill,
His great intellectual powers
He could use at his will.

He was a sad child of nature,
Of fortune and of fame;
Also sad child to society,
For nothing did he gain

But slander and ridicule,
Throughout his native land.
Thus the “poet of the passions,”
Lived, unappreciated, man.

Yet at the age of 24,
“Lord Byron” then had gained
The highest, highest, pinnacle
Of literary fame.

Ah, he had such violent passions
They was beyond his control,
Yet the public with its justice,
Sometimes would him extol.

Sometimes again “Lord Byron”
Was censured by the press,
Such obloquy, he could not endure,
So he done what was the best.

He left his native country,
This great unhappy man;
The only wish  he had, “’tis said,”
He might die, sword in hand.

He had joined the Grecian Army;
This man of delicate frame;
And there he died in a distant land,
And left on earth his fame.

“Lord Byron’s” age was 36 years,
Then closed the sad career,
Of the most celebrated “Englishman”
Of the nineteenth century.

Read Full Post »


Dog Dilemma

Surveys scene,
Decides, too far to
Dog paddle.

——————– 

 

 

Water Conservation Idea

Anybody
Wanting a shower,
Just stand close.

——————– 

 

 

Detective Dog

Missing tree;
His first guess is bad –
A beaver.

——————–

Dilemma – photo by Viktors Kozers at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/o9rb5OU/dog+4

Conservation – photo by Andreas Krappweis at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVIstec/Dog+shaking

Detective – photo by Michael & Christa Richert at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mYjhDby/what+have+you+done+to+my+tree%3F

———————

* 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, 2014.

 

 

Read Full Post »

…………..Today’s Forecast

An August day and 97? – Mild!
And, we are yet to hit a hundred, child.
This Texas summer has been very tame.
I’ve heard that global warming is to blame.

——————————————————–

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

 

Read Full Post »

Keen, fitful gusts are whisp’ring here and there
Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,
Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
Or of the distance from home’s pleasant lair:
For I am brimful of the friendliness
That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-haired Milton’s eloquent distress,
And all his love for gentle Lycid drowned;
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,
And faithful Petrarch gloriously crowned.

 

Read Full Post »

………………Sonnet 36 – I

In here, behind these eyes from which I peek,
There is no “we”, no “us”; there’s never been.
It is a place whose population’s bleak –
A universe of one, a private inn.

The suite cannot be shared or visited
It is impossible, and there’s no room.
I fill it all, to ev’ry place I’ve spread;
I am a garden of a single bloom.

None else can sit beside and glimpse my cheek
As I look out, and down, upon my knee.
I watch my fingers give my arm a tweak,
My flesh that’s me and yet not really me.

The lone-ness of our oneness each must bear,
Because each is an I that none can share.

—————————————————-

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

Read Full Post »

…………Driving Lessons

It’s grand to be driving through Texas
In a silver and shiny new Lexus.
We honk as we pass;
We show that we’re class,
Except when our poor driving wrecks us.

————————————————

 

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

 

 

Read Full Post »

 

 

……….Emmeline Grangerford’s
“Ode to Stephen Dowling Bots, Dec’d”

And did young Stephen sicken,
And did young Stephen die?
And did the sad hearts thicken,
And did the mourners cry?

No, such was not the fate of
Young Stephen Dowling Bots;
Though sad hearts round him thickened,
‘Twas not from sickness’ shots.

No whooping cough did rack his frame,
Nor measles drear with spots;
Not these impaired the sacred name
Of Stephen Dowling Bots.

Despised love struck not with woe
That head of curly knots,
Nor stomach troubles laid him low,
Young Stephen Dowling Bots.

O no.  Then list with tearful eye,
Whilst I his fate do tell.
His soul did from this cold world fly
By falling down a well.

They got him out and emptied him;
Alas it was too late;
His spirit was gone for to sport aloft
In the realms of the good and great.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »