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Archive for January, 2015

………………..Chaucer

An old man in a lodge within a park;
The chamber walls depicted all around
With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound,
And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark,
Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark
Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound;
He listeneth and he laugheth at the sound,
Then writeth in a book like any clerk.
He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote
The Canterbury Tales, and his old age
Made beautiful with song; and as I read
I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note
Of lark and linnet, and from every page
Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead.

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All Mothers But One

Nested dolls –
Larger to the next
Is mother.

——————-

 

Who’s Your Daddy?

He buzzes
Like all the insects –
Crop duster.

——————–

 

When Our Day Is Over

At sunset
All boats are this way –
Abandoned.

——————-

Mothers – photo by Leslie Watts at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dR8Cnn/Russian+Dolls

Daddy – photo by Ariel da Silva Parreira at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhgmSfO/Fumigation+airplane

Day – photo by Johnny Berg at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nINl2h6/Stranded+-+HDR

 

——————–

* 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, 2015.

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……..Arrayed, The Belle Appears

As day was ending and the light was dimmer
(But sun still shone through trees and brush
And bounced across the water with a shimmer),
The birds began to tire and hush.

Upon the shining water, artful skimmer
(A dragonfly with double wings),
Made darts and dives onto the golden glimmer
And, like the lives of men, made rings.

From ‘neath the water to its top, a swimmer
Rushed forth to gulp, then turned – a splash!
He dived back where his fishy world was dimmer,
And left behind that gentle crash.

The dropping sun made daylight even slimmer,
And evening grew fat and wide.
Once smiling brightly, Sun was now much grimmer
And most wore black as if he’d died.

In that new dark, the sky began to simmer
With lights like bubbles from the ink,
Until its dress of sequins made it primmer,
A lady flirting nightly with a wink.

—————————————————

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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The Descent From The Cross

Is this the Face that thrills with awe
Seraphs who veil their face above?
Is this the Face without a flaw,
The face that is the Face of love?
Yea, this defaced, a lifeless clod,
Hath all creation’s love sufficed,
Hath satisfied the love of God,
This Face the Face of Jesus Christ.

 

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Hearing Some Gossip

Oh tell me!
You must be kidding!
He did WHAT?

——————–

 

The Mallard Armada

Quacks are king.
The power to rule –
Duck Navy.

——————–

 

The World Awaits

A duck looks.
What is it thinking?
Mine, all mine!

——————–

Gossip – photo by Richard Dudley at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mflftHo/Earnie+the+Emu

Armada – photo by Patrizio Martarano at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oz2pS7m/Mallard+duck+3

World – photo by Elaine Tan at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/opueKpW/Looking+Forward

——————–

* 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, 2015.

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………Remembrance

Remembrance has a Rear and Front –
‘Tis something like a House –
It has a garret also
For Refuse and the Mouse.

Besides the deepest Cellar
That ever Mason laid –
Look to it by its Fathoms
Ourselves be not pursued.

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…..Sonnet 51 – From Some To All

The history of man records a tide,
A current ‘cross the world that swelled and rose
And raised the race from ignorance to ride
To mountaintops capped by the aged snows.

Crowds caught the rise but some were left behind.
A mark of that is when men marked their X.
While most were men of letters and refined
A single letter was, to some, complex.

Today, at high tide, we’re so civilized
The paper for an X now disappears.
And penmanship, an art once highly prized,
Is cursed as end of teaching cursive nears.

The tide that rose and made the islands small
Now brings a special ignorance to all.

—————————————————-

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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………………….The Visionary

Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:
One alone looks out o’er the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the ‘wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.

Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;
Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far:
I trim it well, to be the wanderer’s guiding-star.

Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!
Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame:
But neither sire nor dame, nor prying serf shall know
What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.

What I love shall come like visitant of air,
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;
Who loves me, no word of mine shall e’er betray,
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.

Burn then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear –
Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
He for whom I wait thus ever comes to me;
Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.

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A Flyer With Flair

A large moth
With very good tastes –
Colors match.

——————–

 

Strings Attached

These who fly
Are not like birds, but
Like spiders.

——————–

 

Winter’s Road

A cold road.
Huddle inside, it’s
A lone road.

——————–

Flyer – photo by paparabbit (Palmer) at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mwYvKd0/CECROPIA+MOTH+ON+BRICK

Strings – photo by Felipe Daniel Reis at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/miOPyEm/Park

Road – photo by Alfred Borchard at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mHs3RbY/winter+wood

——————–

* 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, 2015.

 

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…………………….Milton

I pace the sounding sea-beach and behold
How the voluminous billows roll and run,
Upheaving and subsiding, while the sun
Shines through their sheeted emerald far unrolled,
And the ninth wave, slow gathering fold by fold
All its loose-flowing garments into one,
Plunges upon the shore, and floods the dun
Pale reach of sands, and changes them to gold.
So in majestic cadence rise and fall
The mighty undulations of thy song,
O sightless bard, England’s Maeonides!
And ever and anon, high over all
Uplifted, a ninth wave superb and strong,
Floods all the soul with its melodious seas.

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