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Archive for August, 2015

He touched me, so I live to know
That such a day, permitted so,
I groped upon his breast –
It was a boundless place to me
And silenced, as the awful sea
Puts minor streams to rest. 

And now, I’m different from before,
As if I breathed superior air –
Or brushed a Royal Gown –
My feet, too, that had wandered so –
My Gypsy face – transfigured now –
To tenderer Renown – 

Into this Port, if I might come,
Rebecca, to Jerusalem,
Would not so ravished turn –
Nor Persian, baffled at her shrine
Lift such a Crucifixal sign
To her imperial Sun.

 

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Turn Your Head, Please

Sign posted
So none’s embarrassed –
Bare Swimming.

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The End Of The Western

Pilot rides
Into the sunset
Like cowboy.

——————–

 

Wheat

Golden heads
Waving in the wind –
The world’s bread.

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Turn – photo by Andreas Krappweis at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVItqYe/Brown+Bear+swimming

Western – photo by Marja Flick-Buijs at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfkED72/Airplane+sunset+illustration

Wheat – photo by Agnes Scholiers at  http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/o7HMk7o/Wheat

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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, 2015.

 

 

 

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The bird with the beep beep so throaty –
Roadrunner – was chased by coyote.
But speed didn’t match;
He never could catch
That bird with the feet that were floaty. 

We kids were all fed that same story
And so the roadrunner got glory
He didn’t deserve
‘Cause someone with nerve
Made slower the faster – lied sorely.


—————————————— 

A coyote is faster than a roadrunner:
http://10000birds.com/how-fast-can-a-roadrunner-run.htm

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

 

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The Sun arises in the East
Cloth’d in robes of blood and gold
Swords and spears and wrath increast
All around his bosom roll’d,
Crown’d with warlike fires and raging desires.

 

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The grass is brown. Oh, Mother, why?
The rain won’t fall and so it’s dry.

The river’s slow. Oh, Mother, why?
The clouds are missing from the sky.

The deer are thin. Oh, Mother, why?
The grass is gone and some may die.

It’s dry! It’s dry! Oh, Mother, why?
We’re in a drought; for rain we cry.

Why is there drought, oh, Mother, why?
Without a rain, the weeks go by.

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

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I write a blog
Much like a log –
I muddle daily through the fog. 

Some poems are good;
And some are wood
To toss and burn – I really should! 

Huge catalog
Means sometimes, dog,
And some with voices like a frog.

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

 

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Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving!
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profan’d their scarlet ornaments
And seal’d false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb’d others’ beds’ revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee.
Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!

 

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Sheepdog And His Sheep

Outnumbered,
But proves to be the
Aggressor.

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I Love You

See the I?
Staring from love you –
Like an eye.

———————

 

Fade The Black

The dark night
Has a thousand eyes.
Each, light one

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Sheepdog – photo by Barun Patro at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mf6A37Q/Billiards+3

Love – photo by Marja Flick-Buijs at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ovFXsPa/Love+you+ilustration

Fade – photo by Michael and Christa Richert at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ooFlFvU/colourful+candles

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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, 2015.

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I’m traveling now to Las Vegas
With doubts of the saying that’s famous.
It stays there; it’s through,
Is certainly not true
For those who find something contagious. 

I’m traveling now to Las Vegas
With doubts of the saying that’s famous.
It’s certainly not true
None knows what you do:
God watches, remembers; He’ll pay us.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015

 

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Should you, my lord, while you pursue my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,
Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood,
I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate
Was snatch’d from Afric’s fancy happy seat:
What pangs excruciating must molest,
What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast?
Steel’d was the soul and by no misery mov’d
That from a father seiz’d his babe belov’d.
Such, such my case. And can I then but pray
Others may never feel tyrannic sway?

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