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Archive for November, 2015

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane. 

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist. 

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why. 

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

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The poem read by Frost himself (56 seconds): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WTWUhxpUEM

 

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links to analysis:

https://beamingnotes.com/2013/05/21/my-november-guest-analysis-by-robert-frost/

http://mislit.blogspot.com/2014/01/my-november-guest.html

http://kellyrfineman.livejournal.com/498402.html

http://writingandhealing.org/2008/11/10/my-november-guest-by-robert-frost

 

 

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To play the game in freezing temp
And ever falling snow,
The player nor the fan is wimp.
At home we think them schmo.

But there’s one thing that’s even worse
Than frostbite with your bruise –
That’s overtime, an extra curse,
And pain then when you lose.


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The temperature was 24 degrees and snow fell throughout
the game.  The agony of the weather didn’t end in regulation,
though because New England tied the game with a field goal
as time ran out.  The misery continued in overtime but the
Broncos won on their first drive with a long run, ending the
Patriots’ undefeated season.

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

 

 

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One cannot be upon the sand
And smell the salty air,
And hear the crashing of the waves
Without the seagulls there. 

Their presence is pervasive as
The omnipresent wind
Which strokes the surface of the sea,
And makes the water bend. 

When seagulls see, with eagle eye,
A bite within the hand
They mob and move to skin as near
As moves the gritty sand. 

We see the gulls swarm ev’ry treat,
So no surprise this one:
That early in the morning light,
The seagulls swarm the sun.

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photo by Photonut at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dQN5hw/Sunrise+with+Gulls

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

 

 

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O noble heart, and brave impetuous hand!
So all engrossed in work of public weal
Thou couldst not pause thy own distress to feel
While maladies of Wrong oppressed the land,
The hopes that marshaled at thy pen’s command
To cheer the Right, had not the power to heal
The ever-aching wounds thou didst conceal
Beneath a front so stoically bland
That no one guessed thy inward agony, –
Until the Master, leaning from His throne,
Heard some soul wailing in an undertone,
And bending lower down, discovered thee,
And clasped thy weary hand within His own
And lifted thee to rest eternally.

 

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Thick And Low To The Ground
 

Good green grass
Makes a good life, and
Stocky stock.

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Zebras

Their pictures
Even in color,
Black and white.

——————– 

 

Impotent

An idol,
In the midst of life,
But has none.

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Thick – photo by Darryl Smith, freelance photographer at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ofBgvpE/mammal

Zebras – photo by Sias van Schalkwyk at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oxNfSzM/Zebras+in+Black+and+White

Impotent – photo by melodi2 (Lee) at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mjYGFAw/Statue+in+the+pansies+1

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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/

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

 

 

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Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.
The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
Their spirits meet together, they make them solemn vows,
No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.
The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou has sown.
Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?
There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,
And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower –
And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum –
And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!

 

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She gave him a come-hither smile,
A match to helpless hay.
But she was thinking all the while,
“Oh, please just stay away!” 

For e’en a cat can sometimes tire
Of playing with its prey,
But can’t its nature just retire
A moment or a day.


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

 

 

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How sweet I roam’d from field to field,
And tasted all the summer’s pride,
‘Till I the prince of love beheld,
Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He shew’d me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair,
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fir’d my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty.

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The sign says
Beyond that wet spot,
No buggies.

— 

When flooding,
I would have known that
Without signs.

— 

While flooding,
The water hazards
Are larger.

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photo by purplepic at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nEQETk6/Flooded+golf+course

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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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Row us out from Desenzano, to your Sirmione row!
So they row’d, and there we landed – “O venusta Sirmio!”
There to me thro’ all the groves of olive in the summer glow,
There beneath the Roman ruin where the purple flowers grow,
Came that “Ave atque Vale” of the Poet’s hopeless woe,
Tenderest of Roman poets nineteen hundred years ago,
“Frater Ave atque Vale,” – as we wander’d to and fro,
Gazing at the Lydian laughter of the Garda Lake below,
Sweet Catullus’s all-but-island, olive-silvery Sirmio!


— 

The title means “Hail, brother, and farewell” and comes
from a poem by Catallus that was addressed to his
dead brother.

 

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