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Archive for April, 2016

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain, –
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.

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Red taillights
Are mesmerizing
On approach.

Hypnotized.
Will I go around?
Or go through?

—————–

* 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, 2016.

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Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy?
Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And, being frank, she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For, having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then, how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unus’d beauty must be tomb’d with thee,
Which, used, lives th’ executor to be.

 

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John Sedgwick, to his frightened men,
“Why dodge a single bee?
What will you do in battle, boys,
When swarms come after thee?” 

“At this range, e’en an elephant
Would certainly be missed.
Why think ye then your rosy cheek
Could possibly be kissed?” 

And he sat tall upon his mount
To prove what he had said,
Until the sniper shot at him
And Sedgwick fell down, dead.

—————————————– 

The ironic death of Major General John Sedgwick
of the Union army came on May 9, 1864 at the
Battle of Spotsylvania Court House in Virginia. 

http://www.civilwarhome.com/sedgwickdeath.htm

—————————————————–

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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For all time, and in every place,
In every nation, every race,
To wed was man and woman’s place.

Just where is marriage now defined? –
Except in whate’er comes to mind
From whate’er lusts that will men blind.


——————————————

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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Who, mid the grasses of the field
That spring beneath our careless feet,
First found the shining stems that yield
The grains of life-sustaining wheat: 

Who first, upon the furrowed land,
Strewed the bright grains to sprout, and grow,
And ripen for the reaper’s hand –
We know not, and we cannot know. 

But well we know the hand that brought
And scattered, far as sight can reach,
The seeds of free and living thought
On the broad field of modern speech. 

Mid the white hills that round us lie,
We cherish that Great Sower’s fame,
And, as we pile the sheaves on high,
With awe we utter Dante’s name. 

Six centuries, since the poet’s birth,
Have come and flitted o’er our sphere:
The richest harvest reaped on earth
Crowns the last century’s closing year.

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——
Without The Hindenburg Pathos

Stretched out. Oh,
The humanity!
But no crash.

——————–

 

Did You Get The Message?

The message
That’s in some bottles:
Hangover.

——————–

Green-Framed

The sky’s flow
Mixes in with the
Water’s flow.

——————–
Hindenburg – photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mLWs8BO/down+in+the+suburbs

Message – photo by Justyna Furmanczyk at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mqyxFPK/message+in+the+bottle

Framed – photo by gabriel77 (gabriel ) at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meSa80C/reflections

——————-

* 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, 2016.

 

 

 

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We never know how high we are
Till we are asked to rise
And then if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skies – 

The Heroism we recite
Would be a normal thing
Did not ourselves the Cubits warp
For fear to be a King –

 

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The person is dead
Is what caller said,
Which didn’t make sense
Till the person was Prince.

————————
(Prince, dead at 57, 4/20/16)

—————————–

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

 

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I’m always right until I’m wrong –
And I change there and then.
Thus, even then it is not long
Till I am right again.

———————————–

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

 

 

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