Posted in My Poems, tagged all facets were fine, bard on the hill, bliss, cherish, days gone by, days were like gold, Dennis Lange, faded away, flown away, fond, friends, ignorance of youth, life was sublime, memories, migration, nights were like diamonds, pat, perfect, poems, poetry, rockers, rocking chairs, The Good Old Days, Time is fleeting, travel, treasure, treat, wrinkled and gray on August 30, 2016| 2 Comments »
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We sometimes now gather, all wrinkled and gray,
And talk of the past that has faded away.
The past that was better, the good days, the old –
And fonder we cherish as farther behold.
There’s nothing that’s better in your mind and mine
Than days in the past when all facets were fine –
When nights were like diamonds and days were like gold,
When we were but youths and unknowing and bold.
We speak of them often; our words glow; we sigh –
Those birds have flown off without saying goodbye.
Migration is not why they’ve flown far away,
For birds gone in winter come back in a day.
The old days have flown to the past, not the south
Existing now only in our mind and mouth.
In first, they’re a treasure; in second, a treat
To all who were with us ere Time seemed so fleet.
Those wheat fields were golden; we glean just the best,
Gloss over the trouble, forgetting the rest.
What matters are mem’ries, the good that survives,
And happy are we with our loves and our lives.
That world now seems perfect without the decay
(No matter the decade, it’s always that way).
In gardens of ignorance, bliss is beget
And now, if we know it, we tend to forget.
So, good friends, my old friends, come by and we’ll sit
In rockers, both smiling, and visit a bit.
And there we will travel and go back in time
To good days, the old days, when life was sublime.
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Photo by Billy Frank Alexander at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dRWHPQ/Grunge+Texture
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.
Posted in My Haiku, tagged abnormal, bard on the hill, Dennis Lange, dry brown grass, gauge, Haikus, poems, poetry, Rainy August, Richter scale on August 23, 2016| 2 Comments »
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In Texas,
August – hot and dry
Normally.
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This past week
Seven point five says
The rain gauge.
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Richter scale
For rain measurement –
Major rain.
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Abnormal
For my dry brown grass
Is just fine.
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The picture is mine, taken off our deck at the valley below,
one day during the last eight rainy days. 8.2″ now.
* 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, 2016.
Posted in C-D, ReligiousInspirational, tagged autumn, bard on the hill, cavemen, consecration, crystal, Each In His Own Tongue, God, goldenrod, jellyfish, Jesus on the rood, law, mother starved for her brook, mystic ocean, picket frozen on duty, planet" >, poems, poetry, saurian, Socrates drinking hemlock, some call it evolution, Thomas Kelley, William Herbert Carruth on August 22, 2016| Leave a Comment »
A fire-mist and a planet,
…A crystal and a cell,
A jellyfish and saurian,
…And caves where the cavemen dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty,
…And a face turned from the clod –
Some call it Evolution,
…And others call it God.
A haze on the far horizon,
…The infinite, tender sky;
The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,
…And the wild geese sailing high –
And all over upland lowland,
…The charm of the golden rod –
Some of us call it Autumn,
…And others call it God.
Like tides on a crescent sea-beach,
…When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
…Come welling and surging in –
Come from the mystic ocean,
…Whose rim no foot has trod,
Some of us call it Longing,
…And others call it God.
A picket frozen on duty –
…A mother starved for her brood –
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
…And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, humble and nameless,
…The straight, hard pathway trod –
Some call it Consecration,
…And others call it God.
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photo by Thomas Kelley
The Bard on the Hill 