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Archive for September, 2016

Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art –
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priest-like task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors –
No – yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever – or else swoon to death.

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Do not despair when you are young and tender –
Though pierced by thorns, confused, and by thrown stones are bruised,
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

Time serves you and the answer it will render.
Though dark now is the night, the sunrise will be bright.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –

Though it may seem that hope of joy is slender,
The aged felt that way, in some past dismal day.
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

Till weak are strong, the world attempts to hinder.
A sapling blown by wind, a mighty oak will end.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –

Now isn’t all; it preens as a pretender
It fills the present space; confronts us face to face.
But aches will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

The sullen days are few; do not surrender
The prize goes to the few who see their troubles through.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.


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

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If you hear a kind word spoken
Of some worthy soul you know,
It may fill his heart with sunshine
If you only tell him so.

If a deed, however humble,
Helps you on your way to go,
Seek the one whose hand has helped you,
Seek him out and tell him so!

If your heart is touched and tender
Toward a sinner, lost and low,
It might help him to do better
If you’d only tell him so!

Oh, my sisters, oh, my brothers,
As o’er life’s rough path you go,
If God’s love has saved and kept you,
Do not fail to tell men so!

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Saw “Sully”.
Then, drove to dinner,
Chosen place.

Location
Was at a tough spot.
First time there.

The remnants
Of five’s thick traffic
To wade through.

Interstate,
Intersects a loop,
Cloverleaf.

Down.  Under.
Lights and then three turns.
Safe landing!

See, Sully?
I watched carefully.
Fast learner.


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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, 2016.

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Oh! Did you ne’er hear of Kate Kearney?
She lives on the banks of Killarney:
From the glance of her eye, shun danger and fly,
For fatal’s the glance of Kate Kearney.

For that eye is so modestly beaming,
You ne’er think of mischief she’s dreaming:
Yet, oh! I can tell, how fatal’s the spell,
That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney.

O should you e’er meet this Kate Kearney,
Who lives on the banks of Killarney,
Beware of her smile, for many a wile
Lies hid in the smile of Kate Kearney.

Though she looks so bewitchingly simple,
Yet there’s mischief in every dimple,
And who dares inhale her sigh’s spicy gale,
Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.

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history: http://www.contemplator.com/ireland/kearney.html

song (2:48) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jgx-tsSZXhI

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Life’s vibrant green they were, but brittle.
With flowing red, they fell.
No wind, yet some still moved a little;
Some screamed their private hell.

Some lay there lifeless, growing colder,
To Winter sacrificed.
The meek nor brave would get no older –
They found Fall over-priced.

Some leaves were left till wind stopped blowing;
They raked those in the morn.
Now in their beds, they’re no more growing
Till Gabriel blows his horn.

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

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A frog went a-courting, away did ride, huh-huh,
A frog went a-courting, away did ride,
Sword and pistol by his side, huh-huh.

He rode up to Miss Mousie’s door, huh-huh.
He rode up to Miss Mousie’s door
With his coat all buttoned down before, huh-huh.

He took Miss Mousie on his knee, huh-huh.
He took Miss Mousie on his knee,
And he said my dear will you marry me, huh-huh.

Oh no! kind sir, I can’t say that, huh-huh.
Oh no! kind sir, I can’t say that,
You’ll have to get the consent of my uncle rate, huh-huh.

Uncle rat he laughed and shook his fat side, huh-huh.
Uncle rat he laughed and shook his fat side,
To think that his niece would be a bride, huh-huh.

Oh, where shall the wedding breakfast be, huh-huh.
Oh, where shall the wedding breakfast be,
Way down in the woods in a hollow tree, huh-huh.

The first that came was a long-tailed rat, huh-huh.
The first that came was along-tailed rat –
etc.

 

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sung here (with different lyrics) by The Brothers Four:
(2:45) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GRmk_nKfn9Q

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Three warnings
By cops who stopped me
Just this year.

Same problem –
A stubborn brake light.
Three “fixes”.

I’m hoping
I’m more stubborn, and
Fourth’s the charm.


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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, 2016.

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For her golden wedding, Oct.18, 1875

“Lucy.” – The old familiar name
Is now, as always, pleasant,
Its liquid melody the same
Alike in past or present;
Let others call you what they will,
I know you’ll let me use it;
To me your name is Lucy still,
I cannot bear to lose it.

What visions of the past return
With Lucy’s image blended!
What memories from the silent urn
Of gentle lives long ended!
What dreams of childhood’s fleeting morn,
What starry aspirations,
That filled the misty days unborn
With fancy’s coruscations!

Ah, Lucy, life has swiftly sped
From April to November;
The summer blossoms all are shed
That you and I remember;
But while the vanished years we share
With mingling recollections,
How all their shadowy features wear
The hue of old affections!

Love called you.  He who stole your heart
Of sunshine half bereft us;
Our household’s garland fell apart
The morning that you left us;
The tears of tender girlhood streamed
Through sorrow’s opening sluices;
Less sweet our garden’s roses seemed,
Less blue its flower-de-luces.

That old regret is turned to smiles,
That parting sight to greeting;
I send my heart-throb fifty miles,
Though every line ‘t is beating;
God grant you many and happy years,
Till when the last has crowned you
The dawn of endless day appears,
And heaven is shining round you!

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He’d heard that amputees have phantom pain –
A sword swung by the ghost of warrior slain,
As though the missing limb had nerves again
And re-attached to body and to brain;

‘Twas true! He felt the stabbing every day –
The phantom soldier keeping up the fray.
And when his chest was pierced, the ache would stay:
His love had left and ripped his heart away.

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

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